While driving today, I came across a PMD/ power bicycle/ whatever the hell those powered things on two wheels are that have a license plate and aren't motorcycles are called. It was being ridden by a food delivery driver on the road, just like a motorcycle, and I wondered for just a moment, "huh, do you need a license to ride one of those things on the road?"
I personally don't believe my job, or his, is a skilled job at all. Any clown with a riding/ driving license can do what he and I do respectively, and if you've seen the fucking idiots that are allowed on Singaporean roads, you'll very quickly realise how little an achievement attaining a license is, if it can even be considered one. But where he and I differ is that, cars have been around for decades by this point, and roads are built primarily with them in mind. The thingamajig he's riding has been a really new concept, hence why I wondered if you need a license to ride one of those things on the road. "Bah, it couldn't be that hard," I thought. "Society needs us unskilled workers in numbers, so the licenses are more of a cash grab, a legal 'ass cover', and a formality so that unskilled Toms, Dicks, and Harries like he and I can do these menial jobs, so the really smart and important people can do all the smart and impressive jobs that pay well. That are way more varied, stressful, and involve more risks than fender benders or one person's livelihood."
Still, his thingamajig's new, and my car isn't. Conceptually, anyway. One would have to think that getting a license to do a proven job with a new tool carries some small amount of risk, too, right? What if those things get outlawed entirely? What if accident rates and fatalities regarding those things rise to the point of public concern and outcry? With cars, people, from commoners like myself, to moderately rich assholes who use cars as status symbols, all the way to tycoons, have come to rely on them too much for them to ever be in danger of being banned, at least, here in dead set Singapore. But the thought of rich, important people doing jobs that involve varied risks, and the rider taking a small risk in attaining a riding license made me wonder, for just a split second, "man, when was the last time I took a risk?"
And that split second of wondering snapped something into place in my brain. A familiar feeling jolted into attention at the mention of "taking risks for myself," and I suddenly remembered clearly, a dream I had last night, that I had completely forgotten about when I woke up.
I was all by myself in between the top floor and second top floor of your typical HDB flat in Singapore, in a stairwell. I've been to a few of these over the last few years, so this isn't new to me. Down below, I can see, through the gaps in the wall that let in sunlight, a few groups of teenagers, adults, all having the time of their lives, being active and enjoying various different activities together. I didn't really think to identify everything that was going on, and so the only activity I remembered was this group playing badminton in a court. It stuck out to me, because badminton is the only sport that I've ever willingly participated in, let alone actually enjoyed. I stopped because I was never socially accepted, and I began to dislike the idea of showing up for class drenched in sweat. I guess I've always had a small part of me wonder, what if I wasn't so disliked back then? What if my secondary school actually had a badminton club guys could join? How different a person would I have become? Maybe I'd have found somewhere I belonged. Maybe I'd actually have been good for something. Maybe I'd be somewhat more fit than the 120kg atrocity that is typing this right now.
I backed off the wall and sat dejected on the stairs, burying my head into my knees. The people looked so far away, but their voices are so, so disproportionately loud, as though they were all screaming into my ears. It felt like I could never run away from those people, those voices, those thoughts. After a while of just sitting there drowning in my thoughts, I got up and went back to that opening in the wall. It was dark. It was nighttime. I had no idea how much time I had spent sitting there on the stairs. The people, were they still there? Were they not? I don't remember. It was quiet, but it felt like they were there, always ready to watch, point, and laugh the moment anyone did anything remotely out of the ordinary. I reached my hand out of that hole in the wall. It was all I could see in that darkness, along with some sort of blind faith that the unforgiving ground is waiting for me somewhere down there. And I remember, my hand, shivering, quivering violently, in that dark abyss. I was petrified. Scared out of my mind. I could see the life — and death — that I've always wanted, right there in front of me. All I had to do, was to take that first step forward, and take a risk for myself, by myself, to do something that no one told me to do, for once in my life. Happiness is right there, right in front of me.
But as with every time I had found myself in that situation in reality, I couldn't do it. More than ever in my dream than any time before in real life, I was so, so scared of the pain. So paralysed by the fear of uncertainty. So helpless without someone assuring me in some way that this is the right thing to do. And I hate myself so, so much for not having the balls to do what I really want to do. Unlike real life however, I remember thinking to myself in that dream, "I'm not ready to die. I can't die," with perhaps thoughts of my family, friends, medication, and therapists, and who knows what else.
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