Labels

Here I am not referring Campbell or Heinz but rather the generic terms that others impose on us in order to facilitate the easy identification of our nature. Like the word “geek” conjures up the image of a gawky teenage heavily affected by myopia that would suffer from withdrawal symptoms should he be separated from his laptop for periods that are measurable by analog devices. Or “hip” when used to describe an individual pertains to one whose tastes are impeccably attuned and aligned to the latest fashion magazines which incidentally tend to be imported and not readily available on the shelves of your favorite “mamak” stall. In the post-modern non-conformist Google generation (you can tell I am throwing labels around for fun), our penchant for classifying people has escalated to unprecedented heights.

Are we not a society that emphasizes individuality and non-conformity? Why then should that be a convention for the non-conformist? When I was experimenting with this phase (i.e. when I was young and stupid) the mould for the non-conformist was the ‘grunge’ look. Being woefully out of sync with the latest in the world of the hip and fashionable, I have no idea what is the present equivalent so don’t cringe and shudder at my imperfect parallel using this as justification that I am hopeless out of touch (which incidentally I probably am).

“Cool” as I knew it back when I bothered involved a remarkable dedication to creating a look and image of nonchalance. Who would have thought that looking casual is anything but? Perhaps the powers-that-be in the mysterious council of the socially acceptable had a remarkable love for irony. That would explain why those who yearn for differentiation from the norm look like everyone else with the same desire.

Life is full of ironies is it not? In finding your own voice, you mimic others. In searching for your own identity, you turn to others for analysis. In companionship, you experience solitude. In trying to conform, you end up deformed. Somewhere along the line I transcended the boundaries of sense.

To put all my rather convoluted writings into perspective, consider how we Singaporeans tend to stick labels on others with the most limited of observations. When your friend answers you in fluent Hokkien/Singlish, you would instantaneously think of him as an “ah beng” or an “ah lian” if “he” happens to be a she. If you happen to be unfortunate enough to be subject to my endless soliloquies on self-identity, (which means you are probably remarkably adept at feigning interest or disguising disinterest) this theme is by no means novel to you. Of the many comments I received related to this, one that remains not unlike a resounding gong is this “I can’t believe that an ah beng like you read so many books”. Now if this came from an Oxford fellow (not as if an Oxford fellow would use this local colloquial expression but oh well, you get the point) I would accept it with nary a complaint. Where the perpetrator is one who in my limited (and you have no idea how limited it is) graciousness I choose not to comment on her linguistic prowess or lack there-of, the statement is all the more offensive. Where people of inferior education backgrounds to mine (what a decidedly snobbish statement, not as if I was from King’s College but anyway….) slap that label of “ah beng” on me, it does require a Herculean effort to remain civil (read: not vulgar).

Well, actually the whole point of all my rather unnecessary writings can be summed up in the above paragraph. I am peeved at constantly being mistaken for some lowly educated ruffian but the reluctance of being exposed as a petty, self-absorbed individual prompted me to launch into some quasi-philosophical commentary on cultural trends. If there is a conclusion to be drawn, its that I have too much time on my hands, but you probably already know that.