udderiffic indulgence.

What writers prize is simpler, quieter and more enduring than clamorous Fame: it is recognition. Fame, by and large, is an accountant’s category, tallied in Amazonian sales. Recognition, hushed and inherent in the silence of the page, is a reader’s category: its stealth is its wealth.

– Cynthia Ozick, Writers, Visible and Invisible.

Something that used to irk me to no end when I wrote/dramaturged the two Kent Ridge Hall productions I was involved in - there was never any effort to be professional about the publicity, and include the names of the producers, directors and playwrights.

What’s worse is that the playwrights were always relegated to the rear positions when it came to curtain calls and programme credits, when we actually had one of the most central roles in the productions; the production would never have taken off if we hadn’t started writing in the first place.

I used to think that it might seem like arrogance on my part if I clamoured for more mention, or mention in greater detail, so I always kept silent about this issue, although I always felt very strongly about this.

But reading Ozick’s article has made me realise that I’m not alone in this desire for recognition as a writer, especially when we writers are one of the most ‘invisible’ people in the business of wordsmithing.

Junior Common Room Committee (JCRC) elections are taking place at the hall I’m staying in now, and it’s been an immense source of amusement for me.

(BTW for those not in the know, the JCRC is kind of like the hall’s management committee of sorts, run by the residents, who are students of Nanyang Technological University (NTU) living on campus. I say “of sorts”… Hmmm. Nevermind, I’ll get to that later.)

Anyway, why I am so amused is because:

1. It’s kind of like a bittersweet feeling of déjà vu as the event has a certain sense of familiarity for me: I used to stay in a Hall of Residence back at the National University of Singapore (NUS), and I used to be on the JCRC myself, so elections are something I - more or less - know a thing or two about.

2. All the candidates have been doing walkabouts, and they’ve been introducing themselves to us in one way or another - some leave flyers at our doors which I throw away immediately because flyers don’t do shit for me, while others have been flinging sweets, chocolates etc. at us. But the thing that really gets me is this: every other candidate has been giving us packets of tissue paper.

   After receiving the third packet of tissue paper in as many hours, the kukubird in me genuinely got curious and immediately asked, “Why?” Are all these packets of tissue paper meant to serve some kind of purpose? Like, how many tissues can we seriously use in a day? Or are tissue packets a valuable commodity on the NTU campus, maybe to chope place in the often over-crowded canteens?

   I don’t know, but I think this is an area of very high-level research that someone must take up, and write a paper on to be published, of course, in the Spring issue of the Journal of Highly Relevant Interdisciplinary Research.

3. I flirted with one of the candidates, partly because she was one of the rare few candidates who knocked on our door to introduce herself to us, and also because she was running for the position of Publications Secretary, which is, as everyone knows, the most important position on the JCRC. However, I got bored after about 9.69 seconds, not because she was not chio, but rather: beyond telling me her name, the post she was running for, how I could support her, where I could vote for her, when voting was, and flashing me her flashiest smile, she didn’t tell me much else.

And this is the crux of my post actually, although some may beg to disagree: what I really wanted to know, besides her relationship status, her vital stats, and if she would put out, was: why the hell I should vote for her, what issues she was interested in pushing, what she planned to achieve in her time as the Publications Secretary, and what differentiated her from the other kukubirds candidates running for the same position.

Has politics, even at the student level, become so de-politicised that it really isn’t about these things, but about who can give me the most number of tissue packets?

Acherlly, I know the answer myself, since I went through the same process. It’s really a popularity/publicity contest, because the majority of residents couldn’t really care less about what you can do, so long as you are perceived to be able to do the job well enough.

What about inner beauty and all that jazz, I hear you ask no one in particular, but I am able to hear you because I have a super sharp sense of hearing. Nah, take it from me: it’s just a fallacy cooked up by kukubirds who insist upon believing in delusional ideals of honour.

In conclusion, I should’ve just asked for her number before she left.

P.S. Please take note of instances of irony from line 9 onwards. Cheers! :)