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Thursday, 27 February 2014

Train rides are fun! (part 1)

iPad = iNanny, Mother = iHelper, Boy = iSlave.

Definition of hell:

Going home for dinner after a long tiring and hungry day at work, seated in the cold train sandwiched between two people who ordered takeaways from McDonald's and KFC respectively.

Game on

On a crowded MRT train, instead of burying your head playing Candy Crush, I encourage all to watch the Grab A Seat game LIVE between pesky plump aunties and foreign workers. Over the years, I've met formidable rivals who displayed smooth leg shuffling manoeuvres and lightning quick buttock reflexes that put musical chairs champions to shame. I'd also hope everyone can hone their skills so that if they eventually grabbed a seat, they can give the prize to someone who truly deserves it like the elderly and expectant mothers.


We are all ventriloquists with the ability to project sound not through our mouths. Everyone will perform anywhere, anytime either with a shout or a whimper, when deep feelings build up inside us. When an anonymous performer gave a silent recital in a crowded air-con train, you can immediately feel the intensity and passion of this person. This virtuoso might even give an impromptu encore overwhelming the audience with cathartic emotions. That's when I usually pass out.

Hand counter

There are always interesting characters on the train like this pot-bellied Chinese man who is always seen with a hand counter. Looking at his discreet muttering, I can only guess he is reciting some religious scriptures to fulfill his daily quota. Or perhaps, he could be tracking the number of farts and body odour detected? With a high frequency of a click per minute, that might be true. And it would also explain his swearing under his breath.

Reading newspapers

When I've finished reading the two free newspapers TODAY and My Paper during my morning commute, it is tough for me to recycle. Leave it in the MRT train like what is practiced in London and be accused of littering? Or hand it back to a fellow commuter or the newspaper dispatcher and get a weird look? For others in the same predicament, I'll suggest recycling it by rolling the paper into a tube in a crowded train and poke your way out from immobile statues blocking at the door.

To the middle-aged woman on the crowded train:

I wasn't staring at you nor do I find you pretty. I was ogling at the cute girl seated behind you in my zombie state when you board the train and blocked my view!

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