I thought chain messages were passé until my friends told me they are still receiving them on WhatsApp. Except this time, the consequence of not forwarding the message is not being cursed or dying horribly. These days, chain messages are the best means to spread fake news. Our relatives are usually the ones to forward these messages in good faith. They genuinely believe that they are doing a public service by warning those close to them about some non-existent emergency. These relatives become the butt of our jokes. We talk about how typical the ridiculously illegitimate message sound – “Do they actually think this is real?” Most of these older relatives are already worried about the bad things that could happen to their children on a daily basis. So when there's an announcement about tainted food or some safety breach, it triggers those underlying concerns and sparks a reaction (forwarding the message) easily.

Are Millennials Really Better?

We all like to think that as the internet savvy generation, we are immune to fake news. Armed with the ability to cross reference and question sources, I assumed younger Singaporeans would be less susceptible to fall prey. But I’ve been proven wrong and I even fall for it myself sometimes. When it comes to fake news, we say the older generation is too gullible. However, we, the supposedly more informed generation, are no exception.

This post, for instance, shows data about our national debt being at a whopping 12 digits. At first glance, it's easy to jump on this data and declare that Singapore is doomed. But 'national debt' actually refers to what the government owes its people through channels like CPF or bonds - something completely normal. I wanted to give the Facebook user a benefit of doubt, that he was simply confused between the definition of national debt and external debt. But scrolling through his older posts, his anti-government sentiments were conspicuous. He also included the same 'national debt image' in the comments section of his newer posts – presumably for a second chance at fame. It’s hard not to assume he harboured an ulterior motive. Although several people had corrected him in the comments section, the damage had already been done. The shocking numbers tied well with the disgruntled, (debatably) overworked and underpaid Singaporeans. Many had shared the image together with angry captions; the post had successfully gone viral. While this is just one example, it goes to show how easily it is to sow discord by leveraging on existing societal issues or any negative feelings.

Heart Over Mind

Many of those who shared the post were swayed by their emotions and preconceived beliefs. It supported their opinion about how 'Singapore sucks' and how 'our government sucks'. As long as the post is in line with our internal narrative, many of us will hit that like or share button faster than we can ask ourselves, “is this legit?” Often, when fake news goes viral, it taps on our dissatisfaction and our desire to make a change. Just like when we heard about the BMW owner allegedly bullying the petrol kiosk uncle into paying for his petrol, the country flipped out. We formed an online mob and the petrol company responded, reassuring us that there is an investigation ongoing. Meanwhile, online vigilantes took justice into their own hands. Our collective likes and shares eventually rallied enough people to our cause and we hunted the 'bad guy' down. Only, the bad guy wasn’t that bad. It was just a one-sided story that went wrong. More recently, former national striker Noh Alam Shah had to deal with the confusion of his fans and family when he was mistakenly reported dead. As minor as it may sound, such inaccurate news can be very distressing for the individuals and the people around them. If you think about it, the sharing of chain messages or fake news is akin to the "1 like 1 prayer" notion. People who like and share the post feel like they played a part in creating change. If only it was so easy. We are motivated by the power a share, a like, and a comment can hold. And as stereotypical as it sounds, the internet community has time and again shown that we can make a bigger impact when we rally as one. Our voices become louder and together, we form a mob strong enough that could possibly get us what we want. Sometimes, we get the attention of big companies and sometimes, political leaders notice us. This behaviour works in our favour when done right, but at other times, it simply looks bad on us.

Then how?

Our relatives could easily be excused for being gullible or simply unaware, but what is our excuse? As the millennial generation that is associated with being tech-savvy, we should be more discerning when it comes to fake news. It is not as as simple as avoiding non-credible news sources; because even the more reputable newspapers make mistakes. The only solution is to do our due diligence and research before we pick a side. Otherwise, we might just be deemed as ill-informed and hot headed. If not, it might be just better to stick to sharing lifestyle content. Also read, Political Correctness In Singapore And The Problem With PC Culture.

Whenever we reminisce our growing up days, flip phones, MSN, and Game Boys come to mind. Our coming of age was marked with tapered pants, folded skirts, and questionable hairstyles (long fringe and weird shades of blonde). We had all sorts of ways to entertaining ourselves and trying to be more 'adult' than we really were. One of the ways is through class chalets. It's funny how chalets were such an iconic part of our growing up years but we rarely talk about it today. Perhaps it's the staycation culture or maybe we just outgrew chalets, Regardless, chalets were once a big part in many millennials' teen life. Those colonial homes or little abodes at Downtown East were so quintessentially part of the “Singapore teenager” starter pack. It's where we would all gather and show off how close the class was by wearing class tees; that in hindsight were really ugly. It’s as if we actually liked being in uniform. After checking in, we'd flock to Escape Theme Park or Wild Wild Wet – always going on the same few rides again and again. In the evening, we would huddle around the BBQ pit and play games. The scouts or girl guides were normally tasked to start the fire and everyone else who volunteers to cook will be happily struggling not to burn the food.

Chalets were the best place for a big group of 40 that wanted nothing more than unadulterated fun; we didn't had to worry about curfews or how much noise we made in public. Above all, the biggest reason why chalets became such an integral part of my teenage years is because of what happens in the wee hours of the night.

You want beer?

I had my first beer at 14 years old, with classmates of the same age. Yes, we were absolutely too young. How then did this group of underage kids get beer? Like how all delinquents get their alcohol or nicotine at chalets: through an ah lian’s older boyfriend. No one at 14 appreciated the bitter taste of alcohol, but we each downed half a can anyway; probably from peer pressure and the desire to feel more mature than we really were. In fact, another class was also having their first taste of alcohol next door. They didn’t think anyone would find out since they disposed of the evidence discretely. Unbeknown to the class, one of their classmates went home wasted. When he vomited in his mother’s car, the cat was out of the bag and the principal found out.

It could have been the beer or the first taste of freedom but chalets were always a little wild; they were the unsupervised highlight of our growing up days. As oppressed students on most days of the week, we relished in being our own bosses for 2D1N. With no one to tell us how to dress, behave, or speak, we were at liberty to experiment with life and do as we pleased. It is where we popped our cherries on many things – first beer, first wasted night, first cigarette. For some, this is also where they first made love. Even when staycations outshone chalets, the latter somehow remained relevant in our lives.

Chalets Are The Perfect Excuse

When I turned 18 and went to my first club, I left the party at 2am because my parents insisted on picking me up. I wasn’t embarrassed but rather, upset for missing out. From then on, I would tell my parents I was staying over at a chalet if I ever wanted to spend the whole night out. And I'd get their approval - no questions asked. For some of my friends who are in forbidden relationships because of race, religion, or strict parents, chalets have proven to be the perfect cover for staying out late. Many staycations were only possible because of that excuse too. Could our teenage years be as exciting and thrilling as it’s supposed to be without chalets? I doubt so. Since they are considered safer and more acceptable than a club, a hotel room, or someone’s home even, chalets were and still is the perfect white lie. I’m sure teenagers these days have found their own way to dapple in these same vices, but I still can’t help but feel sad that the chalet culture is dying out. It’s almost like seeing a part of my childhood slowly disappearing. I’m aware that in chalets, <a href=" scandals and drug orgies thrived. But for me, it was simply a place where I had significant moments of prepubescent growth and new adventures. Unlike Tamagotchis and MSN, chalets were more than just a way to connect and have fun. It was where we learnt to define our own moral grounds and really grew up. (Header image credit: mkvlln voto) Also read, Glo-Up Or Fade-Out: 8 Millennials Share Their Life Experiences In The Past 10 Years

Remember when Ninja Warrior and Wipe Out were your favourite shows? I was always obsessed with how fun the entire obstacle course looked. Seeing contestants in crazy costumes was definitely a bonus. It was basically a playground for adults. When I first knew about the Battle Bay Extreme (BBE) that's happening at Marina Regatta this year, my inner child was awoken. My favourite television series is being recreated and brought to life on our own home ground. However, my excitement was short lived. Despite my adamant objection, my bosses assumed I was expressing interest in trying the course - all because I found these obstacle courses cool. I was literally sabo-ed as tribute to conquer Singapore’s equivalent of Ninja Warrior – Battle Bay Extreme (BBE). The most extreme thing I’ve ever done during my time on Earth was finish half a bottle of whisky at 15 years old, but as a measly intern, it had to be me. (Lol jk, I love my job.) I was sent to TripleFit Singapore, where I met with Coach Faz to train for the obstacle course ahead of time. It’ll be an interesting article, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

"Are you ready?"

When Coach Faz asked if I was ready, I nodded. If only he (and my bosses) knew that I was only mentally prepared. And if only they knew I almost failed my NAPFA test 5 years ago. Even then, I was way more prepared for NAPFA than this training with Faz. For a moment, I considered feigning a stomachache, but I remembered I needed my job. We started with what was supposed to be a simple warm-up/cardio session, but by the end of it I was breathless, swaying, and had slight tunnel vision. I could see Faz looking concerned at whether I could keep up. He also had a look of satisfaction – this trainer was determined not to short change me of the ‘full experience’. I knew I wasn’t going to get any sympathy. Then again, what did I expect from a man with biceps the size of my thighs; how could he understand what weakness meant?

Once I caught my breath, Faz ran me through various exercises in preparation for level 2 of BBE’s obstacle course. We started with the 4-foot hurdle and a 6-foot wall. As a self-proclaimed tiny person, I have climbed many walls and jumped high enough to reach the top shelf at supermarkets. The approximately 1.2m high hurdle and 1.8m wall had nothing on me. In fact, my 1.55m stature was also beneficial for the Crawl Under. The actual set up is a little higher and wider, but Faz lives by the saying, “prepare for the worst”. I wiggled through the mini metal hurdles like a pro – it was a wiggle I dare say Jason Derulo would be proud of.

I think the periodic sprints for the last bus on Friday nights seemed to have helped with my fitness levels. That was the only reason I had aced the stations thus far. A minute later I realised that I had spoken too soon. The easy part had just ended, and we were now entering obstacle course hell. Sure, I could have thrown in the towel but I was already too invested to quit. Also, I was worried about the potential wrath awaiting me in the office. The next 3 exercises required upper body strength which I lack. In fact, what Faz calls a triceps, I affectionately call the UADD (under arm dingle dangle). A few rounds on the Monkey Bars wore me out but it was the Farmer Walk (24kg) that would prove to be near impossible. My attempts to convince Faz that 24kg should be split between both arms were futile. It was apparent that Faz was not going to let me have my way – as always, he reminds me to prepare for the worst. I rolled my eyes.

I waddled back and forth, carrying 18kg on each side (he settled because I literally couldn’t lift 24kg with 1 arm). Every time I finished a lap, he told me to go “one last time” – lies. One water break later, I was back at it again. Sweat dripping, arms trembling and a head full of curse words – the Dips Walk was my biggest challenge. If this was the real obstacle course, I would have tapped out right there. This was my biggest failure of the day and Faz’s biggest disappointment. Clearly he was as emotionally invested in this challenge as I was.

I was told with much certainty by Faz that the Tyre Flip was simple, but I doubted it. Even though TripleFit only had a 60kg tyre which is 40kg lighter than the actual one in Battle Bay Extreme, it was still much bigger and heavier than me. In fact, I could live comfortably in its large hollow centre – a safe place where I would be spared from the searing muscle aches from the countless obstacles. Though hopelessness and despair had already set in, I took a strong stand against the dreaded tyre. Much to my surprise, the Tyre Flip was one of the easiest things I did that day. In this case, size really doesn’t matter, technique is all you need.

The last task of the day wasn’t as easy, but it satisfied my morbid sense of humour. The Sandbag Throw felt like a scene from Crime Watch considering that 25kg is probably equivalent to an 8-year-old’s deadweight (don’t ask me how I know). Now my friends know they can count on me to help them get away with murder – Annalise Keating would be proud. In fact, Faz looked quite proud too. “The police are coming, get rid of the body,” I thought to myself as I hauled the sandbag over my shoulder again. My imagination spurring my aching muscles on.

Getting rid of 5 carcasses was a great way to end this workout.

Would I survive the actual course at Marina Regatta?

Thanks to Faz, I am well and truly prepared for the worst. As a chronically unfit person, I wouldn’t survive level 2 of Battle Bay Extreme, but the Level 1 Battle Bay water course shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t have to wait for your bosses to force you into it, you can find out more about Battle Bay Extreme here. Online registrations for Battle Bay Extreme closes on 16 May but don’t worry if you miss it because you can still sign up on the spot during event days! To my fellow unfit homo sapiens, there are many activities that aren’t as physically demanding at <a href=" Marina Regatta; including sustainability and wellness workshops, as well as free yoga classes. The <a href=" Marina Regatta is happening on 26-27 May & 2-3 June at the Promontory@Marina Bay. My aching body and this post are brought to you by DBS and TripleFit. *Faz is actually a really nice guy.

For something that’s reputably fluid, out of the box and slightly out of control, Singapore’s art scene is an oxymoron. Ask any Singaporean artist and they will concur that their creativity is limited to what our government permits. Art isn’t just something that’s easy on the eyes, it is an emotive piece of work. While aesthetics is a point of concern, it is more important that the art stirs up feelings, provoke thought and spark dialogue among its audience. I got a chance to chat with a local youth theatre company, The Second Breakfast Company (2BCo) and was granted access into an almost whimsical world of theatre arts. They shared with me the pain of striking a balance between dreams and reality. Creatives like them are always balancing on the thin line between their artistic direction and the government’s ideals. As an artistic director at 2BCo, Adeeb admits that it is challenging to uphold an artist’s values when the authorities deem that certain topics are too sensitive for the public. However, if one were to censor their script to suit the government's values, it would be muting the messages that really matter. Still visibly disappointed, 2BCo opened up about their unfortunate experience with the authorities last year. It was regarding their play, Lemmings. It explores archetypal religious conflicts through arguments between a staunch Christian girl and a Cynic boy. Their opening night coincided with the investigations of City Harvest’s embezzling scandal. Even though they submitted the applications on time, the IMDA did not grant them the license until 2 days before opening night. As such the team couldn’t execute their marketing effectively or apply for grants. Although they didn't want to assume the worse, it was hard not to draw conclusions: The government was afraid of how Singaporeans would react. It is possible that 2BCo's case is merely bad timing. However, they aren't the only ones facing this inconvenience. I recall how the previous director of Singapore’s International Festival of Arts (Sifa), Ong Keng Sen, expressed his disappointment with strict censorship regulations. There were many thoughtful and provoking pieces that were altered because it was seen as a potential threat to our community. Just like Ong Keng Sen, many of our local artists push forward with little effect; it's like being stuck in a waltz with the government. They are moving but only within the same space. The number of performances has increased and more has been invested to develop the arts. However, there will never be true progress if the arts is not allowed to act without political influences. I was ready to convict the government guilty of murdering the arts, but 2^nd Artistic Director of 2BCo, Mark, reminded me that “if authorities were to allow everything, nothing will get hate.” The intention of arts is to spark a discussion and challenge the audience through offering an alternate perspective. Without stereotypes and a standard narrative set by the state, there will be no boundaries to push. Creatives aren’t trouble makers but going against the grain is an essential part of the arts.

Ultimately, censorship in Singapore is a result of our inability to agree-to-disagree. When we decide that we are for or against a cause, are we able to listen to an opposing view without getting defensive and being offensive? If we pledge ourselves as one united people regardless of race, language and religion, we cannot fear our differences. Our multi-racial and multi-ethnic demographic guarantees a myriad of differing voices. Under-representing opinions that doesn’t support the government’s narrative is only going to cause a greater divide.

It’s Not Just Ah Gong’s Fault

Blaming the government for a lacklustre art culture is almost a birthright. But upon learning about the years of preparation that leads up to a 1-hour performance on stage, guilt began to descend upon me. I have never watched a local theatre production or dance recital. As a local, I have failed to support the local arts. In a battle against my guilty conscience, I comforted myself with the thought that I had supported local artists through festivals like Light to Night. This year, among fellow locals and tourists, I flocked to National Gallery Singapore. I played with the stomp pads, admired the lights, and updated my Insta-stories accordingly. I did my part, I assured myself. Seasonal art festivals aside, the ArtScience Museum and the National Gallery Singapore  have also become a common spot for my friends and I. The interactive exhibitions are great for photos and an even better distraction for awkward first dates. Then again, I knew nothing about the artist’s interpretation. Photos prove my presence at the museums, but I have no recollection of the displays beyond visual aesthetics. I knew nothing about the meaning behind the art installations. In all honesty, visiting museums and attending art festivals had nothing to do with appreciating the arts. I was more absorbed in the fun and Insta-worthy aspects of the interactive exhibits.

Take for example the recent iLight festival. Passage was one of the more popular exhibits. It looked beautiful in photos with the bokeh effect. Little do many of us know that Passage is an impression of the enigmatic moment between life and death (the artist is also not Singaporean). I only just found out myself. Taking a photo with an artist’s work is essentially a compliment. But by focusing only on beauty and interaction, the display has ceased to be art; it is just meaningless street decor.

The Hero Of Our Arts Scene

Recently, Lasalle produced a theatre performance titled The Insiders. It is based on an interview with 21 lesbians. On opening night, the seats were filled with art practitioners, which is good, but not great. As the 2BCo team explained, “the people who should be watching it are other Singaporeans who are still in the closet, people who are trying to discover themselves.” There is a gap between the arts and their target audience because of the red tape involved in marketing an R-rated performance. Then again, even if the government were to give the go-ahead for such topics, are we willing to participate in the conversations? The problem with our local arts scene isn’t the arts itself but the audience, us. Maybe we’re just as uncomfortable as the government when it comes to ‘taboo’ topics. Personally, the thought of sitting through a performance on homosexuality still causes some discomfort; but I believe challenging myself is part of the art appreciation process. I left the chat with 2BCo with a mental note to watch a local theatre production some time soon. I also reminded myself to ponder over the works of art that I take photos of in the future. Much like overprotective parents, the government’s strict control on arts is understandable. Their regulations stem from a fear of disrupting the peace and stability within our country. I know the authorities function just like any other company: an institute with an agenda. Since they fund the arts, it is their right to ensure their purpose is fulfilled – even if it's propaganda. But I hope that one day, the authorities will see that discussing sensitive topics can only help us mature as Singaporeans. As a Singaporean, I also hope we can talk about our differing opinions. What we don't address now is only going to come back and haunt us later. So, does anyone want to watch 2BCo’s upcoming play with me? Also read, In Defense Of My Arts Degree: Why The Arts Are Absolutely Essential.

This post is not sponsored. 

According to Wikipedia, millennials are vaguely defined as those born between 1980 to the early 2000’s. Our generation is mostly marked by technology savviness and a lifestyle built around various social media platforms. Our generation is also characterised as a little lost and confused. I don’t deny it. Most of us rarely have any concrete plans for our future. We’re constantly hovering between trying to make ends meet and living it up without really getting to where we want. To the the baby boomers or the generation before them, we are the strawberry babies who are entitled, inconsiderate, too liberal and constantly glued to our phones. However, if you stop to think about it, the frustration and hate directed at this generation stems from a fear of change. The Singaporean millennials represent yet another impending wave of transformation. We are a visual icon of the discomfort that comes with change. Our parents and grandparents have experienced the transformation of our little red dot in a short span of 50 years. They can appreciate our city skyline better; but they are also constantly living in reverie. Their kampongs, homes, shop houses and food have either changed beyond recognition or have simply disappeared. Already Singapore has evolved beyond recognition, it is only natural for our predecessors to feel uncertain about another bout of change. We talk about the millennials having social media as the ultimate tool but we never learnt about it in schools. Computers and codes are the core of our generation, yet writing and counting is the main focus in our curriculum. When millennials push for an overhaul on our school system, Singapore worries about compromising the quality of education. However, millennials have suffered from the disparity in our syllabus and the working world. Changing the curriculum to accommodate relevant topics like basic financial literacy, presentation skills and computer knowledge (beyond the basic use of Microsoft excel) is not a compromise; it’s an improvement from whatever we have now. On top of the education system, millennials have been increasingly involved with matters of the state. Many of our parents and grandparents found comfort in PAP’s leadership. They had blind faith in the government because they trusted Lee Kuan Yew. Many believe that since it has worked so far, why fix something that isn’t broken? With Lee Kuan Yew gone, millennials don’t have the luxury of being passive. The new generation of ministers are a blind bet but we know that new leadership is also an opportunity to address our concerns. Our future in Singapore is at stake and we’re not afraid to talk about it. With the power of social media which grants us an unfiltered voice to challenge the status quo. Our dissatisfaction and suggestions are no longer confined to wet market gossip or meet the people sessions. Equipped with an ability to transform our grievances into Facebook statuses, we don’t need a middle man to talk to our government. Social media is characteristically millennial, but let’s not forget the societal changes we go through. Growing up alongside the pink dot movement, most of us have friends or acquaintances with a different sexual preference. This is the era where homosexuals have a voice. It is also during our time that a safe zone for victims of sexual assault was established. Now they can seek help and support on various platforms regardless of what they were wearing. While we pursue gay rights and campaign for mental health awareness, we come across too liberal and unconcerned with what’s ‘right’. We are accused of having a faulty moral compass. On the contrary, millennials have strong sense right and wrong, but we abide by our own system of values. It is no longer okay to laugh at a limp wrist boy or a girl with a buzz cut. You shouldn’t tell someone who is depressed, “that they just need some rest.” Gone are the days where it’s acceptable to scold a sexual assault victim for dressing promiscuously. Societal norms have evolved just as we’ve aged. Kindness and good deeds were the ultimate point of enlightenment when we were kids, but inclusivity and acceptance form the new moral high ground. Of course it’s a struggle for our elders to accept this new mind set.

In The Years To Come

Our fight for an evolved Singapore will continue to warrant dirty looks from the generations before, but I’m confident in what we’re doing. I can only hope it amounts to something – just as how the baby boomers gave us a clean and modern country to live in. As the butt of everyone’s critics and jokes, we must not subject generation Z to the same fate. Let's stop the generational hatred. No more mocking our juniors for having less of a childhood because of their tablets. We must not fear the change that comes with the upcoming generation of youths. We must be willing to lend them the support when it’s their turn to lead the nation. I am a proud millennial. Are you? Also read, The Silence Of Oppression – Why The Right To Protest Is Essential In Singapore

Were you drunk? What were you wearing? Why didn’t you fight back? Why did you post your story online instead of reporting it to the police? The commotion that follows the sharing of sexual assault stories makes people question the victim's intention – is it the attention you’re looking for? People who ask these questions often assume that sexual assault victims have control over the situation. They assume that the victim could have done something more to protect him or herself. We grew up believing that the good will be rewarded and that the bad would suffer so it is hard to accept that a completely innocent party could have such a terrible thing befall them. However, rape and molest is more than just unwanted sex or an unwanted touch, they are a form of social violence. Sexual assault violates the most private aspect of a person and victims are often rendered helpless, stripped of control. I would know because I’ve been there.

Sexually Assaulted … By A Friend

“Eh, my friend finds you cute. Can give your number?” Maybe I was less apprehensive and cautious back then. I hesitated but the typical line that followed was enough to tip me over the edge – “just make friends only la.” The 13-year-old me didn’t pick up on the red flags that came with being called ‘cute’. How naive. I should have known better, he wanted more than friendship. I turned him down, but we continued to text. When we met up, we were mostly in big groups and always in public. Maybe being in the friend zone was his trigger, maybe it was the way I rejected him. It started with an urgent message. “Can meet at the lab? Urgent.” Isaac was leaning against the pillar and staring into space when I reached. I stood next to him panting, trying to catch my breath. I thought he would open up about his family problems like he normally does, but I was greeted with silence. As I waited for him to find the strength to talk about what happened, we surveyed the school. Suddenly, I felt a tight grip on my wrist. The cold pillar against my back was a stark contrast against Isaac’s body – blood rushing through his veins, he was warm and throbbing as he forced himself on me. I clenched my teeth but I felt his tongue against my gums and his teeth against my lips. Struggling beneath his weight, I tried to look away, to shrug him off, but he made his size and strength known. I slumped my shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut in surrender. Then he finally released his grip. It was going to stop. He was going to stop and apologise. But he didn’t.  His hands found their way under my skirt, brushing against my inner thighs and moving underneath my safety shorts to more private areas.  I froze. Then the bell rang, signifying the end of my break. I had to go back to class but Isaac wasn’t ready to let me go. I spit into his mouth and tried pushing him a bit harder. “Please. I need to go back to class.” Once I pulled myself together, I shuffled back to my classroom. A huge wave of red crashed over me. Why didn’t I try to kick him? Why did I spend so much time with him? What was wrong with me? Normally, I wouldn’t blame the victim in such situations, but now that I am the victim in question, it’s different. After that incident, I isolated myself from all my friends. How could I trust anyone? It wasn’t long before I spiralled into depression. My teachers picked up on the sudden change in my behaviour and my self-mutilation habits landed me in weekly sessions with the counsellor. People tell me I am so damn lucky that it wasn't rape, that my sadness and mental illness was merely my over-thinking. But I won't consider being pinned against the wall and felt up by a trusted friend as 'lucky'. I wasn’t raped but I was equally betrayed and humiliated. He made me dirty. No amount of soap and prayer could erase this stain.

Opening Up

I had promised myself that I'll take this secret to my grave. I knew how these things unfolded. A twist of words could turn me into a harlot. I could easily be labelled a dramatic bitch who ruined Isaac’s life with a jail sentence. My determination to keep mum was met with equal strength from my counsellor. She peeled back my layers and I eventually spilt the dirty secret. With every word I spoke, I felt a little lighter, a little better. The sense of relief was short lived; the end of my story was only the beginning of a chain reaction I wasn’t ready for. My counsellor told the discipline master and he told my parents. Then, the school told the police.

Facing My Parents

I was terrified about how my mother would react. However, my parents didn’t probe me further. In fact, they didn’t say anything at all. Coming from a typical Asian home, we never even discussed kissing. Naturally we wouldn't talk about my ordeal either. I could only guess what their silence meant. Am I lesser of a daughter in their eyes or were they disappointed in me? Did they feel like they failed to protect me? This uncertainty of not knowing how my parents would react prevented me from reporting the incident. I didn't want to disappoint my parents. I didn't want to risk losing their love and support because I had already lost so much of myself. When I have children, I’ll establish a safe space to talk about all aspects of sex. I’ll start by discussing first kisses, relationships and other forms physical intimacy at home. I wouldn’t avoid the topic of sex like it’s an unnatural and uncommon occurrence; if they ever encounter a sexual assault, they'll know they can count on me. When the nation can talk about sex without feeling embarrassed or ashamed, we can talk about rape and molestation without fear.

Held for Questioning

The school was obligated to report the crime but I was reminded that I had a choice in pursuing this matter legally. I chose not to. Even though I was attacked and degraded, it didn’t feel like I was worth defending. I let Isaac go because he had taken something that was of little value to me. Being 13, I didn’t understand the importance of self-love enough to treasure myself and my body. I wanted to put the incident behind me as soon as I could but a few days later, my principal asked to see me after school.

“You’re not the only girl.”

That one line changed my mind. I didn’t see a need to seek justice for what I went through but God forbid he does it to another girl. I just wanted to move on but how could I let him get away with what he did to other girls? It’s difficult to love yourself when you’ve been violated, but I didn’t want anyone else to suffer, hence I agreed to a further investigation. I made 3 separate trips to the police station where they confined me to a small room with a different police woman each time. I had to repeat what happened 3 times to strangers. Each time brought that nightmare back to life and each time felt as invasive as the actual incident. The last questioning session lasted for 2 hours. It was so emotionally tiring by then. My brief description couldn’t satisfy them. When I left out details on purpose, they’d ask questions to fill up the gaps. It was like reliving the experience over and over again.

Life After the Nightmare

People jeer at girls who share their #MeToo stories on social media. They say it's a shout for attention and that girls should just report it to the police instead. Fellow survivors of sexual assault, don't let these people shake your ground. They don't understand how reporting your attack doesn't guarantee justice; many perpetrators just like Isaac only get away with a warning. Even if you were willing to pursue the case, your anxiety will make it impossible to talk about the 15-minute attack for 2 hours in a confined room. These people who call you attention whores don't understand how hard it was to believe it wasn't your fault; by the time you found courage to fight your attacker in court, the incident would have been too long ago to make a case out of it. It's just so much easier to be honest with strangers online than with our kin and kith. Writing this article was easier than hearing my discipline master tell my mother what happened to me. For some of us, sharing the nightmare in a tweet or Instagram post is the only form of justice we will ever get. Keep sharing your stories of survival because it's also how we can empower each other – those who suffered from sexual abuse and those who might suffer the same fate in the future. This month will mark the 4^th year since it happened. It took me a long time to arrive at this conclusion: Not having the strength to fight back isn’t an excuse for someone to attack me. Being friends with him wasn’t an opportunity to touch me. To whoever has been violated, I hope you know that you've already survived the worst. Healing is the easier part.

STORY IS ADAPTED FROM AN ORIGINAL RECOUNT SHARED TO US.

Also read, I Bared It All For You But It Was Barely Love

Among the trending news of sexual harassment, victim blaming, and politics, Naomi Neo has also gotten engaged and married. Weddings are usually a congratulatory affair, but many people were more concerned that Naomi's marriage might be a mistake – after all she's only 22. Even before announcing her pregnancy, “confirm shotgun” were the first thoughts many had upon watching her YouTube videos. Of course the hasty timeline and her wedding dress was a cause for suspicion; but pregnant or not, people would still shame her for being too young to settle down. 50 years ago, it would have been the opposite – getting married at 16 was a norm and those who weren’t married by 25 were shamed. I guess we have higher education and the government’s family planning campaign to thank for this reversal.

Growing up, we were warned not to get into a relationship lest it affects our studies. Most of us teens don’t heed this advice, but we subconsciously buy into the teaching that success and love is mutually exclusive. Anyone who tries to prove this theory wrong is doomed for failure and expected to suffer a painful lesson in divorce. Those who tie the knot too early are labelled as people who lack ambition, wit, self-control, or maturity. We believe only those who abstain from young love can truly find success in life. After all, most teens and young adults are still discovering themselves. We can’t be sure about the person we’re marrying when we aren’t even sure of who we are. Although, 50-year-olds can be equally lost and confused – It’s called a mid-life crisis. Are we suppose to keep marriage on hold until that passes?

“I can afford it and having children was something I wanted to check off my list,” Germaine casually replied when I asked her why she married fresh out of law school instead of working first. This 24-year-old is a mother of two and none were born out of wedlock. That still didn’t stop friends and relatives from gossiping initially.

“You’ll regret it next time.”

“You’re missing out on life.”

 “You’re wasting your youth!”

These are the ‘words of wisdom’ you hear as a young newly wed. Germaine took it in her stride, but my ex-colleague, Ryan, and his wife struggled. Ryan was often forced to defend the ring on his finger whenever he went for social gatherings. Having to explain his choice to marry at 22 caused more anxiety than joy. To avoid the repetitive conversation with strangers, the couple has since decided to keep their rings at home. While many are against marrying marrying young, it seems like it is the most practical option for Singaporeans. There is a 3 to 5 year wait between applying for a BTO and actually getting it. Also, a couple gets a larger grant if the collective income between the two of them is less than $2,500 a month. This is normally possible only if one party is working. However, most still prefer to wait till their late twenties or early thirties before they wed.

Personally, I have always wanted to marry only after building up my career and exploring the world. No matter how serious I was in my previous relationships, marriage was too far in the future to warrant a conversation. Admittedly, marrying young might make me feel a little FOMO. I don’t want to miss out on dinners and spontaneous vacations because of a mortgage loan. Marriage also means being filial to another set of parents – even if I love them, there’s going to be twice the nagging and twice the superstitions to adhere to. So if majority of my friends are saving marriage for later, so will I. Except, I met ‘the one’ last year. He happens to be 6 years older than me and marrying young is definitely in my cards now. I confronted my anxiety about being wifed before 25, stripping the feeling down to its source. The problem is this: when I wed, I will be 'that girl'. The girl who is impulsive, the girl who lacks wisdom, the girl who doesn’t know better, the girl who "confirm pregnant". Or I will stand accused of being a gold digger, settling early for his money. And even though I am happily married, I will bear my wedding ring like a mark of shame.

Are We Just Reckless And Naive?

Getting married isn't a decision made overnight. No matter how young the couple is, a lot of thought would have been put into their future: their first home, the wedding preparation, and family planning. Sometimes, the conclusion derived from discussions and all that 'thought' is simply to marry young. Even with shotgun marriages, there is always an option of aborting the baby or giving it up for adoption. Tying the knot is always a choice and it's not because we don't know any better. (Header image source: @naomineo_)

When we were still children, my sister and I would conjure up evening gowns from blankets, crowns from paper, and diamonds from ring pops, but no matter how extravagant our costumes were, nothing could top being in our mother’s heels. There’s just something about that ‘click clock, click clock’ that really makes a young kindergartener feel like a confident business woman, super model, or a classy mother. No matter the age, high heels continue to be an accessory that empowers women at every phase of their life. Even the heel-haters break out a pair of platforms for special occasions like job interviews or weddings. High heels are like the booze at parties and they deserve the honour of attending your most important events. Most of you are probably wondering if my raging passion for heels stems from the fact that I am really short, which I am, but the strong feels for heels isn’t exclusive to petite girls. Even my model-height girlfriends can't help feeling disappointed when they are stripped off their rights to wear heels around (insecure) shorter boys. What exactly is it about these quintessentially feminine shoes that makes us feel so damn good?

Historical Progression

Heels began with men and a practical purpose to fulfil – horse riding. The little nook that formed between the heel and sole of the shoes hooked onto the stirrup for more stability. Since only the upper class could afford horses, heels were also associated with class and stature. Back in those days, women weren't humans, they were but an accessory to their male counterparts. Hence it was only right that females wore heels to represent their fathers/husbands/sons wealth. Of course it wasn't right for both genders to wear the same type of shoes. The unisex alterations meant that men kept the androgynous wedge while women had feeble looking stalks. Later on, men ditched heels completely as flat shoes were simply more convenient for the working politicians and business men. Women kept the stalks as it was argued that we could afford to waddle around slowly and painfully since we didn't have to do anything.

Keeping this piece of history in mind, going about my modern day job in stilettos feels like a big F U to the patriarch. Who said heels were too frivolous for everyday use? I’ve chased down buses in 4 inch high stalks, danced the night away in 5 inch high heels and executed events in the same pair of killer shoes. If you're not convinced, watch how Bryce Dallas Howard outran dinosaurs in Jurassic World with her stiletto pumps. It’s as if we worked the impracticality of uncomfortable footwear in our favour, showing off our ability to look gorgeously fierce without compromising on productivity and efficiency.

Sexy As Hell

When I entered my teenage phase plagued with puberty, spotted with acne, and sprouting hair in all the weird places, heels gave me a momentary dose of confidence. As my body learnt to accommodate the additional 4 inches under my feet, my hips swayed, my posture improved and so did my self-esteem.

I feel like an absolute stunner in stilettos, and this <a href=" it is more than just a personal opinion – heels make a woman more attractive. These killer shoes accentuate the sex-specific aspects of the female walk and engages the muscles for a perkier looking bum. As a teen back then, heels helped me feel more like a woman than a girl stuck between phases.

No Pain No Gain

We normally call women who value beauty over comfort ‘vain’ without acknowledging the effort that goes behind looking good. While we may be vain, we’re tough too. When I decide to pair my outfit with a pair of heels, I commit to it for the rest of the day – from morning till night, through flights of stairs and uneven roads. Even when it hurts, I grit my teeth and strut on. I may need rest, but I will never kick it off and surrender. If I had the misfortune of having a horrible day, I can relish in the fact that I looked my best despite the circumstances. In spite of the challenges I failed to overcome that day, I can find comfort in the sense of accomplishment for having lasted the whole day in heels without complaining. These killer kicks are encouraging and empowering, you can’t tell me otherwise. Also read, To The Women Who Are Bold, Sassy And Unapologetic About It.

Back in November 2017, Singapore hosted her first international plus size pageant, Miss Top of the World (TOTW) Plus Size. While it was glorified as a great way to challenge the Asian beauty ideal, it didn't sit quite right with me. Perhaps it was ironic that a contest so discriminatory and shallow could bring about an impact for body positivity. In Miss Universe, contestants catwalk down the stage to the beat of a looped fanfare jingle and a 2-line introduction of themselves. From boring resume credentials to having performed CPR on a choking puppy, does anyone actually remember what was said about these girls? I know I am not the only one too mesmerised by long legs, charismatic smiles, and their magical ability to twirl in killer heels – the real reason we watch Miss Universe. The introductions could have been replaced with better music and it wouldn’t have made much of an impact, pageants will still be a superficial competition. Replacing the mass of long-legged beauties with chubbier ladies doesn't make a difference either. Pageants are still an exclusive competition with no diversity – it's strictly no chub rubs in Miss Universe and no visible hip bones in Miss TOTW Plus Size. Besides, young girls who value being skinny won't know how to appreciate a beauty pageant that celebrates a body type that's different from their ideal and people who fat shame won’t voluntarily watch plus size women catwalk. TOTW Plus Size celebrates the bigger women who have been discriminated all their lives and it enables them to envision a future that is both heavy and happy. However, portraying only a specific type of women is the fundamental flaw of pageantry. If pageants are meant to prove that girls who don't fit the cookie-cutter mould are beautiful, we should have one for the short girls, one for the handicapped girls, one for the acne-scarred girls, one for the hairy girls, one for the flat-chested girls, and so on. Ultimately, plus size pageants prove that we have lost our way in the body positivity movement. An exclusive representation does not equate to an inclusive culture. Our perception of beauty is nature and nurture. While we are attracted to a few common features that our brain registers as genetically sound, our preferences for looks are still uniquely shaped by our culture and upbringing. Even my close girlfriends and I have differing tastes in men – according to them, none of the guys I’ve dated were handsome. No matter how tight we are, the four of us have always had a different idea on who we found visually appealing. Trying to convince each other otherwise would merely be trying to impose one's opinion of beauty on everyone else. Despite our varying beauty standards, my clique and our plus ones get along because what matters more is how kindly these boys treat my breasties and vice versa. This should be the standard we hold everyone accountable to: how well we treat each other and not just how good we look. Short or tall, fat or skinny, these are polarising traits that one will always find more aesthetically pleasing than the other. What matters is that we give everyone a chance to show their personality and we treat them with the same respect, regardless of how they look. Hopefully, we can create a world that is fun even for the ugly people. Yeah, I said ugly. We say that “everyone is beautiful” in an attempt to comfort those with low self-esteem or those who feel ugly because society expects it of us. While we go around babbling those words, I can't help but feel like we’ve butchered the original meaning by leaving out the other half of the quote. The saying, “everyone is beautiful in their own way,” evolved from, “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” Everyone has a different opinion on beauty. Essentially, that comforting line means that everyone perceives beauty differently. There is someone out there who will think you are beautiful. It may not be the person you like or the people around you but it could be someone else. It could even be you. You are the ultimate beholder of what you see in the mirror, what you perceive yourself to be. Telling every girl that they're beautiful, like pageants do, breeds confidence that is rooted in exterior beauty. The truth is, not every girl will be valued for the way she looks. Some will be adored for their personality, wit, creativity, or smarts. Convincing everyone that they look beautiful is idealistic but if we’re aiming for the moon, we might as well try to create a kind world instead of a ‘beautiful’ one – a kind world that values what lies beyond fleeting beauty. Also read, “I Kept Hearing Voices Of People Criticising Me, And I Could No Longer Tell What Was Real”.

Just like any other post on Facebook or Instagram, everyone is free to express their own views, thoughts and opinions. However, one has to understand that one's two cents worth may not be accepted by everyone else. Clearly, when travel blogger, A Girl and A Bald Traveller, complained about Singaporeans being conformists, Instagram whores, and culturally ignorant, the nation did not take it so well. The original blog post has since been removed by the author, but we managed to retrieve a copy of it which you can read here. TL;DR: Unlike himself, the writer thinks Singaporeans aren’t well-travelled enough; we only visit mainstream places because we think 'visiting India or Bangladesh means possibly getting raped' and 'everyone in Africa has aids'. Singaporeans are not as sophisticated or culturally diverse as the writer because we choose to visit 'typical' Instagrammable places like Niagara falls and Eiffel Tower, and only because it's popular on Instagram. When Singaporeans heard the news of our passport being one of the most powerful, we “lord it around on Facebook groups congratulating each other how lucky we are that our passport is so impressive”. And yet “how many Singaporeans have made use of their ‘powerful passport’ to visit any of these 180 countries?” While the duo has visited various African and European countries, Singaporeans wield our Singapore passport like an average mortal swings the Thor hammer – a useless weapon in our hands. So why do we still deserve to celebrate our passport?

Having A Powerful Passport

The Singapore passport represents something bigger than travelling. Our visa-free escapades don't just enable us to see the world, but also the world to see us ­– our passport boasts the nation’s progress and political stability, which are definitely worth celebrating. It is the ability to whip this little red book out in a duty-free shop and command some form of respect simply because we are Singaporeans.

According to the duo, those who visit Bangkok and Johor aren’t maximising the passport’s full power because everyone else can easily access these places. Do you know that China grants visa-free travel for ordinary passports to very limited countries including Singapore? Or that Bangkok has an <a href=" immigration system exclusive to Hong Kong and Singapore passport holders? These are but a few perks that come with having a powerful passport. Perks that 'mainstream people' like me can actually enjoy. The power of Singapore’s passport is ever-present within Asia, yet because countries in Asia are considered mainstream and easily accessible to The Girl and A Bald Traveller, they have declared those to be of a lesser travelling experience.

I still stand by those Asian states and countries. Bangkok, JB, Malacca, and Perth are still my go-to places for a quick getaway because of the sense of familiarity I get even while in a foreign place. I fall into the ‘typical Singaporean’ template that The Girl and A Bald Traveller has thoughtfully conjured, except it is not my fear of ‘black’ people or of possible death that deters me from visiting Africa, India, or any lesser-known places mentioned by them. The ‘boring places’ I go to offer what I look for in my holiday and the exotic ones don't. A ticket out of Singapore has always been a chance for me to run from responsibilities and recharge. I've been on holidays that left me feeling more drained than rested. The tedious research, booking of flight transfers, packed schedules, and navigating around a foreign place stresses me out more than work itself. So, escaping into somewhere more familiar (or mainstream) is exactly what I need.

Prostituting Ourselves To Instagram

If travelling was about Instagram, wouldn't a popular feed be filled with pictures of places less travelled? Wouldn't those posted on the duo's site, photos of 'rare' and 'unique' places, garner more likes than a photo with Taiwan’s floating lanterns?

"Simply put. If it's not "Insta-worthy", it's not "Singa-worthy"."

Instagram isn’t just a platform to show off a lifestyle, it is also an informational platform. Before I visit a café, I check out their Instagram location tag to see their food, how the café environment is like, and what everyone else would recommend. It is an unbiased and collective opinion on the place. Before travelling to Taiwan, Bangkok, or JB, Instagram and Facebook help me get a rough idea of what I would like to eat, see, do, and even how to get there because of the photos and captions I see. Simply put. If it’s not insta-worthy, it’s not as easy to research on. An exotic country like Belarus and Ukraine will be a whole new experience to me, but getting there and planning my itinerary is not as easy as it is for the ‘boring countries’. Understanding their roads and deciding on my choice of transport is not as simple, especially for someone who is constantly getting lost even in Singapore.

The travel blogger has also admitted that most of the available resources for exotic travel are from sites owned by foreigners. Their blog can offer some help though (if you aren't put off by the writing style). Of course, I'd like to see the places that have been named in the article one day. As pointed out by the duo, I do agree that travelling and exploring a lesser-known place is a lot more inspiring. But at the moment, I’m not interested in investing brain juice on a vacation that is supposed to help me unwind. Living in Singapore is like a rat race – work is exhausting, school is stressful. Maybe just like me, most Singaporeans choose the 'mainstream countries' for vacations simply because it is easier to plan for and less stressful to visit.

If you can get past the triggering sarcasm and backhanded insults, The Girl and A Bald Traveler actually brought up really good points. And if you can ignore his arrogant remarks and sweeping statements, you might even find their blog a useful point of reference for those exotic countries you might visit in the future. But I'll just stick to my 'Instagram-worthy places' for now. Also read, Don’t Like To Travel? That’s Completely Fine. (Header Image Source: @eesonsnaps)