A cold room, wet and dingy. A monk sat across the room, facing a Thai masseur who looked down with repressed fear and anguish. The monk requested the maid to calm down and meditate.

“Free your mind. Empty all thoughts.”

“I can’t.”

“You can try.”

“I can’t!”

“You can. If you have read the sutras, there was a prostitute during the Buddha’s time and she managed to attain the first stage of Nirvana–”

“I cannot read. You don’t understand!”

“Calm down. I understand that you’re in great pain–”

“There are scratches on my vagina!”

“There is great unrest in your soul–”

“There is blood in my rectum!”

Silence.

“I can’t act like a monk! Can monks act like prostitutes??“

Silence.

The scene changed. A Japanese woman fumed at the Thai masseur.

“You cannot see him.”

“I must see him.”

The Thai masseur proceeded to show a photograph.

“She doesn’t look anything like him.”

“If you don’t let me see him, I’ll shout to the entire neighbourhood about her!”

The Japanese woman lunged forward in an attempt to snatch the scandalous photograph away from the Thai masseur. A cat fight ensued.

“Do you think we’re rich??“

“I don’t want his money! I just want his signature to show that this is his child.”

An official testimonial ruffled angrily.

“Then say that you’re using her as an excuse to stay in this country! Say that you used him!“

“I used him? No. He came to me. I gave him the child he always said he wanted and never had!”

“You’ll never get his signature!”

“Don’t you get it? It’s not about me. She has to have his signature! She cannot go back to Thailand! She was born here, she lived here, she went to school here; she’ll never fit in back home! She is Japanese!“

“And what about me? How am I supposed to face the public by accepting your child? It’s you who wrecked your daughter’s life, not him. Go back home. Japan will never accept you.”

“Even if they kick me out, even if I have to leave her in Thailand, I will come back! I just want his signature.”

The testimonial was thrown to the Thai masseur’s face.

A long pause.

“Just give me back my Sundays…give me back my Sundays…”

An exasperate sob. The Japanese woman left. The Thai masseur picked the paper up with pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. She was lost in her own thoughts of freedom.

The monk spoke again.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I want his signature. It’s for her.”

“Do you think that the court will still allow you to stay? Even if you have his signature and you’re allowed to stay here, you’ll be holding an alien card; you’ll never be a citizen here. That’s how the law works.”

“I don’t care if I have to leave her in Thailand. I have to come in here. No matter what.”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I don’t care if I have to leave her in Thailand! No matter what, I will fight for our rights to stay in here!”

“Do you know why you are here?“

The scene changed.

As time went by, many other scenes depicted stories of women and men who are affected by global movement and migration.

We see a CEO of a successful trans-national business conglomerate faced with the problem of living up to his promise to give a better life to a fisherman (an old friend who jumpstarted the former’s business by showing him the most beautiful sunset he has ever seen), and living up to his job expectations by releasing the latter and other “old” native workers (whose islands suffered the wrath of tsunami). The CEO was depressed with his dilemma. In reaction to his woes, his wife (who was initially absorbed in expressing concern over their business import of expensive jewelry made by native workers) screamed her angst against the judgment that seemed to always make the rich the culprit of poverty.

Next, we see a Philippine maid being forced to choose between her job and aborting her baby (hence going against her Catholic god) because of the restrictions of the Singaporean law.

Then, we see a workaholic rich Japanese businessman who became affected by the loss of his first born child, resulting in a desperate attempt to see the purity in poverty after his encounter with a prostitute in Myanmar.

Mainly and finally, we see a rift of high conflict between a female Malay Malaysian head of the state human resource department, and an NGO officer. The former believed that the migrant workers are the root of social problems and the latter believed that national security is the root of migrant worker problems. The former believed that change should start from oneself while the latter believed that change should be imposed onto others.

Both of them wanted to fight for women’s rights and world peace.

–

The above is a summary and a spoiler for Mobile, a drama presented by The Actors Studio (Bangsar) & The Necessary Stage (Singapore), which I had the privilege to witness last night.

The drama was really an eye-opener to the real current events of the world which many easily ignore. I used to think that the rich are heartless bastards who only knew how to talk about ending poverty while watching the occasional National Geographic in their Plasma TVs.

Sure, there are the painfully hypocritical and selfish assholes from the 20% of the world’s population (i.e. the retarded celebrities and popular business conglomerates that, in fact, gives more shit about money than about social welfare) who pays others to save the world for their own convenience, but are we giving enough credit to the rich who do make a difference in the lives of the many poor?

Too often have we used the conspiracy theories on the rich whenever they did charity. Too often have we blamed the rich for not contributing enough to society.

And it’s not just about the rich. Many people tend to think that the poor are fated to live the life they lived. Survival of the fittest. But without the opportunity to education, the poor cannot better their lives as they should. “Good” education in today’s society are the ones that scream brands like “US”, “Canada”, “Australia”, and “UK”.

In other words, expensive. What’s more, the world today can’t seem to appreciate native workers. Xenocentrism seem to be valued for its diversity. Yet, when workers become emigrants/immigrants, the government seems to care about national security above all else, regardless of personal issues.

It’s a Catch-22 situation.

Taking all that into mind, the biggest question that now appears to me to be the most selfish one: To care or not to care? Because without these workers, none of the massive constructions and national projects would have been completed, none of the agriculture would have sustained for so long, and I might be forced to move my naturally lazy ass to work with them. So I should appreciate their full worth and give my utmost sincere support. Sure, I could offer my sympathy to their unhappiness.

But should I literally go out to help them and share the burden? They are really none of my fucking business. Why should the privileged be condemned for what they were naturally born into?

They’re there; they exist. We can’t pretend that everybody lives in Lala Land. I don’t want to care yet I want to care for them.

Back to Mobile, it was amusing when they mentioned that in Singapore, if anyone were to mention this issue with national security, the government would cry “MARXISM” or “COMMUNISM”.

Lastly, to quote Mobile’s flyer: “As the world becomes more mobile, has it also become more foreign?“