A Singaporean In Australia

Month 1

Month 2

Month 3

Milestone: Breaking Even

Month 4

Month 5
Month 6
Month 7
Milestone: Renting a House

Milestone: Landing a Permanent Job

I went to the backyard of the workshop to start the compressor first thing in the morning. Before I set my eyes on the cover, something else caught my eye. My eyes lit up immediately and dropped whatever I was doing.

I met a Jack Russel Terrier was at the most unlikely place. He was in the neighbouring plant. It was a pretty rough area but the owner of the dog brought him to work. He was prancing around the place like a site supervisor. I quickly tore my double gloves away and left them on the ground. Before long I was at the fence, that was the closest I could get. Patchy noticed me and approached me warily. I squatted down immediately and put my fingers through a gap of the chain-linked fence. Patchy inched closer and looked at me. I felt a connection between Patchy and Chocolate, as if Chocolate came to visit in another dog's body. Before long, Patchy came close enough to give my fingers a sniff and a couple of licks.

I stood up and jumped into a 'i wanna catch you' stance. Patchy reacted exactly the same as Chocolate did when he was a younger dog. He skipped around in mock fear but ended up in a position close to me with his front legs lowered, eyes fixed on me, ready for another dash. I repeated my action, Patchy did another round of prancing. The fence was the only obstacle preventing me from picking Patchy up and giving him a hug.

I never really got over losing my dog. It was impossible losing him to illness when he was perfectly fine before I left Singapore. He was still leaping full of zest a week before his death. When I ran through some photos of the past and saw 1 or 2 of his photographs, I closed the folder and stopped what I originally planned to do.

Patchy brightened up my gloomy Autumn morning within minutes. I worked 11 hours today, with the request from the boss to rush the production line. Compared to the 8 hour day work last week, time passed quickly today and I found myself not checking the time even once. The bad news would be I am going back to a 10 hour per day regiment. It is probably temporary because I am paid an 1.5x overtime penalty for that, so I don't see why the boss wants to incur these extra cost unless there is an absolute need to. The previous job was tough and prepared me enough to handle this one easily. The boss and colleagues seemed happy with what they see in me so far except for my forklift 'skills' which I gamely displayed today. It got better with practice, the whole thing felt more natural to me by the end of the day. I reckoned I would be driving like those pros in Pasir Panjang wholesale centre by year end. Ok, maybe next year end.

I'm turning in early tonight to clear the rest of my headache. Jen said it'll be 9 degree Celsius tonight so she prepared warm quilt for us. Anonymous commenter may be right. I've been almost constantly on high alert since I came here with something major happening every 2 months or so. Our lives so far have been anything but stable. I need to settle down and let the euphoria ease.

I realised why I had a bad day. I was sick all day and I didn't even know. I will rest. Will be better. Sharing with you my thoughts:

The Singaporean Parent

by asingaporeanson

When my child was conceived, I told the world

Be it a he or she, I'd love my child. 

Yes I did.

Before my child is born, I told the world

I just want my baby to be healthy,

Nothing else matters, I said.

When my child was born, I showed the world

My baby, the most adorable

I want to give my child the best, I said.

I read books, I played music, I recited poetry

Any day and every day

Train your child early, they said.

My child lagged her peers, oh dear

Rigorous tuition my child

There was no choice, I said.

My child scored more 'A's than the neighbour's child

I was proud and happy as can be

Money well spent, I said.

One failure in exams, one the child screwed up

Success is forgone, all the face went along

At my child, I was dismayed.

Long forgotten, what was most important

Once upon a time I said

Be it a he or she, I'd love my child

inspired by

It was a bad day, fortunately with a good ending. I couldn't put my finger to it. Nothing went particularly wrong but I didn't feel right at all the entire day. In fact, I felt dreadful the moment I woke till I stepped back into the house. My mind was away most of the day. I didn't even feel amused Manchester City won the English Premier League in a dramatic fashion, even though I took a few seconds to imagine the expression of my ex-colleague and Manchester City lifelong fan Patrick's face today at work.

Today, I was supposed to drive down to Rockingham, about 43km away from home. The weather reflected my mood or maybe, it affected my mood. The long drive both ways were gloomy and cloudy, though it didn't quite rain at all. Despite my first drive to Rockingham myself, taking an entire new road, I took it on zombie-like without GPS or referring to the map. Neither did I panic at crossings like I usually did at navigating through new places. Surprisingly I reached my destination on time without getting making a few wrong turns like I always did.

I was driving in the opposite direction of the morning traffic. It felt almost like those walking-dead movies where I was the only car going one direction while the rest of the world was driving on the opposite road away from where I was going to. Despite having adequate interrupted sleep, the back of my neck was sore, badly enough to cause a headache.. I have been suffering from chronic neck and shoulder pains for years. There were good and bad days, today was one of the bad ones.

I entered the wrong classroom for my forklift course, which my company sent me to complete. That wasn't something I always did and it was awkward to stand up and leave the class to search for the right one. These kind of short courses were not new to me. I had attended 3-4 of such things during my years in the construction industry in Singapore. I knew Australia being Australia would be an entirely different experience though and I was right. I cleared the theory portion of the course without too much problem though I have to admit it surprised me a bit. I might write something in detail about the course experience in future.

I had always been average. At times above, at times below but rarely the best or worst. Today I was the worst student in class and again, it felt awkward. I was struggling through the entire practical session. It woke me up slightly from my zombie-state but I didn't start performing like I normally would after the heart started pumping a little harder. With a little slice of fortune, I managed to do enough for the assessor to give me a pass. I really didn't relish facing my new employer with a red mark back at work the next day. Well to be honest, nobody fails such things but I did bad enough to have doubts. The lucky break didn't lift my spirits a single bit. I thanked the lecturer and told the guys 'ta' and drove home.

After a hot bath, I decided to put it all down and not pursue an impossible cause. The pain on the shoulders are heavy enough to bear. I'm tired.

Rahman told me he is a Hazara. That is a minority ethnic group which made up about 15% of the population in Afghanistan. That was what he thought but he was wrong. I did a search on the internet and found that his people only represented 9% of the population currently. Thousands of Hazara people had been killed over the years. [link]

According to Rahman, other than some factions of Pakistan hate the Hazaras. Worse, they are discriminated even in their own country. The majority ethnic groups Pastuns and Tajiks are not really fond of Hazaras mainly due to their ancestry and their religious beliefs - they are of a different sect of Islam. It is easy to recognise a Hazara apart from the rest because they look distinctively different. They are generally shorter, with smaller body frame. A percentage of them have smaller eyes of an East Asian. Their skin are generally fairer and the men seldom grow beards. There is also no stigma among the Hazara culture for women to work. Their difference in ancestry, culture, religious beliefs are reasons why they are discriminated in their own country, by their own countrymen. Their identifiable appearances make it easier for a witch hunt. According to the Hazara people, the rest of the country is attempting a genocide on the Hazaras and the government is turning a blind eye, if not supporting it. Farms and good land that once belonged to Hazara people were plundered, many of them were forced into slavery. Many of the free ones moved into the hills to live. Without good land for farming, life is considerably harder. By now, in Rahman's own words, "There isn't a safe corner in Afghanistan, especially for a Hazara.

I asked Rahman for his opinions on USA and Taliban. Not that I know much about it, I'm not well read into international affairs but I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth, biased or not. It isn't a new thing to question the motives of US to step into Afghanistan in the name of human rights. They call these people conspiracy theorists. Rahman's take was that the NATO alliance could wipe out Taliban forces without breaking a sweat if they wanted to. In fact, they probably did in so in 2001 after which forces of the united front stayed in Afghanistan citing peace restoration as their purpose.

What Rahman and many others of his countrymen could not understand was that the Taliban forces was right there and the foreign forces were just there as well. Once in every few days, these opposites forces would fire at each other. To Rahman, it was clear that US and their allies could crush the remaining Taliban forces without batting an eyelid if they wanted to but they didn't. For more than a decade, these forces remained in Afghanistan. According to the locals, these foreign forces were draining, plundering the country's resources behind the scenes instead. Even more strangely, locals spotted these alliance forces landing on Taliban territories in helicopters and supplying them with arms often. Then it was apparent to the locals that these foreign forces are ensuring Taliban's existence so that their existence in Afghanistan can be justified.

Again, I stress that I know next to nothing about this. I was never well-read in international politics. I would, though, like to give my take on it. If you get slapped by a shrew, you don't barge into her house, return 2 slaps and stay for a decade in the house to take charge of the family for a decade. I apologise if I sounded insensitive. After all, there are many deaths involved in the Sept 11 tragedy but let's not pretend that no innocent people died as the aftermath of the Afghanistan invasion.

The motives behind NATO forces continuing to station in someone's country are only known to themselves, or rather their leaders, as most of these soldiers are probably pawns who perform to their commanders' bidding. Every one out there, be it the united forces or the Afghanis or even the Taliban forces is someone's father, mother, brother, sister, son or daughter. Every one out there is flesh and bone and born of a mother. Rahman's story left me with a heavy heart.

On Mother's Day today, I whisper a silent prayer to no one in particular for my homeland, Singapore, to remain peaceful and safe.

I came across Albert's Einstein's riddle set during the 19th century. He said that 98% of the population would not be able to solve it. It seemed incredulous to me, especially where it was a riddle based on logic rather than intelligence. Giving Einstein the benefit of doubt (he's Einstein!), the analytical skills of the general population may have evolved over the decades. The ratio of population unable to solve his riddle may have significantly reduced by now.

That's my reasoning because I managed to solve the riddle (but I need paper and pen to do it) and I'm sure I'm not the 'top 2%' in intelligence. My take after trying out the riddle: It is pretty fun to work things out. I think anyone with some patience and quiet time should be able to solve it fairly easily. 

If you want to try it out, don't cheat. The information provided is enough to solve the riddle without the need for assumptions. Answer is all over the internet too. I searched for it only after I have my full answer. There is a slight sense of satisfaction getting each field correct.

Have fun.

"If our lives were not in danger, no Afghani would have risk his life."

Our conversation resumed this morning during work. The human smuggling trade is dark but huge. An Afghani will need to pay an agent between US$5,000 - $15,000 to get a boatman to smuggle them to Australian waters. No one is sure how much a boatman is paid but it has to be substantial enough for an Indonesian to take up the task. 

You can't really win as a boatman. At best, you get thrown into jail for a unknown length of term. At worse, you die. There are many ways to die taking up an assignment. Drowning is the most common one. Hunger is another. Even being murdered by angry refugees might be a possibility. Likely to be less sea-worthy than a boatman, any refugee faces a higher chance to die from respective causes than a boatman.

Rahman spent 14 days in the sea in a boat with 28 other Afghanis. They experienced 10 metres high waves during storms at night and grilling from the sun during the day. All of them had been warned that many of these sea ventures turned out fatal. Boats had been known to capsize with no survivors.  Yet thongs of refugees left their families and loved ones behind and tempted fate. Rahman revealed many grown men cried openly in fear during their voyage. It was hard to stay strong while the resolve of every single man around you was weakening by the day. Moreover, they brought along rations enough only to last 7 days, hardly enough for the length of time they spent in sea.

I asked Rahman how would his life turn out should he not get arrested by the Australian coast guards and handed over to the customs. He told me solemnly he would have been dead for sure. Even if they landed in Australian shores safely, there would be no chance of survival.

"There was nothing. Nothing at all out there. Nothing out in the sea, the islands and probably nothing at the shores," he told me. "We were glad to be arrested. In fact, we wanted to get arrested. That was the only way we will survive."

Rahman eventually spent 8 months learning English at his refugee camp. He told me he was in camp for 2-3 months yesterday. It didn't matter if the figures were dodgy. Rahman probably could not remember, or chose not to. I don't blame him. These dark days were not exactly moments anyone would like to reminisce and I could tell he is very forward looking now. He works as many hours as I did with my previous job, including 3 consecutive Saturdays already. I am working with him tomorrow. Overtime on a Saturday in my first week of work. Sounds like a familiar story doesn't it? The boss promised a 1.5x rate so I am not complaining. I needed money just like Rahman does.

"Do you know how much would a worker be paid in Singapore, doing what you are doing?" I asked Rahman casually.

"How much?"

"S$24." That was how much a worker was paid less than a year ago, when I was handling 2 dozens of them.

"An hour?" Rahman asked. That was probably close to how much he is being paid here in this job.

"Per day. 8 hours full," came my reply.

Rahman suddenly stopped his work and even turned off the motor of the chamfering machine he was operating. He turned to face me and asked in an almost deliberate slow manner, "Why?"

Without facing him, I shrugged and shot back, "That's a good question."

Not letting go, Rahman continued, "That's like Afghanistan!"

I couldn't help but gave a laugh. This time I looked up and faced him, "Do you know how much is a Big Mac in Singapore?"

One of my working partner in the workshop is Rahman. He was from Afghanistan. He didn't quite look that. Well ok, I admit I don't know how an Afghani normally look like. He has fair skin, brown hair and eyes. He looks younger than his 30 years of age. At first glance, he appeared caucasian, especially the way he speaks. Rahman speaks decent English with almost a slight Aussie slang. Sadly he can possibly speak better than me, only that he has limited vocabulary.

My first thoughts interacting with Rahman was how poor I am in my speech ability. To rub salt into the wound, I overheard Rahman speaking Bahasa Indonesia with Mrs D this morning. How does Rahman speak that language?

Rahman told me he has been in Australia for almost a year now. He misses his wife and child a lot and considered returning to his country to visit them. Indeed, now that he has a proper visa to stay and work in Australia, he can do so. Visa 866 is unheard of, to all Singaporeans researching about migrating to Australia. It is not a visa for the faint hearted. It isn't for Singaporeans even if anyone of you accept the challenge, maybe unless somebody calls in the tanks after a freak election result as promised some years ago.

Determination brought Rahman to Indonesia, where he stayed for a few months. The kind of determination we are referring to not Singapore level, way out of our league. Anyway, that was where he learnt the language. His linguistic abilities are sound, he picked up enough to be quite fluent in just a few months.

"You've got to learn because you've got to learn," he reasoned.

He seemed reluctant to reveal much but in a nutshell he found someone in Indonesia willing to take him to forbidden waters - with a good price of course. They did land in trouble as planned and was handed over to Australian customs. Then he was thrown into detention barracks in Christmas Island for another few months. There was a lapse in his story from here. His days as a refugee did end as we knew his application for Visa 866 went through. After that, his life seemed to have turn for the better after that.

When he first arrived in Perth, he worked as a pizza hand, earning A$20 bucks an hour. Shortly after, he switched to be a replenisher in the cold storage department in Spudshed for a higher wage of A$22 per hour. His job was to stack frozen food in the freezer shelves when these retail frozen supplies ran out. With that, he manage to buy his '98 Toyota Camry at A$4,000. Eventually he joined my current company as a machinist. He is diligent and smart. I can see that the boss likes him a lot.

He spent about A$20,000 for his misadventures. When asked how he accumulated that amount of money he revealed his family own a profitable restaurant and was quite well-off. Money was not a concern for him. Security for his family was what he craves for. As someone coming from a country where security has been taken for granted, I could not understand the extent of the fear that Afghanis are feeling in their countries every day. Hearing Rahman's account of what he went through, it was easier to imagine.

Rahman told me he met a lot of refugees trying to get into Australia the same way as he did in detention. They were largely Burmese, Vietnamese, Iranians, Indonesians and even Malaysians. Not something new to me because I've personally heard from a few Malaysians about their intention to "跳飛機". It means the same thing.

Meanwhile Rahman remarked how lucky I am to have my wife and child with me in Australia. He looked wistfully in a distance and said quietly "If my parents, wife and baby is here, I will never ever return to Afghanistan again." Then he looked at me, perhaps expected a response if I would do the same likewise in that situation.

I did not reply.

*****

I'm sorry J. It wasn't that I had forgotten you. In fact as you know, sometime ago I urged you to allow me to introduce your blog to everyone here. You agreed but I have been procrastinating. Deep apologies. I was thinking about doing it tonight. Then I received an email a few minutes ago from Eugene. A short one but it is a clear sign I should be doing what I should have done long ago.

For folks interested in J, the Singaporean son in New Zealand, please visit:

http://musingfromaotearoa.wordpress.com/

A word or 2 for Eugene. Thank you for reading the blog. If you are not sure about moving overseas to work, there may be some issues you may need to iron out on your side. Reading a blog for inspiration may be the wrong door to knock on, though looking at the beautiful pictures of New Zealand that J put up in his posts, I may be wrong. Good luck 'mate.