GH THE MAN

last sem of school life is over. After we turn in our DM major project, I'm done with school projects! Can't say this sem has been a breeze like my other sems but at least I've got good team mates.

Of all the teams and team mates I have worked with, I have to admit that I respect GH the most. Great guy here. Takes his work seriously minus scotch taping the CDROM. NO PRIDE AH! Although I've been compiling every single report, GH's the only guy who always asks for my final report so he can help me with it.

GH: "EH mok can I have the final copy plz?"

He reads the report whole, and he tells me on where I could improve it. Nobody else is as proactive as this mate.

Not to mention he's always the most objective guy. Listens from two sides of the coin and gives objective reasons. Not too great at grammar but contributes excellent ideas all the time.

If there's anybody looking for a future team mate, GH's the man!

To GH: Learn how to scotch tape professionally plz.

=D


I caught The Bucket List over the weekend. Really awesome show. Don't know what got into me but I cried like broken fish tank at one particular scene. Fug. Super embarrassing since I was watching her and she was OK. Hahahhaa! Poor girl must have been wonder: "Wwwhat the hell is going on with you, MOK." O weells.

The Anti-hero

I watched The Shawshank Redemption today for the 4th time. There is this scene where I always inevitably tear at. Today was no exception. It is the scene where Brooks hangs himself after he was on parole from a life-time imprisonment sentence. That scene always gets to me and it makes me wonder why. Was the the music that makes it extra sad, or is it the tone that Brooks narrated his loneliness? Perhaps it's a combination of both.

When I watched that scene play through, I was reminded of a short conversation in again the book Seven types of Ambiguity. I flipped through my book and I found the author's explanation.

In it, Simon is engaging with a conversation with Angel(the prostitute) and Alex (his psychiatrist):

Simon: You read a novel in which the hero or the anti-hero, the one you like, or simply the one whose progress you like to follow, well, this character commits a crime, say, a violent act. Who do you feel sorry for? You should feel sorry for the victim of the crime but you don't. Why don't you? In your normal life you condemn violence of any kind yet you don't condemn this act of violence, even though it's brutal. Perhaps you dislike this victim. Or perhaps you don't actually dislike him but you don't actively like him either. So where will your sympathies lie? Who will you feel sorry for?

Angel: Who? The perpetrator?

Simon: Partly. He has to live with the moral and practical consequences, the guilt, the mess and the fear of detection. But who else?

Angel: I don't know. Who else?

Simon: You, the reader, Angel. The reader will feel sorry for himself."

Alex: Why, because he has been tricked into thinking the violent scene is somehow morally ambiguous when, of course, it isn't really?

Simon: No because he has identified with his preferred character, the perpetrator of the crime, and therefore shares his guilt and his fears.

Is this what empathy is really about?
*Ponder**Ponder**Ponder*

My silly little dream

Some thoughts ran through my mind today.

Thoughts regarding aspects of my life, both present and the future. Most of you may already know that I'm undergoing a course for business marketing in SIM. In this course, we learn many things- concepts that will generate profits for the organizations that we work for. We learn how to create demand for the goods and services we have; how to make advertisements, how to design promotions. Sometimes the things we learn seem to have a good purpose- societal marketing to cut down on smoking or perhaps environmental awareness on climate change, stuff like this. It may seem attractive at first but therein lies the entire parody.

Milton Friedman once advocated that there is only one social responsibility of a business- to use its resources and engage in activities designed to increase its profits so long as it stays within the rules of the game, which is to say, engages open and free competition, without deception or fraud.

Today i engaged in a conversation with Ting. I said to her jokingly:

Me: No girls will like me. I've nothing. No money. Nothing. Except my dreams. Remember the 5Cs, there's a lot of truth in it.

Ting's reply to me was that she never saw the need for her BF to be rich. She told me that many girls has similar thoughts regarding this matter.

Obviously, I agree with her on that matter. I'm not such a pessimist about girls. My point that I wanted to put across here is that society these days is getting more and more materialistic. It wasn't always like this in the past. It's just the way society has been moulded today, by the hands of us marketers. This is the parody that all we marketers face and there is a great need to address this, or at the very least be aware of it.

How ingenious.I'll provide a very simple example of the situation. I cannot imagine anymore without some level of difficulty how the idea of proposing to a lady with a diamond ring came about. Since what time did such a ritual become a norm for men? Ever since diamonds were discovered you say. Perhaps. A guy who loves his girlfriend dearly decides to materialize his eternal love for her in the form of a diamond. Some other guy (the marketer) foresees a demand for this diamond and decides to tell the whole world, or more specifically women that there is no greater prove for a men's love for them than a diamond. We fell for it. Diamond's are now a woman's best friend. So what happens in such a society where a man is unable to afford that diamond ring? Most probably his sphere of women who is attracted to him is significantly reduce. There are of course exceptions to this. It's just that in general, expectations are rising. We expect more of this, or that and when we don't receive it, we don't feel as satisfied as we should have been then.

In the book Seven Types of Ambiguity, Simon was conversing with Angel.

"I have thought people should get involved with the problems of other people. People don't help enough. It's the... it's probably the closest thing I've ever had to a philosophy. A pragmatic philosophy. You see it every day. Most people are too... they're not evil. They're just..."

"Lazy?" I (Angel) volunteered.

"Apathetic."

"You're sure they're not evil?" I asked him.

"Some people are definitely, unequivocally evil, but most people are not. Most people are simply apathetic, unaware and frightened. A lot of bad gets done by people who are not bad people. Maybe it's always been this way but I think it's more so now than ever. I saw a documentary about the sixties on TV the other day. They showed all these people in their twenties and thirties sitting around holding candles singing "We shall overcome". They were protesting against racism and the Vietnam War. It's not that people in their twenties and thirties then were better or smarter than people in their twenties and thirties now."

"So what is it?"

"It's the times. The times, they have changed. Where once people were told that the answers were blowing in the wind, now it's they who are blown by the wind, the wind generated by the market. The ruthless pursuit of the bottom line is the siren song of the times and the song is played over the public address system in banks, in stores and supermarkets. It's played when you are downsized because your company can replace you with somebody in another country for two dollars a day. And it's played whenever you call up anything needing assistance and they put you on hold because they've cut back on staff in other to increase their share price.

"But people have always been obsessed with the bottom line. Why is it any different now? Hasn't money always been the siren song?"

"It has never been so loud. It's never been so ubiquitous. It has never before so routinely, so blatantly, ousted and nullified citizenship and notions of the common good, once was called the common weal. It has never so successfully colonized men's souls"


Back to my life. Whenever a person asks me what I had in mind career wise after I graduate. What industry do I want to work in? Any company I want to work for?

To good friends, I'll say "Maybe work for a small firm first, after that see how." On good days I'll say "Work for myself." and to people I don't feel like talking to, I'll say, "Sell backside lor."

In all instances I'm not telling any lie. Truth is, as much as I want to think I have, I've not really planned a standard path which I'll follow at the moment. I can't imagine myself working in say the slimming industry though. Having to tell women that they're fat, or they don't look good enough in order to achieve greater sales revenue. It's just against the principles that I have. (This is also part of the selfish reason in the disinterest I have in doing the Skinfood project). "You don't look good enough. Buy our product and you will be beautiful." Makes me feel sick.

There's another part of me that wants to run my own company. My friends always say to me "DREAMING AGAIN IS IT?" A little is my reply. Let's just call this company Mok Pte Ltd. My aim however is to create a firm ran by a group of closely knitted friends, and if possible together my wife too. And we'll have a great deal of fun working together just as I did in school. The fuel or passion of it all will not be for the money, but for our common dream of achieving something together. It must benefit society in a positive manner as a whole. We'll have a charitable company to donate 10% of our profits to. It'll be "make a wish", because I always believe in the power of dreaming and wishing and working hard for it (I want as many children to believe in that too). We'll have a great deal of satisfaction together and when I have a family and children myself, I want to be able to tell my kids that this is what dad did and that they can out do daddy as long as you work hard for it. When they start studying and have to select a firm to work on for their project, they can choose dad's firm and I'll give them all the interviews they require. They'll be proud of dad. Same goes for my friend's children.

After my career and family is stable, I want to start a chain of day care centers for children. I want to use my success to tell them when they are still young that:

it is OK to dream BIG.
Nobody ever has the right to trample or say that your dreams
Don't just dream, work hard for it
Never ever work for the money- it's much too small of an objective to aim for
It is possible because WE did it. Together.

The importance of having a good team

Two are better than one,
Because they have a good reward for their labor.
For if they fall, one will lift up his companion.
But woe to him who is alone when he falls,
For he has no one to help him up...
Though one may be overpowered by another,
two can withstand him.
And a threefold cord is not quickly broken

-Ecclesaistes

In the Time of the Dinosaur Part 2

Nicholas doesn't remember the chocolate winds. But I remember them. I remember that one too. We came back to our block and before we got to the front hall we heard shouting and a door slamming. Mary Economou ran down the stairs. She shouted "I hate you" in a new voice that sounded like scraping a tin roof. She didn't mean me, though. She didn't mean Dad, either. She hated someone upstairs. I knew Bill Economou would tell me everything the next day so we let her run out into the street and I went to bed really happy and sleepy.

I don't think anyone really knows for sure exactly why the dinosaurs disappeared. I know I don't. The books shirk it a bit really. It seems that about sixty-five million years ago they have just disappeared. I was thinking of maybe being the first dinosaur scientist to know for sure what happened.

It's hard to know where to start trying to figure out something like that. You would probably have to work out a whole new code or way of thinking, maybe something combining maths and the dictionary. Between maths and the dictionary, you've pretty much got it all covered. I was thinking about the dictionary a fair bit. I think there's a trick to it that no one every tells you. When you look up a word, like dinosaur, you get "Reptile (Freq. huge) of Mezozoic era." Where does that get you? More words. So you look them up and you get more words. Well, sooner or later you have to be lucky enough to already know at least one of the words you've looked up or you'll never understand anything. No one ever says anything about this.

One theory says the dinosaurs disappeared because of a great catastrophe which affected the whole world. Perhaps they all choked from dust in their throats as the earth passed through a swarm of comets or from bits of rock and sand from an exploding star. Some people think the earth might have been hit by a giant meteorite. Sometimes I think that might've happened. It's hard to explain these things. A great catastrophe.

I had nearly finished the writing part of my project. Even though it was his idea, Dad kept forgetting to bring home the shoeboxes he'd promised me. I asked him every day and every day he forgot. I had to change my plans. Dad wasn't cooperating. It was about this time that Mrs. Nesbitt and I started having discipline problems. I had told her that she was really going to like my dinosaur project and that she might even think of gold stars when she saw it. (She keeps them in a tin in her desk drawer.) But I had also told her that it was going to be a bit late. She asked me why. I didn't want to tell her. I told her that I couldn't say because it would spoil the surprise. I didn't want to tell her about Dad's box idea. She said that she was already surprised that my project was late. I asked her if she would hang on. She gave me three days. (Bill Economou had asked for three more days, too, and he'd already handed his in. It was on "Fish of the Sea.")

I knew I would just have to change my plan. I tried to explain it all to Dad but I could tell he wasn't listening. He was all silent. He'd been that way for a while. Mum was silent too. She only said what she had to say, about things like washing or peas. On the third day I came to school with my project, but it was different now. I had two sheets of paper with writing about dinosaurs from the books and a big model of a megalosaurus, a two-legged meat-eater. Since the writing was just stuff, all my hopes for the gold pretty much rested on the model megalosaurus. I had taken two wire coat hangers and threaded them through seventeen beer cans Dad had. (They were empty, so I didn't even ask for them.) The can at the head was flattened for a snout and the whole thing could bend so I could show how dinosaurs had walked. (I kept the movement part of the first plan.)

Bill Economou loved it. Mrs. Nesbitt was angry. I was surprised. She was angry in front of the whole class. She asked if I had needed the extra three days to get enough beer cans. The class laughed when she said that. She looked at them and said that she was disappointed with my project. Then she went down the aisles between the desks asking to see other projects. She'd already seen all of them three days before. She was just doing this to make me feel bad. It worked and I felt bad, really sick. I thought maybe I'd caught an epidemic, a throat one.

At lunchtime I went home without asking. I just wanted to get away from school for a while. Mum had given me a pear in my lunch. I'd told her not to but she didn't listen and put it in my bag anyway. When I got to the front door, I felt inside my bag for the door key. I felt the pear all squashed up. The megalosaurus must have done it. I really wanted to be home with a peanut butter sandwich, some milk and maybe some TV. I opened the door and Dad was there. This was my third surprise in half a day if you count the pear. He was watching TV on the couch.

Dad stayed home in the days now and looked after Nicholas. It's what his work had told him to do. He told me that they'd asked him if he could stay home with Nicholas for a while and not make shoes. That's all he said and then he went back to the TV show about hospitals. I wanted to know who was making the shoes now but didn't ask. I had my sandwich and milk. Then I started to scrape the pear off the inside of my bag. Dad forgot to ask why I was home at lunchtime.

After that, everything seemed different. Mum and Dad would be all quiet when I was in the room with them, but then they'd shout when I'd gone. I couldn't hear the Economous. Dad made plenty of cans but I didn't need them. Things were different at school too. It was like Mrs. Nesbitt was always thinking about my Megalosaurus. I just couldn't get back in her goo books and I got sick of trying. Bill Economou got a silver star for "Fish of the Sea." He kept showing that to me.

I suppose that's why I did it. It all happened so fast like it wasn't really me and I got caught. Mrs. Nesbitt caught me at her desk, in her gold-star tin. She shouted. It hung in the air and made my sweat jump. Everyone looked. She held my fingers out and showed the class. There were gold stars on my fingers. My face got very hot. She started writing a note to Mum. It was about me. I didn't let her finish it. I left. I ran all the way home again. It still wasn't me, though, not really. My bad was still on the pegs.

The front door wasn't locked and I pushed it open. Dad was in the lounge room. His shirt was off and he was puffed like I was, out of breath. He said he'd just been for a run. Mary Economou was there too. Her face was red and her hair was messy. I was confused. I stood there looking at them Then I cried, first in yelps. I felt really strange. She'd never seen me cry before.

Dad took my face and pressed it into his chest. He put his fingers in my hair. He told me nothing was wrong and that he and Mary Economou had just been for a run. He kept telling me not to be upset. He asked me to tell him that nothing was wrong. He told me there was nothing wrong with going for a run. Then he squeezed me so hard it hurt. He smelled of sweat. Then he cried and told me nothing was wrong. His chest moved up and down. It slapped me. I couldn't see anything past his chest. He told me he was sorry.

Two days later I came home from school and Mum was there, not Dad. He had gone. He wasn't coming back for a while. They'd swapped again. Mum would be home with Nicholas, and Dad had gone to look for another shoe factory where he could make shoes again. I asked her where he was. She said he was looking for work in a level playing field. I asked her where that was and if I could go there. She said I would never find it. Bill Economou had borrowed an atlas from the library for "Fish of the Sea" and went to the map of Australia to look for Level Playing Field. We couldn't find it. Bill Economou said she must have meant the Souther Tablelands. When I asked her, she said yes, that was it. I tried to imagine Dad living on a huge flat table, making shoes and writing me letters. She said we would get letters.

If the Earth was hit by a giant meteorite it would've made so much dust that the sunlight wouldn't have been able to get through and the dinosaur food chain would've been wrecked. Without the sunlight they would've frozen too. Even the biggest of them would've needed protection from the cold. Everyone does. It's just theory. No one know for sure about the meteorite. If you don't know something for sure, you might as well just dream it.

Bill Economou dreams all the time. He dreamed Dad was outside one night, outside our flats in the wind doing nothing; leaning against the wall of the empty chocolate factory, staring at our flats. At first, he tried to tell me he actually saw it. Mum said there aren't too many letter boxes at the Southern Playing Field.

Nicholas dreams but he doesn't remember. When we shared the same room I could hear some of his dreams. I told him I heard them all. I've got our room to myself now. He's been sleeping in Mum's bed since he started wetting his bed again. He says he doesn't wet the bed. He says it's mum. I wanted to check this out because he lies much more than me now. I went in and checked one night when they were both asleep. I wasn't sure about him, but Mum's side of the bed was wet. Her pillow. Nothing surprises me much anymore, not really. It's because I'm growing up, I suppose. That's my theory.

In the Time of the Dinosaur Part 1

Read this short story from Elliot Perlman today in class. Liked it a lot and wanna share it with you guys. It has a sad feel to it toward the end. The boy in the story loves dinosaurs (just like me. I like the T-rax most though) Anyway here goes:

Nicholas doesn't remember anything. He was still a baby, really. There's no point even asking him. I have to remember it all myself. Nicholas had just stopped wetting his bed. We lived in the flats near the chocolate factory. Standing in the street at night, you could smell the chocolate cooking. Dad and I would go for a walk while Mum was getting Nicholas ready for bed. Sometimes the wind would take the chocolate into the flats and I could smell it from our room. When I went to bed Dad would read me a story and turn the light out. I'd close my eyes and, with dinosaurs in my head, I would sniff in the chocolate till I was asleep. (I always breath through my nose so that nothing gets into my mouth without my knowing it. Bill Economou from upstairs once swallowed a fly in his sleep. He said his window was open. He was dreaming about chocolate.)

The books dad and I read were always about dinosaurs. I couldn't get enough of them. At that time I wanted to be a dinosaur scientist when I grew up. Dad said he thought it wasn't a bad idea and that i was well on my way already. He said it beats making shoes in a shoe factory, which is what he did. I think he had a fair amount of respect for dinosaurs too.

The first dinosaurs lived on earth more than two hundred million years ago and you can't even imagine how things were for them. I tried to imagine them in Australia, because there were dinosaurs before Captain Cook and the Aborigines or anything you can see around now. They weren't stupid, either, like what people think. Bill Economou said they had to be stupid because they became extinct, but he couldn't come up with another group of backboned animals that lived on Earth for more than a hundred and sixty million years. The facts stared him in the face.

Dad calls me Luke but my full name is Lucas. Once i told Bill Economou that I was named after a dinosaur, the Lukosaurus. I think that shut him up for a while. The Lukosaurus lived in southern China and was two meters long, not counting his horns. A couple of weeks later Bill Economou came downstairs to our flat all of a sudden, knocked on the door and accouned to Mum, Nicholas and me that he was named after a dinosaur too, the Billosaurus. I told him that there was no such dinosaur but he said there was. Mum shirked it the way mums do. She said she hadn't heard of the Billosaurus but there might be a dinosaur called that. I went to Nicholas's and my room to get the books. There was no such dinosaur. I would've known about it if there were.

Bill Economou said it was a Greek dinosaur and that I wouldn't know about it. That's when Mum laughed. Nicholas doesn't remember this of course. Then she said that maybe it was a Greek name for a dinosaur and would he like some cordial. Bill Economou never says no if you offer him something. Mum should've known that. It was probably his sister who told him to say that about a Billosaurus. It didn't sound like something he'd think of on his own.

Bill Economou has two sisters, two brothers and his mum and dad. One sister, Mary is the oldest and the other is almost too young to talk. His brothers, Con and Nick, are older than him too. Nick used to play cricken with us for a while bu then he stopped. I usually keep away from Con. I think Bill Economou does too. Mr Economou likes to get you in a headlock. It's not so bad sometimes. The Economous live directly above us and we hear them. Mum says we don't need to watch TV on one of their good nights. They don't sound like TV. I don't know why she says that.

Mary Economou fights with Mr. Economou. Sometimes Bill Economou invites me up if it's a good one. She's seventeen and still cries. She yells at him in English and he yells back in Greek. I hear a lot of Greek words from Mr. and Mrs. Economou, nearly every day. Never heard Billsaurus, though. Bill Economou says Mary's boyfriend always makes Mr Economou shout in Greek even when he's not there. He can often predict when it will start. The bes tones were when Mary wanted to leave school and when the police came asking for as soon as he saw the police car pull up in front of our block. He did the right thing.

Bill Economou was in the same class as me at school. He had always copied me in lots of things but tried not to let me know. I always knew sooner or later. Earlier in the year we did a couple of projects together, but Mrs. Nesbitt knew that I'd done most of the work. Bill Economou was even a bad colorer. Lines meant nothing to him. I was actually pleased when Mrs. Nesbitt said Bill Economou and I had to do one project each. I don't think he should've asked why. Later he agreed with me about this.

Of course I chose dinosaurs. I had big plans. I knew my project would take days and days, some days just for thinking. There were more than three hundred and forty types of dinosaurs. I knew I couldn't handle them all. I didn't actually like them all. As well as the Lukosaurus, I liked the Tyrannosaurus, the Branchiosaurus and the stegosaurus best. My favorite period was the Cretaceous period. This was the heyday for dinosaurs. There must have been hundreds of different kinds of dinosaurs just roaming around chomping on things during the Cretaceous period. Mum said this was my Cretaceous period. I asked dad when his was. He said it was before he was married. He must've eaten a lot then. Dad's a big man and when he's hungry there's no stopping him. Mum said that before they were married there was no stopping him.

I had figured out that some kids would just do lots of drawings of something and call that their project. Others would copy out slabs from a book and call that their project. These projects would be all right, they might even get two or three red ticks or even a silver star. But I wanted a gold for my dinosaurs. One gold star was my personal best. I wanted to beat it. It had got to where red ticks meant nothing to me. Mrs. Nesbitt was giving them to sucks for behavior and to milky girls for a chart of "The Fruits We Eat." Dad said that dinosaurs would be hard because there were not pictures of them in magazines to cut out. Mum tried to get me to swap my dairy products but I just couldn't. You don't get a gold for pictures of milk. It had to be dinosaurs. Dad said he admired me, which was good I thought. He said, "Luke, I admire you."

I had decided to write out my own theory of why dinosaurs became extinct and to do a drawing of the Lukasaurus. Then Dad gave me a great idea. He suggested making cardboard cutouts of different types of dinosaurs. He said I could fit the dinosaur cutouts into slits in the top of an upside-down box. Then I could move each dinosaur in a different slit to show how slowly they must've moved and which ones came first after the beginning of the Earth. This was a great idea. It could get me a gold. It probably would. Mrs. Nesbitt would never have seen anything like this in her life. Dad said he would bring some shoeboxes and cardboard offcuts for me from work. I asked him not to say anything about it in front of Bill Economou.

*now to end with my favorite paragraph of the story . I'll finish up the story soon :) End of part 1 and Time for work! :)*

Dad gave me the idea on one of our chocolate walks. I was pleased he hadn't tried to talk me out of dinosaurs and into dairy products. He didn't like milk much. I've never seen him drink it. He said he'd drink it if it was on tap. Then he laughed and lifted me up high in the air. I was way above his head in those hands at the end of his thick arms, sort of near the moon. He held me up there for a good while in the chocolate wind and we didn't speak. His arms didn't waver so I was perfectly still in the air. Only the sky moved, just enough to give tiny shakes to the stars. That was the last chocolate walk we had. I don't remember a chocolate wind much after that, either.

On treasuring the things that have treated you well

We have all heard about the story of the wooden axe and the lumberjack. It goes:

After a hard day of labor, the lumberjack stopped by a nearby spring to rest. As he laid down his axe, it fell into the spring and got lost. Having lost his only tool which he depended on for his livelihood, the lumberjack become distraught and began crying. The fairy of the lake upon hearing his cries, emerged from the pond with a Golden Axe.

"Is this your axe she asked?"

"No." Replied the lumberjack.

Seconds later, the fairy brought out another axe, this time a silver one.

Again, the lumberjack said it wasn't his.

The fairy on her third try surfaced with the woodcutter's wooden axe. She was surprised at the lumberjack's honesty and asked. "Most men would have claimed the Golden Axe for themselves. Why didn't you?"

The lumberjack replied, "though my axe is old, worn out and have little value, it has been good to me through the years. My very own precious wooden axe."

Learning to let go

This is a recollection from Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being

"He suddenly recalled the famous myth from Plato's Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split them in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another.

Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.

Let us suppose that such it the case, that somewhere in the world each of us has a partner who one formed part of our body. Tomas's other part is the young woman he dreamed about. The trouble is, man does not find the other part of himself. Instead, he is sent Tereza in a bulrush basket. But what happens if he nevertheless later meets the one who was meant for him, the other part of himself? Whom is he to prefer? The woman from the bulrush basket or the woman from Plato's myth?"

We have all heard the story of the hunter and the monkey. To hunt the monkey, the hunter leaves a sturdy tin jar of cookies fixated firmly on the floor. The monkey on-seeing the food reaches his hand in and grabs a handful of these cookies. However when his hand forms the shape of a fist, he is unable to remove his hand from the tin jar. Unwilling to let go even upon seeing the hunter approaching, the monkey is later shot to death.

Sometimes we've just got to let go to move on in life and to let go of the things that are important to us. Often we are too focused on a single important object that we miss out on the other half of ourselves from Plato's Myth.

SIA= Super SIA LAN.

Chatted with my friend about her job with SIA. I'm calling her Sally. She was telling me how she felt her job degrading and I was telling her to quit ASAP if thats the case. She explains:

Sally says (10:37 PM):
but there's a bond

Sally says (10:37 PM):
15k

Sally says (10:37 PM):
n u know wat the SM told us

Sally says (10:37 PM):
he asked ' do u tink sia needs u or u need sia?'

Sally says (10:38 PM):
den i said interdependent lor

Sally says (10:38 PM):
he said, cmon look at our interviews

Sally says (10:38 PM):
thousands wanna get in

Sally says (10:38 PM):
u can quit today n we can get a replacement immediately

mok says (10:38 PM):
this kind of company, no wonder not no.1 airlines anymore

Sally says (10:38 PM):
i was dumbfounded lor

Sally says (10:38 PM):
like CCB, cant he even give us some encouragement


No way am I ever going to work for such a company. Companies like this make me want to run my own business.