2009 will probably go down in the history books as the year of deaths. Everyone's (and by everyone, I mean the people who matter, of course. Like, celebrities.) dropping dead left and right. Golden Girls' star Bea Arthur, Charlie's Angels' star Farrah Fawcett, Clueless star Brittany Murphey, and of course, Michael Jackson. His untimely and shocking demise at the hands of his halfwit doctor has devastated the world. Another death, however, has managed to surpass the devastating effects of even the King of Pop's passing.
I am talking, of course, about the death of my PR status. *Cue dramatic background music*
Okay, so Mariah won't sing at the memorial, no one will cry, Kenny Ortega won't try to make money out of it, the legendary 'Are We Singaporeans Or Are We Not' ranch won't be converted into a theme park. But still.
It feels very weird now, not being affiliated with Singapore anymore, in any way. Sure, the other members of my whole family holds Singapore Citizenship, but whatever. After hiding behind a front of 'permanent residency', I feel as though I've now been thrust out into the world. There's even a thirty day limit, after which I would probably be jailed for staying here. You might gasp in horror and ask how can I possibly stay here for a while longer, because I sure know the pain of losing me to another country is pure torture;) The plan, ladies and gentlemen, is to apply for a long-term social visit pass. it seems outrageous, to make me apply for a visit pass to stay in my own house. Preposterous, some might say. But some also might say that my 18 year plan to avoid NS is manipulative and devious. Which I would then respond by saying, you bet your ass it is.
"You want to CANCEL your PR?" The receptionist asks, as if I could mispronounce it.
"Yes, darhlin, cancel. As in.. abolish, abort, ax, black out, blot out, break off, cross out, deface, do away with, do in, efface, eliminate, eradicate.. Are you getting the picture here? Cause I sure as hell ain't."
Handing over my Blue IC is definitely up there with all the most traumatic experiences of my life. Along with, getting stalked, getting my first facial, getting a tan (it causes skin cancer!), getting a blow job (the blow dryer really made my hair look terrible).. You get the idea. She put my IC in a plastic baggie and kept it away, like it was evidence at a crime scene or something. I would never get to see my gorgeous face on that card again. But then, I never saw a gorgeous face on that card to begin with, so I guess it's not that traumatic if you think about it.
And there you have it. As i sit here and write this load of crap, I am so relieved that I would never have to set foot in a jungle (against my will, of course. There are *things* I wanna try in a jungle, none of them involving thick uniforms. Then again...), never have to shave off my head, never have to crawl through the mud in a mock attempt at 'finding the enemy (The enemies primarily reside in government buildings, jungles are obviously the wrong places to look) and never have to call anyone 'Sir'.
Well, maybe not the last one ;)
I am talking, of course, about the death of my PR status. *Cue dramatic background music*
Okay, so Mariah won't sing at the memorial, no one will cry, Kenny Ortega won't try to make money out of it, the legendary 'Are We Singaporeans Or Are We Not' ranch won't be converted into a theme park. But still.
It feels very weird now, not being affiliated with Singapore anymore, in any way. Sure, the other members of my whole family holds Singapore Citizenship, but whatever. After hiding behind a front of 'permanent residency', I feel as though I've now been thrust out into the world. There's even a thirty day limit, after which I would probably be jailed for staying here. You might gasp in horror and ask how can I possibly stay here for a while longer, because I sure know the pain of losing me to another country is pure torture;) The plan, ladies and gentlemen, is to apply for a long-term social visit pass. it seems outrageous, to make me apply for a visit pass to stay in my own house. Preposterous, some might say. But some also might say that my 18 year plan to avoid NS is manipulative and devious. Which I would then respond by saying, you bet your ass it is.
"You want to CANCEL your PR?" The receptionist asks, as if I could mispronounce it.
"Yes, darhlin, cancel. As in.. abolish, abort, ax, black out, blot out, break off, cross out, deface, do away with, do in, efface, eliminate, eradicate.. Are you getting the picture here? Cause I sure as hell ain't."
Handing over my Blue IC is definitely up there with all the most traumatic experiences of my life. Along with, getting stalked, getting my first facial, getting a tan (it causes skin cancer!), getting a blow job (the blow dryer really made my hair look terrible).. You get the idea. She put my IC in a plastic baggie and kept it away, like it was evidence at a crime scene or something. I would never get to see my gorgeous face on that card again. But then, I never saw a gorgeous face on that card to begin with, so I guess it's not that traumatic if you think about it.
And there you have it. As i sit here and write this load of crap, I am so relieved that I would never have to set foot in a jungle (against my will, of course. There are *things* I wanna try in a jungle, none of them involving thick uniforms. Then again...), never have to shave off my head, never have to crawl through the mud in a mock attempt at 'finding the enemy (The enemies primarily reside in government buildings, jungles are obviously the wrong places to look) and never have to call anyone 'Sir'.
Well, maybe not the last one ;)
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