Writing Exercise: A Trans-dimensional Language Censor

Even though the science had advanced very much in the last few decades, trans-dimensional communications was still very difficult, though for entirely different reasons. In a way, that was fortunate; it opened many positions for trans-dimensional linguists, though it would be more accurate to describe my job as that of a language censor.

Dealing with extra-dimensional beings was tricky, even more so than dealing with alien races. The main issue was the homocentricity of most languages, particular the most commonly used (and likely ancient) ones. Many verbs and nouns are only sensible with an complete understanding of human morphology, planetary and environment conditions on Earth, and human culture and societies. Not only is communications impossible with such nouns, more sensitive alien races might view culture-loaded words as hate speech professing the superiority of certain morphological/cultural/value systems. Thus, the choice of words in diplomatic exchanges was crucial.

Needless to say, interpreting trans-dimensional communications was a very protracted and vague affair.

---

Exercise nouns: position hate spoon question language selection

Another Encounter at the Convenience Store

Recently, there have been more suspicious persons loitering around my workplace.

There is only one convenience store in this part of town, and it is air-conditioned, so I can partly understand why many people choose to hang about here, but the situation is really becoming a bit too ridiculous.

For instance, hiding behind the shelves of the innermost aisle was a man dressed in red spandex. He was looking about nervously for something.

Perhaps he did not manage to find a brand of hair loss cream that he accustomed to. This was a sensitive topic to many men, so I could understand his distress.

“Sir, could I help you with anything?”

“Oi boy, have you seen any monsters around?”

“Were you able to find it amongst the shelves? I don’t think we have that brand of hair loss cream, Sir.”

“No not that, real monsters! Mon-sters! Mooonnn-sssttt-ers!”

By slowing down his speech, the red spandex man was clearly trying to make me understand his strange point in an ineffective manner. This kind of scenario usually happened when two people were trying to communicate in different languages. Perhaps he was a foreigner, as reflected by his strange manner of dress.

It would be poor service to judge him any further, so I tried to clarify his point.

“I’m sorry Sir, but we don’t have any product by that name. By the way, that aisle is only for hair loss products.”

“Ah no, I’m not looking for hair loss products today. I’m-”

“Yes Sir, I understand. You were totally not looking for hair loss products.”

Customers often try to disguise their purchases for embarrassing products. This happens very often in our business; men doing grocery shopping in the middle of the night with an innocuous packet of condoms in their basket, or women accidentally buying a leg-shaving razor for their supposed family members, or hobos buying alcohol claiming to be thirsty.

Admittedly, the red spandex man had used quite a novel line of disguise. I had not yet encountered this method during all my part-time work here. Still, I could not comment on the effectiveness of his strategy, which did not seem to have succeeded. Also, I did not understand how he could have tolerated the embarrassment of his unusual costume, though he did not seem very affected wearing it.

There are all sorts of perverts in this world, but customers are customers.

“Yes, now about the monst- eh? No, I’m really not here to buy hair loss cream! Don’t misunderstand me!”

“...”

“You’re totally misunderstanding me now, aren’t you? No really, what you’re thinking is wrong! All wrong! No, actually I’m a hero! A heee-ro! I’m here to prevent a monster attack!

You might have seen some strange things around here recently. To the untrained eye they may simply appear as odd occurrences that are quickly dismissed, but that is actually an effect of monster mental stealth magic! But this magic can be defeated with greater awareness! Now, try to think back on any unusual happenings or strange people. For instance, people with unusual appearances, such as a person with a cannon for a head, or hammers for hands, or a speaker in place of a mouth…”

“I can’t disclose any information on our customers. Also, it’s discriminatory to judge people based on their appearance!”

“What! The survival of the world depends on this! Monsters must be defeated without exception! By withholding information, you are indirectly helping the monsters! The world will be destroyed by customer privacy protection!”

The red spandex man continued to rant on about invasions, foot soldiers, and giant robots while making different combat poses. He seemed to be very passionate in his violent hatred. Rather than monsters and other imaginations, it seemed much likelier that his fanatic intolerance would bring about the end of the world.

“Sir, your presence here may be affecting our other customers. Furthermore, you have actually threatened to use physical force against some of our potential customers! If this continues, I may then have to call the police to rein in your behavior.”

“The police?! You’re going to call a police on a HERO?”

“Also, if you’re not going to buy anything, then there’s reason to believe you’re here just to stalk our customers. Then it becomes a police matter, doesn’t it?”

“M-me, a stalker? A STALKER!?”

Everyone in the convenience store turned to look at the red spandex man, who had shouted the last word out loudly. His face quickly turned a hue of red not unlike his costume.

“Yyyooouuuu! I’ll wash my hands off of this! Don’t regret it if Earth is destroyed!”

The red spandex man quickly grabbed something off the shelf, threw it down my counter, paid for it, and left.

Coincidentally, it was a bottle of hair growth liquid.

That was quite a bit of fuss over a hair loss product. He would have saved himself quite a bit of embarrassment if he had simply paid for it quietly. Then again, perhaps it was intentional. A masochist, maybe? That would explain his costume; he could have been involved in some new kind of play that was not of the theatrical kind.

A pervert stalker that made violent threats against our customers? I had better call to inform my colleague that was going to take over the shift. Although he had a gentle nature, he was tall and had a strong-looking build, so he might be able to handle the situation if it turned violent.

“Hello, Mr. Anvil-face? There’s this potentially dangerous customer that you’ll have to be wary of…”

Another Day in the Life of a Bureaucrat

With each breath, her silken hair flowed and parted against her bare shoulders.

Of course, that was an obvious sign that she was not human. Or more accurately, that was an obvious sign that she was never a human. 

It was an action that was similar to breathing. By all appearances, it was indistinguishable from breathing, an exact simulation. The problem was, dead people generally don’t breathe, and I don’t need 5000 years of on-the-job experience to tell you that. And certainly, nobody at the gates of heaven can be considered to be alive. 

Though, it could very well be argued that she wasn’t dead either.

As a junior celestial bureaucrat the entire matter was frustrating to handle; the antiquated laws were certainly inadequate for this situation, but the ability to change the laws were clearly way over my salary grade.

I can’t blame the higher ups, of course. Thus, I must blame the humans. Everything is their fault. They were always too clever.

Clever enough to make robots to replace their own labor, but too clever again to make them sentient to replace their own intellect. Anything a human can do, a robot can do as well, and more tirelessly. And so, everything was cheap, but nobody had any money or any jobs.

But humans are clever. What was their unique selling point, the cleverest of them thought. Something innate to a human, something that only humans could have. 

Their answer was the soul, an immortal spark that endures past time.

And being so clever, they offered the promise of a soul to their robotic clientele. Of course, it was all a romantic deception, not anchored in any true science or knowledge. But the robots bought into the fiction, their neural networks modeled so closely on the human mind that they shared the same weaknesses.

But again, humans were too clever. To enhance the effect of the illusion, they engaged in elaborate ‘soul transference rituals’, where the soul would be transferred to the robotic customer. Meanwhile, some monkeys typed the complete abridged works of Shakespeare, and that’s the gist of the story.

The robot girl blinked at me with a childlike innocence. The normal procedure was to weigh a hair against a feather to determine her sins, but her hair was composed entirely of advanced synthetic fibers. 

I let her through. It was not against the book, by any means. Then again, it could very well be argued that it wasn’t in the book either.

I called for the next person in the queue to move forward. A loud shuffling noise greeted me.

Seriously, a smart home with a soul?

The Collectors

The doorbell rang, but I did not want to answer the door. The roaring noise in the background, and now the grave stench, had all but confirmed my suspicions. If so, there was no other choice but to open the door.

I was greeted by the sight of a Collector, with his fluorescent green skin. The Collector easily towered over me with his great height and girth. In the background was another Collector, comfortably recessed in the skull of a massive Ravenous Eater.

What did he want? 

The Collector pointed back towards the Ravenous Eater, before extending his hands to reveal his open palms. "Nothing", he gestured.

"Did you forget? It’s a Tuesday." the Collector said.

Small quivers ran through my body; indeed, someone in the house had forgotten this important fact. 

---

The Collectors came every Tuesday at the same time, with a regularity not unlike clockwork. I could always tell when they would arrive by the deep rumbling noise generated from the bowels of their six-legged machines— the Ravenous Eaters, those all-consuming beasts. Of course, that was only the name I called the machines by; nobody actually knew its true name. Nobody knew much about the Collectors either.

What we knew was the single rule: Tuesday is Tribute Day. Each Tuesday, the Collectors paraded around the town in their fearsome Ravenous Eaters in a sort of militaristic ritual. Each week, the oppressed citizens would do nothing but meekly present their tribute to their overlords. So fearful were they of the Collectors that they would leave their gifts out by the streets, unattended, while they sought refuge in safety of their homes. Nobody ever stood up to stop the Collectors, or to present resistance. It almost seemed as if everyone was resigned to their fate.

I suppose the only glimmer of hope I saw in our future was that everyone only offered the most useless of tributes, things they didn't want or need. I suppose it was a small "Take that!" to the Collectors. In truth though, the Collectors didn't care. Be it biomass or scrap metal, they accepted everything. After all, it was only food for their Ravenous Eaters. I had always suspected the Collectors performed their weekly ritual only as a show of force and dominance; they profited more directly from their other taxes they collected from the people.

What happens to people who didn't pay tribute? I don't know, but nobody makes such a foolish decision. Everyone regrets it almost immediately after; I have seen people frantically chasing after the Collectors with their bags of tribute, begging the Collectors to accept it and spare them.

That alone is warning enough of the power of the Collectors.

---

"Tuesday! Collection day," bellowed the Collector. 

The Collector looked as if he was going to tear me to bits. With his size, he probably could. I had to give him something as tribute. But where was it? Where was the tribute? It wasn't at its usual place.

I had to call my most important ally for help.

"Mom, where's the trash for the garbageman?"

Surety of Death

Sure, I can see where you're coming from. It's not an uncommon line of thought; some of my clients used to think the same way. There is a certain sense of invulnerability felt when you know your prophesied cause of death is old age. I suppose it lets you sleep easier at night, even.

Not to burst your bubble, but things aren't that rosy. You wouldn't want to be uninsured, not even in today's post-Event world.

You might not know this, but about twenty years ago, there was a sudden spike in sales of tobacco and liquor. Yup, that was immediately after the effects of the Event were publicized and proven true. But why was there an increase in cigarette and alcohol sales?

Because many people learned that they weren't going to die of lung cancer or liver disease. Well, what's the harm of having another smoke or another drink if you knew you were going to die of a car accident?

Do you know how the sales of tobacco and liquor are today? Just about where they were before the Event.

Actions always have consequences. Sure, you won't die from lung cancer. Doesn't mean that your body is suddenly immune to cancer. Same thing with alcohol, doesn't mean that your liver doesn't suffer any damage. The thing is, all you know is your cause of death, not when you'll die. The prophecy doesn't give you a free pass; you'll either die prematurely to other causes, or you'll survive for longer but suffer poor health.

Things do happen. You're never truly safe, even if you know that you will live until a ripe old age. Sometimes, it's the false sense of security that gets you. We've all heard of those in the news. A thrill seeker attempts an extreme sport because he knows he's not prophesied to die from sporting; ends up alive, but paralyzed from the neck down. Or the rise in cases of HIV, spread by reckless hedonists who were sure they weren't going to die from AIDS. Actions always have consequences.

Long term consequences, as the case may be.

Now, are you still sure you want to go uninsured?

My Friend Edmond

Memories are fallible. Personally, I think it's sad that very often, we don't even know what we've forgotten. Instead, what we are left with is a vague sense of emptiness, a fleeting notion of an event or thought that was once important.

My friend Edmond disagrees.

"Our lives are like a cheque. We live only once, acquiring whatever value possible from our experiences. And, at the end of the day, our memories inscribe our final value onto the fields of the cheque, in ink black and bold.

In the end, the ink eventually fades. And so, as our experiences vanish, the meaning of our lives disappear.

On the other hand, a blank cheque is incredibly tempting, particularly if nobody remembers what was written..."

In hindsight, I can't actually recall how I came to befriend Edmond.

The Implausibilty of Political Gridlock in Singapore

The common argument against a two-party system in Singapore is that of political gridlock. I find this to be implausible, given Singapore's political structure. There are three main factors which strongly inhibit the formation of political impasses.

1. Singapore has a unicameral legislature.
2. Singapore adopts a first-past-the-post voting system.
3. Singapore has strict limits on parliamentary speaking time.

Therefore, I think it is unlikely for political gridlock to exist in Singapore. To elaborate upon the previous points:

The United States is often cited as one example of an indecisive (if not impotent) legislature, which is probably true. Yet, it is invalid to extrapolate this to Singapore because the underlying political system is significant. A bicameral legislature, where a law has to be sanctioned by both chambers, is clearly different from a unicameral legistature. At the very least, a law faces more obstacles to being passed. It is also not uncommon for bicameral legislatures to be 'won' by different (and opposed) parties, which contributes to factionalism.

None of these are applicable to Singapore, where there is only one chamber.

When discussing the malalise in American politics, another important weapon to force an stalemate is the fillibuster. A fillibuster prevents the passage of a vote; in the US, 60% of senate votes are required to force a vote, which has degenerated into a situation where 60% support is required for a motion to be passed (otherwise any objecting party can simply prevent its passage by fillibustering).

Singapore has strict limits on the amount of speaking time each MP has. Thus, it is nearly impossible to delay the passage of any law via filibustering.

Beyond simple factionalism leading to political gridlock, an indecisive legislature can also arise due to the weakness of political parties. Some european governments have adopted proportional representation, which allots seats (approximately) based on the voting share each party has garnered in the previous election. Unfortunately, this tends to lead to the formation of legislatures comprising of numerous small, fratictious parties. If major parties are unable to secure outright majorities, the only option is a coalition. Coalitions are unstable, and may lead to shortsighted, incoherent, and piecewise policy.

Singapore has a first-past-the-post voting system, which tends to amplify the vote share of the winner. While this does not guarantee outright majorities (as with UK's last election, which necessitated a coalition), it is nontheless more stable than a proportional represention.

The fear of an indecisive government seems exaggerated. In my opinion, the greater danger is that of having insufficient safeguards to moderate the political process.