But while The Donald acknowledges his withdrawal is to the “detriment of the world”, I’m pretty sure he’s referring only to the bigger picture at large and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the man on the street.
Speaking to eleven-year-old Theresa during her school’s half-hour lunch break, I get a better understanding of the impact the cancellation has on our nation’s youth.
“My korkor already whole day complain say Social Studies got a lot of dates to remember. Then now got another one, somemore nothing even happening. How to remember? Then forget then fail how?”
Damn. I never knew that children nowadays were so forward-thinking. I mean, when I was her age, all that occupied my prepubescent mind was how to assemble the perfect team to beat the Elite Four in Pokemon.
As the bell signalling the end of recess and our conversation sounds, she leaves me with a message that I agree to convey.
“Mr Trump, I don’t friend you already.”
“Wah lan eh then the chao ang moh cancel. Grow so many Orchids and now use for what?”
In conversation with Mr Ang, an old-timer in the floriculture trade, I regrettably get a front-row seat to his fury.
“Kanina, all my effort for nothing. Brudder, you think I ask the Orchid to bloom it will bloom ah? These days the weather also so hot. I go to bed at night, cannot sleep well, cannot even make love to my wife properly. She thinks I’m thinking of her but actually I’m worrying if my flowers will die.”
While doing my best to get the disturbing imagery of portly Mr Ang’s sex-life out of my head, I silently nod in agreement. But he’s not done.
Bracing myself for more oversharing, he continues:
“They told me that the Kim a lot of pattern. Meet for dinner with South Korea, the dessert also must look like those Japanese islands. Now Orchid also want pattern. Boss say must only pick those the pattern look like rocket. Wah lan eh then the chao ang moh cancel. Grow so many Orchids and now use for what? Better pay me extra lah nabei.”
Feeling sorry for the guy, I purchase a few stalks of the many Orchids that didn’t make the cut to lay at the grave of my auditory innocence.
In the wee hours of this morning, I spied a colleague’s desperate plea to my editor in the company group chat.
“Please, for the love of God, don’t make me write about millennials or rainbow food again.”
I chortled, only to be handed this very article half an hour later. Interesting. I never knew “Donald Trump” was a synonym for “karma” and you know what they say about karma don’t you?
What was supposed to be a mid-June deadline has now been dramatically hauled forward to this evening as publications attempt to stay up-to-date and relevant.
Dammit. Cue the intravenous injections of caffeine.
National Servicemen across the nation are currently rejoicing at not having to be called back for reservist because of the summit.
National Servicemen across the nation are currently rejoicing at not having to be called back for reservist because of the summit. Phoning an old army buddy of mine, I hear the delight in his voice as soon as he answers my call.
“Dude, words cannot describe the relief I’m feeling now. I mean, my unit encik already gives me hell for my parade bearings. Can you imagine how much boot polishing I would have had to do if the world’s press and media had their eyes on me?”
Good point. If I were in his shoes, I’d feel the same way.
Having consolidated the opinions of everyone who suffered collateral damage in the wake of Trump’s cancellation, I find myself with just one thing to say:
Dear Mr Trump, on behalf of average Singaporeans everywhere, thank you for nothing you big pussy.
