A Normie's Guide To Mind-Reading | ONC 2023

Eleven ∆ Be A Tourist In Your Homeland

Urban legends are rich with morals. I am the least virtuous person in the universe, therefore I am not morally righteous. Conclusion: I am not able to produce an urban legend, at least, not ethically.

Urban legends can be a source of moral panic, however. I have redeemed myself in the worst way possible. Conclusion: I am the source of moral panic.

"You can stop now." Caleb glances at the rearview mirror with a sigh. We stare at the windscreen. He taps the steering wheel. "Convincing your parents was hard."

"I'm being difficult."

He smooshes his face with a hand. The green light comes on. We continue our journey to the Merlion Park. For the first time, he reveals our destination.

"Because it isn't. It's part of the journey."

"Then everywhere we go can't be a destination," I say. "What's the point?"

"No point, that's what."

Caleb winds down the windows. As we pass a durian stall, a whiff of it enters the car. I ask if he's alright with it and he beams. Durian is a divisive fruit, its smell pungent to some, fragrant to others, its flesh bitter or sweet. You'd think people hate its thorns instead of something so subjective. But it's difficult to live objectively. Besides, we're always about the verb. Nike says to just do it. Buddhists like Mai advocate the need to just be, the most basic and irregular of verbs with its eight forms, as if mirroring the Eightfold Path: Right View, Right Resolve, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, Right Samadhi. Not that I know much.

"The less you know, the more you understand," quips Caleb. "But, if it's an issue of ignorance, how invested are you really, to begin with?"

Soon, we are strolling along the Singapore River, passing by the white statue of Sir Stamford Raffles with his arms crossed. Then there is the Merlion Park. The half-lion, half-fish creature stands tall and roars at the pristine waters, a waterfall spewing out of its mouth. Its concrete scales shimmer under the sun. We sit on the steps.

"Lots of tourists here today," I say.

"We are the same."

"Are we?" I turn my head skywards. "Will you tell me now? You were rather vague earlier."

"I was hoping you would ask." Caleb sighs and wipes the sweat off his brows. "When you were seven, Pai... well, your father wanted you to be a doctor or a lawyer. You asked him, 'What about a taxi driver? What if I become a taxi driver?' He said you'd be an invisible taxi driver, just as invisible as the construction workers and maids..."

"I don't remember that."

"Anyway, you wished to know what it's like to be invisible. Thus I was born."

"That's ridiculous."

By the railing, a stone's throw away, an American couple poses with the Merlion with their mouths wide open to receive its holy water. The Chinese cameraman, a friendly passerby roped into the affair, encourages them to adopt other poses: raising a half-empty bottle to the Merlion, rendering it a water cooler; pouring water over themselves to give the illusion of the Merlion drenching them; begging the Merlion to water their clover pendant.

"You actualise the possibilities with your 'what if's," says Caleb.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be an urban legend. Is that what you mean?" I watch the couple thank him and leave laughing. The man goes on his merry way with his hands in his trouser pockets. "If that's true, doesn't that mean no one is a mind-reader till last week?"

Caleb shakes his head. "It may or may not be so. I may have existed before you called upon the possibility. Everyone else may have been mind-readers before you called upon the possibility. What appears to be the case is your power to draw out the unconscious."