theWRITEtherapy

Gimme 5 good reasons

2010-02-10T00:17:00.006+08:00

The other day, someone commented I looked like I was going to a party from the way I dressed. Did he mean I looked nice or did he mean I overdressed for work? You never know the real meaning behind these double edged comments.

Another time this person said my hair looked like Farah Fawcett's. Is that really possible? I mean she was gorgeous and very blond compared to my rather dark Asian hair even after a round of colouring. Again, I can never be sure if she was making snide remarks or being genuine.

Maybe I'm cynic, since as a journalist I've learned not to believe everything you hear. Furthermore, I trust my instincts - I think I can sniff out phony compliments from real ones.

Anyways...on another matter, a classmate of mine passed away at 36 from a heart attack. It was shocking and disturbing to say the least. At this age, you hear about weddings and babies, not death. Although dying is part of living you don't expect it at 36. Even death at a ripe old age can be painful for loved ones.

When we remember how ephemeral our time on earth is, we will be reminded of what's truly important. So in spite of all my griping and whinging, I do have a few things to be thankful for everyday. For today, I'm thankful for the following:

1. Calling Mom to tell her I've baked two fruitcakes for Chinese New Year.
2. Listening to classical musical on Astro after a long day.
3. Shared meals with my workmates.
4. Wearing a hawt dress today.
5. Receiving a text from a dear old friend.

Sigh! I feel so blessed already and I can go to bed happy.

A new post for the new year

2010-01-04T23:03:00.005+08:00

It has been a while yes and even the skin of this blog has given up on me. I'm now back to using templates from Blogger...until I sort out what's wrong or I may even stick with this for a while.

I had meant to write about the attraction books hold for me last year but held off as I got lazy and then whoosh...it's already 2010.

So, what is it about books that I like? Is it the pretty covers, the smell of freshly printed paper - in the case of new books - as I flip the pages or with old books, the notes some other reader had scribbled in the margins? Is it the story line and characters that come alive through every line of print? Is it the intrigue of a mystery, the betrayal of a friend, the tenderness between lovers? Of just a hunger for knowledge, opinions and perspectives?

For me, it is all the above and perhaps most of all, books, especially fiction, allow me to escape to another world, to take on a fly-on-the-wall view of all that the author has to offer the silent and invisible spectator that is the reader.

That is why I love to read.

The evil among us

2009-07-21T00:28:00.003+08:00

How many more must die in custody before Malaysia does the right thing? Those who died have as much right as the next person to exist in this world. Even if they have allegedly committed crimes, they deserve to be treated as human beings not animals to be tortured and intimidated.

When will Malaysia sign, ratify and implement the United Nations Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment? When will the government stop its lip service and start doing something about deaths in custody, which have become too common to ignore?

We can talk about the liberalization measures and removal of Bumiputera quotas till we lose our voices if Malaysia is portrayed (and in many ways, the portrayal is a reflection of reality) as a country with no rule of law, where the rich, corrupt and powerful are allowed to trample on the rights of ordinary Malaysians and where some are more seemingly more equal than others. I mean, why would an MNC head honcho want to live here in Malaysia when he and his family can live in Singapore or Hong Kong? Malaysia itself is not that cheap anymore. The cheap labour we have are from Indonesia, Vietnam, Myanmar and elsewhere. Besides, the Malaysian market is really very small compared to Indonesia and China. And at least, in Singapore and Hong Kong, we don’t hear of people dying under mysterious circumstances while in custody.

There is something truly evil lurking within those in positions of power and the government when they allow the nation’s young to die, purportedly as they were being held by authorities. First a Mongolian, then a Malaysian, and then another, and another, when will it end? It could happen to anyone, it could happen to you and me.

Thank you for the music

2009-07-08T00:20:00.013+08:00

I wasn't sure if I wanted to write about this but then I do want to make a record of it, just so that I can read about my thoughts on it years from now.

Yes, I'm talking about the tragic death of Michael Jackson. The news channels are all broadcasting his public memorial service and I must have been the only person whose eyes weren't glued to the TV earlier in the evening.

It's still so surreal watching Michael Jackson's funeral. It's hard to believe he's dead when his songs are so full of life. His songs have been part of my growing up years. I remember I was introduced to the world of pop music when I first saw the Beat It and Billie Jean videos. I was in my early teens then, still finding my way in this world.

I was never a hardcore fan - or even considered myself a fan - but in my mid-teens, I did sing along with Michael Jackson and Siedah Garret whenever I hear their duet, I Just Can't Stop Loving You, on the radio. I did have a soft spot for that song.

In university, we sang Will You Be There from the movie Free Willy along with a medley of other songs at the inter-college choir competition and won first prize. We sang a few English songs but I only remember John Denver's Country Road and Michael Jackson's Will You Be There.

Through the years as Jackson descended to the pale androgynous figure that he became, his life becoming more and more bizarre and I soon got tired of the madness and lost interest.

It was only some time last year that I was re-introduced to his songs again during a trip to Cameron Highlands with some friends from church. As we Malaysian and Filipino gals drove along the winding roads, we kept playing and singing Michael Jackson hits. All of us knew or recognised his songs. Indeed, almost everyone has a favourite Michael Jackson song. He truly was a global icon.

His death is heartbreaking and came too soon - imagine the songs he could have written if he lived or had the opportunity to focus on songwriting in the last few years of his life. For me, it was the end of an era.

Perhaps this world has no place for someone like Michael Jackson. He had to be an adult as a child but remained a child in adulthood. Maybe that could explain the weird things he did.

For me, the hypocrisy emerging from the last two weeks would be how everyone is coming forward to say how great Jackson was. I wonder if they said the same during his darkest hour. And why do we only appreciate what we have when we lose it?

Even the performances during the memorial feels a little contrived at times. In death, so many of us still hunger for a piece of Michael Jackson, or offered their memories of him. Admittedly, this is exactly what I am doing. Perhaps it's because he offered us an escape from reality through his songs, and now a crucial link to those ephemeral fantasies is gone forever.

Thank you for the music and God bless you, Michael Jackson.

fish food, part duex

2009-06-29T00:24:00.005+08:00

This is looking more and more like a food blog...

Well, so be it. Mom and I tried our hand at making nyonya dumplings. It's a first for both of us, especially seeing the inky blue colouring oozing from the bunga telang soaked in hot water. And the dumplings turned out good too even though we forgot to add the peanuts.

Not bad for a first attempt. :-)

How about some fish food?

2009-05-31T14:40:00.004+08:00

Zongzi. Yum.

I helped my mom make them last weekend. Wrapping the zongzi or dumplings is a real challenge and it has taken me years to master it. Even now, I would say I’ve achieved only 70% of mom’s dexterity in wrapping all that glutinous rice, beans, pork, salted egg, Chinese chestnut, mushrooms and dried shrimps with two pieces of bamboo leaves and tying them all up with straw into little bundles of delight.

So among the perfectly wrapped pyramids of sticky glutinous rice in my mom’s house, you’ll find a handful of bulging imperfect pyramids, some bursting at the corners – those would be my handiwork.

Every year, I’d eat zongzi without really knowing why. It has something to do with a tradition of throwing the zongzi into the river. Today I came across an article in the Weekend Journal, saying that occasion of eating zongzi which is also known as the Dragon Boat festival, is to commemorate Qu Yuan, a poet and member of the Chu state ruling family during the Warring States period between 475 and 221 BC.

The story goes that Qu Yuan threw himself into tributary of the Yangtze river in despair when the Chu state fell to the Qins. He had warned the Chus about the Qins but was played out by political rivals and banished to a region south of the Yangtze river.

The people were overcome by sorrow and threw rice balls into the river so that the fish would not eat Qu Yuan’s body, which they couldn’t find. They also took dragon boats out into the rivers along with the load drums to scare the fish.

And that’s how we end up eating zongzi every fifth day of the fifth lunar month.

The story got me thinking, does that mean that all these years we have effectively been eating fish food? Well, even so, I’m not complaining. It’s good fish food, after all.

Weddings and funerals

2009-05-19T22:32:00.009+08:00

I love weddings. The flowers, ribbons and lace, flower girls and ring bearer…

…even when you are one of the odd singles forced to dine with a group of aunties and uncles you've never met because the hosts want to make up the number at empty tables...

…even when you have to listen to mushy love songs from the 1980s the whole night…

…even when you have given a big angpow for bad food disguised as five-star hotel offering…

…even when there's a chance you may bump into the jerk you once dated…

Okay, I lied, I don’t lurve weddings that much but they are tolerable only if the ones tying the knot are close friends or family. What I dread the most is the dude you’ve not met in a million years, who comes along with some preconceived perceptions of you. This is how one episode went:

“So, which category are you?”

“What?”

“You know, are you one of them or us?”

“Ohhh….whatever I am, I’m the opposite of you.”

An audible gasp is heard.

“You’re still single then. So when’s your turn?”

“My turn to win the lottery, fly kites or kick your ass, you bonehead? You know, if this were a funeral, I’ll make sure I’m the first to ask you ‘When’s your turn?’”

Hah…I love having the last word.

Hello stranger

2009-05-05T21:11:00.005+08:00

I finally have something significant to share. It’s been a while I know and it’s not that I wasn’t inspired. The simple truth is, I got lazy.

There’s so much to read these days that you just take and take but there’s no output. Was I constipated then? Well, if there’s such a thing as verbal diarrhea why not verbal constipation? That’s a thought.

Anyway, last week, I experimented with a macro lens borrowed from a fellow photographer and put them to use with my baking friend’s gumpaste flowers - that's edible flower, FYI. They look as good as real. I know I could have been fooled.

Here are some of the shots of the lovely flowers.

Check out more of the sugar artist's work here.

The rocky road ahead

2009-03-03T22:51:00.006+08:00

How many ways are there to say "recession"? Let’s see, there’s economic downturn, slowdown, slump, depression, contraction…honestly, I ran out of words to describe the mess we are in as I wrote about the economic situation last week for the publication I work for.

And as the whole world worries about surviving this global financial and economic crisis, Malaysia’s been hit by a political crisis. Dudes (as in the politicos), we don’t need a political crisis now, geddit? Sheesh...well, obviously not, as the fighting continues and crises deepen.

In the midst of all these, a former co-worker asked me to bake cupcakes for her. Well, why not? There were no monetary gains given the small order but I did profit from the extra cupcakes made and experience a surge of entrepreneurial spirit long buried deep within.

The verdict? I can’t quit my day job just yet. I probably only have a sliver of enterprising spirit in me, if any at all. In any case, who wants to eat cupcakes when a recession looms?

But I have to say it was really nice icing and decorating the cupcakes, putting them in a nice box tied with a bow and delivering them to a happy face. That, as MasterCard would say, is priceless.

The cupcakes I made were called Rocky Road Cupcakes. Very apt given the challenges ahead be it political or financial.

So am I worried? Hah! Have a cupcake, dude.

Hope

2009-02-16T00:40:00.007+08:00

I was emptying and gleefully counting my angpow collection only today. I learned from a colleague during a gambling session that you should only open the red packets after the 15 days of lunar new year are over. This is so that you'll have money for the rest of the year. Since things are not looking so good on the economic front, I refrained from even peeking into my angpows during those 15 days. Heheh...

Angpow packets have really evolved. Clearly, they are subtle advertising tools displaying companies' logos and sometimes even products. Well, nothing comes free, yes?

If you want ad-free angpows, you can always buy them - I found that out only recently! But they are quite gaudy and more for the old school types. Read bright red packets printed with impish lads floating around on dragons or phoenixes beneath garish gold Chinese characters wishing you luck and prosperity.

Back to opening angpows anyway, there were two packets printed by number forecasting operators, Magnum and Sports Toto. According to them, my lucky numbers are 1431 and 7088. Yeah right!

A couple I know took the trouble to write scriptures on pieces of paper and inserting them in the angpow packets. They believe that whatever the recipient gets, that's God's word for them at this time in their lives.

I got one of my favourite verses:

For I know the plans for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. - Jeremiah 29:11

Amen! That's certainly a comforting thought especially in this season of economic and political uncertainty. Not just that, I have no idea what I'll be doing in five or 10 years' time. Is this all there is - me blogging late into the night about something as trivial as angpow packets? Is there more to come? Are there any more surprises left?

All I have is hope.

What small thing

2009-02-05T23:47:00.004+08:00

I finally read Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things although the book has been around for more than 10 years. Maybe subconsciously I was saving the best for later on all these while.

The story is simple enough but the telling of it is incredibly clever. The story is revealed layer by layer as the reader peels away the minutiae of events, histories, including every action, every look of the characters and even every word said or written, to arrive at the conclusion, which ties everything together. All the pieces of the puzzle come together to form a complete picture in the end.

While it is hard sinking into the story in the first half, the reader will be well rewarded if he perseveres.

I often wondered what the book's title, The God of Small Things, means. It refers to the fact that every small thing that we do or every small thing that happens has its consequence, as demonstrated by the story as it progressed and unfolded.

Every small thing. Indeed. Every small thing.

As the Perak state is plunged into a political crisis never seen before, I was made to wonder what small things caused Jamaluddin Mohd Radzi, Mohd Osman Jailu, Hee Yit Foong and Datuk Nasaruddin Hashim to do what they did.

Maybe I’m naïve, it was probably very big things.

Very likely, indeed.

A jolly niu year

2009-01-24T15:12:00.003+08:00

The year of the ox is upon us, which means I’ve been through three cycles of the 12 animals of the Chinese zodiac. That means I’m 36 this year but if you follow the Chinese way of counting, I am actually 37. Yikes!! That’s almost 40, which means I’m already halfway there if I’m lucky enough to make it past 70. I’m middle aged!

That’s old isn’t it? I take that back because when I was 25, I thought 30 was over the hill so I shall be mature about this and remind myself that age is just a number, it is the state of one’s mind, soul and character that matters. Is that a sign of maturity or what? Ahem!

In any case, this year, I shall try to pass off as a rabbit. It will be a couple of years more before the year of the rabbit. So, it will be harder for people to tell my age. Wink!

I’m posting below a very good article on arriving at midlife I read sometime last year. For some reason I kept the paper and came across it just recently while cleaning up my study. Here it is, for posterity. Meanwhile, Happy Chinese “Niu” Year!

From the Wall Street Journal, Feb 4, 2008

The Midlife Blues
By MELIK KAYLAN

Dante felt it long ago on the Tuscan plain, the turbid ebb and flow of midlife misery. In his opening to the "Inferno," he furnished probably the most celebrated lines in the Western canon on the subject:

"In the middle of the road of my life/I recovered myself in a dark wood/ The right road being lost. It's so hard to describe/ That wood so savage, dense, harsh/Just thinking of it renews my fear."

It turns out he wasn't alone. This week a massive American-British study of some two million souls throughout 80 countries confirms, empirically, that middle age immiserates us all without regard to income, culture, gender, marital status or previous experience. The study offers a new visual to illustrate the overarching mood swing of life: the U-Curve, in which mental stability and happiness bottoms out in our 40s and into our 50s.

We then get more cheerful as we round the curve and head into the final stretch. In the U.S., women hit bottom at 40 and men at 50, according to the study.

The study's authors have speculated rather clunkily on why this should be. One of their theories: People who are happier live longer. Then the sad sacks having died out, the ones who keep going are bound to be the happier ones. Well, yes, but does that mean that life is made of people who live the first L-shape only, and the rest who continue on up the reverse L?

They also speculate that "we learn to count our blessings when we get older. We see friends and family die and we see bad things happen and are just happy to be alive."

But, one is tempted to say, that is equally an argument for why, as friends and family die off, old age might progressively induce even worse depression than before. You'd suspect a touch of midlife mental cloudiness in the authors at this point, if it weren't for the self-evident truth of their findings. Perhaps this is a case of leaving the data collection to the scientists and the theorizing to the poets.

The study does not tell us how to recognize those middle-age blues, or how to alleviate them. One is grateful for this restraint. But the researchers believe, and they are surely right, that in identifying the shape of the phenomenon, they have begun the treatment.

As with priests before them, most psychiatrists will tell you that identifying demons helps you to exorcise them. Give it a name, categorize it, and already you have made it more commonplace. As the study's authors say, "Perhaps realizing that such feelings are normal might help individuals survive this phase better." The looming, amorphous presence in Dante's famous lines -- so terrifying to contemplate, let alone identify -- gets named, objectified, along with the feeling it induced.

One thinks of midlife turbulence as a time when people change, jobs, careers, partners. In Dante's case, the upheaval had occurred already. He'd lost the once-straight road. His moral universe upended, he had to reimagine its symmetry and begin the machete work of ordering and naming his way through the confusion of the Inferno and its nine circles, and then on to Purgatorio, Paradiso.

One suspects that, with women and men both, midlife is a time when the mirage of life's perfectibility and symmetry, as envisioned in one's youth, comes back to trouble you like a conscience. In plain language, one might call it a last chance at happiness, or of "getting it right."

Midlife is perhaps the last opportunity to shape your fate before you have to accept it; a phase when you are suddenly taunted by the lives unlived because you can still, though only just, try to live them; a time when you can still become what you might have been. Equally, it's the last time when you are troubled by a pretty face -- another path not taken -- before you can look on pretty faces with equanimity, not as bearing a direct message to you, but to other, younger folk.

Midlife is a last chance to keep your word with the 10-year-old you once were, who looked forward at life and made a pact with the future. You wake up in middle age to feel you have drifted. Amid a solid family, wife and job, you might feel a kind of awakening, though possibly a delusional one fueled by chemistry. The feeling might haunt you into one last eruptive attempt at realignment.

What then would be the "right" road: To keep to one's groove, or to opt for the road not taken? Luckily, the study tells us, once past 50 you won't care either way. Hang in there. It will all blow over. If Dante had only known. He may never have troubled us with The Divine Comedy.

Mr. Kaylan is a New York-based writer.

Wedding blues of a different kind

2008-12-29T00:17:00.005+08:00

For some reason, December seems to be a popular month for couples tying the knot. Why do I say this? Well, I have attended weddings on three weekends out of four this month. Yesterday I attended two and at one of the venues, there were three other wedding dinners going on at the same time.

December, December, shall I expect the pitter-patter of little feet next September? Well, anyway, as can be expected at weddings, as one of the very very few singletons left, I stick out like a pimple on a lass’ fair face. Inevitably, I get asked “the” question. You qualify as long as you don’t have a diamond on your ring finger.

Most times I just roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders but here are some responses I concocted while waiting for the “Phoenix four season hot & cold combination platter” to arrive.

Scenario 1

Evil uncle: So what is the plan?

Me: What?

E.U.: You know, when will it be your turn? What is the plan?

Me: Oh…uhm… Well, since we are in church today, perhaps you can ask God on my behalf?

Scenario 2

Insensitive broad: When is your turn? It gets harder to have babies after 35 you know!

Me: Who says anything about having babies? Why have babies when you’re already having all of them?

Scenario 3

Nosy cousin: When will it be your turn? Are you seeing anyone?

Me: Yes, I’m seeing this gorgeous Italian gigolo. He’s really hot, hotter than a July summer night I tell you. Of course, locals like you don’t a stand chance next to him. I’m so lucky. Amazing what money can buy. (At this point, I giggle like a school girl.)

:-D

Happy nuptials to all the December newlyweds!

Senses

2008-11-18T01:38:00.006+08:00

Going through a dry spell but will continue posting anything post-worthy. :-)

Wrote the following for lesson 2 of my writing class, among other things. Lesson 2 was about awakening the senses. We were introduced to three other senses in addition to the five we know - sense of time, sense of space and sense of the unknown. The assignment was to write something which would include all eight senses. I had difficulty with the sense of smell and you will see why.

*****

The frantic tinkling of the dive master’s metal pointer against his tank distracted Tim from the task of locating the colorful yet elusive mandarin fishes hiding among the rocks. He shone his torchlight one last time into the cracks between the rocks before swimming towards the din some ten meters away. Tim shuddered as he swam, wishing he had been smart enough to put on his rash guard, especially since he knew they were going to dive to those levels. He soon understood the dive master’s signal: a school of ferocious looking barracudas swimming just ahead of them. He had never seen so many of them before, all swimming in synch towards the same direction. In awe of the barracudas, Tim did not realize he had drifted with the current away from his group. Suddenly, he found himself alone with the barracudas swirling nearby. How long had he been staring at the barracudas? He kicked and finned as fast and as hard as he could yet found himself at the same spot. In his tired and panicked state, he started hyperventilating. The air from his tank tasted musty. His throat began to feel hot and dry. His legs felt like lead. He mouth tasted earthy and salty. Soon his eyelids felt heavy. Then there was nothing but darkness.

Meet Jens

2008-11-07T03:21:00.002+08:00

I joined an online writing class recently where we were given assignments every week for six weeks. Since I haven't been able to write anything else, I thought I'd post some of my work here.

The first assignment was simply an introduction of ourselves done by a character we created. I chose a dog because it would be easy and simple, no need for profound thoughts. Here's what he said - some of which are real and some not:

I am a three-year old mutt created by Jens. Shall we just call her Jen? She modeled me after Shandy. Shandy was a cocker spaniel-mongrel mixed breed given by an old family friend when Jen was ten. Shandy was black, just like me.

Even though Shandy died years ago, Jen still misses him a great deal and that is probably why she created me. She hasn’t had a dog since Shandy died shortly after her 25th birthday. She was already living away from home then, having left the small town of Seremban for the big city of KL to study and work.

Since moving to the city, Jen has been living in high-rise buildings where furry four-legged pets like me are not exactly welcomed. She fancied getting a dog secretly but feared she wouldn’t be able to care for it. Jen spends an awful lot of time at work. I think she works in a bank, where people keep all their money or something like that.

Besides, a pet would distract her from the many hobbies and interests she has filled her life with so that there wouldn’t be time to ponder over her loneliness in the city. It took her a while to come up with me and I’m not even real, so can you imagine her having a real dog?

It is not that Jen is an irresponsible person. No, she can be very thoughtful; after all she didn’t want a dog only to have him locked up the whole day by himself while she worked. But she can be scatter-brained at times. Like the time she left her keys hanging from the keyhole on the front door. She also has low tolerance for untidiness -- what if the dog chewed up her furniture? Now I’m not saying I do that but any other pooch might. You just never know, y’know what I’m sayin’?

I know Jen loves food. She also has a flair for cooking and often throws dinner parties at home. I just wish she would stop baking cupcakes only to give them away! She should save some for me. Okay, I know, I’m not real but I have feelings too.

What more can I tell you about Jen? Oh, I know she can be very indecisive. Dog…no dog. How about a cat? Goldfish perhaps? She weighed the pros and cons but still couldn’t make up her mind so she simply didn’t make a decision, which I suppose is as good as “no”. But that’s Jen for you.

If I were real I wouldn’t mind having a mistress like Jen. I know she is capable of loving and caring for me just as she did Shandy. Woof!

On the Sixth Day...

2008-10-17T00:38:00.009+08:00

A true Chinese hero

2008-09-26T00:04:00.009+08:00

Day 5 started with a loud banging at my door at 5.30am – ah, my wake up call. I stumbled out of bed and promptly got ready for my adventure to the Great Wall. I would be taking a two-hour bus ride to Miyun, and then onward to the JinShanLing Great Wall in the LuanPing County of Hebei Province.

The 10-km trek on the wall would take another four hours. The receptionist at the hostel told me that the trek would be tougher than that at Badaling, another more touristy section of the wall closer to Beijing. Ok, how tough is tough? I was told to be prepared for steep inclines, broken stones and uneven steps – i.e. the real thing unlike the restored and beautified section at Mount Badaling. Plus, the scenery would be worth it.

“If I can do it, so can you!” she replied, prodding me to sign up for the JinShanLing Great Wall tour.

The trek would end in Simatai, another scenic spot offering views of verdant hills and a blue green creek. A friend had told me to visit Simatai to avoid the throngs of tourists at Badaling. Not one to pass up on an adventure, I was sold and paid the 180 yuan for the tour, with lunch included.

The pick up was at 6am and we were even given a breakfast of sandwiches and deep fried pieces of fish fillet, all packed in a convenient paper box. Halfway to Miyun, it started pouring and the bus even broke down much to the amusement of the gweilos in the group who condescendingly pointed to a stretch of wall near where the bus stopped, saying, “There’s the great wall for you!” I detected the same brand of condescension you find in all the China-bashing in the Western media, with a twist of schadenfreude thrown in, as if to say, “I knew it, the Chinese are not up to it”. But that’s another story for another time.

When we reached the bottom of the hill leading to the Great Wall, it was still raining. The strong winds sent chills down my spine. I decided to take the cable car up, thinking I’d save time by doing so. Besides I was lazy.

The rain stopped once I reached the cable station up the hill. I then followed a well-trodden path and shortly, the Great Wall and its watchtowers came into sight. I made my way towards it and it became clear to me why it is called the “Great” Wall of China. It really is emasculating, from the huge slabs of bricks, the towering watchtowers, to the width of the wall.

And to think the wall was built entirely by hand at those heights, with no modern tools. Built between the 6th century BC and 16th century, the wall stretches 7,240km from the east to the west near the northern border. Millions of Chinese were involved in the construction of what is said to be the longest structure ever built. Most of these workers died from the hard work and were buried at the wall.

For me, just climbing the wall was enough to kill me given my lack of stamina. I had to rely on a peasant woman from a nearby village to help me navigate treacherous parts of the wall. It was rather embarrassing because I had earlier told her to leave me alone. Our guide had warned there would be peasants waiting to make a quick buck from tourists. But after the first few kilometer or so, the cold plus the wall’s steep inclines and broken paths where the stones sometimes shake under your feet as you balance yourself, all the while praying you won’t fall into the cliff below, proved too much for my unfit body. We were after all, 980 meters above sea level.

Meanwhile my local guide from the tour agency was like the mythical Monkey God, prancing his way on the wall, checking on other members in the group. The others (most of them whites, including a pair of teenaged Swede girls with heavy makeup) had no problem climbing the wall – I reckon they have legs long enough to climb the steep steps on the wall.

I made the most of my personal guide and to soften the humiliation I felt, I asked her about her life. Her name was Mrs Chang. The Changs have a small farm but the husband had left for the city working in one of the many construction sites. Mrs Chang stayed back to tend the farm and look after her school-going son. Mostly she would be at the wall, preying on unfit tourists like me.

I was told the views from the Great Wall in these parts are spectacular. Mrs Chang commented that it was a pity it rained earlier that day, casting a pall over the sky. Well, I was too busy thinking about surviving the rest of the climb to be bothered about the scenery. Worried I might fall and knock my camera, I put it away at the difficult sections. Hence I have no pictures to show of the most torturous parts of the climb.

Halfway through the 10km, Mrs Chang bade farewell as the inclines decreased and the climb got less difficult but not before she forced some souvenirs on me. Not wanting to be thrown over the cliff, I paid her off and took some bookmarks from her. Note to self: never climb the Great Wall again unless I’m sure I can run a marathon.

Throughout most of the climb, the wall was deserted except for my group and one or two stragglers from another group way ahead of us. In some of the watchtowers a peasant or two would be waiting to sell you souvenirs and canned drinks. In one watchtower, I came across a group of men smoking and playing cards. I asked if I could take a picture. They waved me away. These highland people sure are friendly!

The rest of the hike on the wall went downhill, literally, but it was still no walk in the park. Going down was just as bad especially if your knees were beginning to feel like jelly. Though the weather was bleak, I tried to enjoy the view and whipped out my camera again.

Our climb ended at a creek although the wall continued on towards the eastern part of China. At this point, you can opt to walk down the slope or abseil across the creek toward a restaurant where lunch would be served. I threw caution to the wind and decided to submit my fate to the two middle-aged men manning the pulley and flung myself in midair across the creek because my legs were simply too tired for the journey downhill. Wheee!! I imaged I was the Monkey God, zipping across the creek – the perfect finale to a most exhausting adventure.

According to my guidebook, Mao once said that one will never be a true Chinese hero until he has climbed the Great Wall. Ahem…there you have it, you’re reading the adventures of a true Chinese hero!

Abolish the ISA

2008-09-15T23:06:00.006+08:00

Abolish repressive laws in Malaysia. Light a candle for the ISA detainees.

A shared history

2008-09-07T17:14:00.011+08:00

Day 4

Wumen or Meridian Gate - the entrance to Forbidden City

In the past, I never thought much of the Forbidden City – or Gu Gong, as it is known locally – until I saw a series of documentaries on the restoration of the palaces on the National Geographic channel recently.

The Forbidden City was the seat of imperial power for the Ming and Qing dynasties from 1368 to 1911. It consists of a labyrinth of grand halls, palaces, courtyards and imperial gardens. There are altogether 90 palaces and courtyards, 980 buildings and 8,704 rooms spread out over 72 hectares. I was enthralled and visiting Gu Gong made it to my “to do” list.

And I did just that. Though it was already my fourth day in Beijing, Gu Gong was really the first tourist site I visited in Beijing – aside from Tiananmen Square, that is. Unfortunately for me, the Olympic torch arrived in Beijing on the same day. Tiananmen Square and the boulevards along its perimeter were cordoned off for security reasons, so I had no choice but to take a much longer way, traversing the streets and hutongs of Beijing in order to get in through the eastern gate.

Hundreds if not thousands of people gathered at the fringes of Tiananmen Square just to get a glimpse of the torch – their faces full of anticipation. It was quite a sight: ordinary folks, young and old, obediently waiting, patiently standing in an orderly manner along the pavement. They were serious and determined in their waiting, just as China was serious and determined in putting up a great show at the Olympics.

The path to Eastern Gate by the moat surrounding the palace walls

At the ticket booth just outside Gu Gong, I rented an audio guide set, which proved to be a very useful tool. It came with a nifty piece of plastic with the plan of the imperial grounds on it. The plan comes with little red lights indicating specific locations within the palace. Once you are within reach of the radio signal for a particular spot, the audio recording will be played, providing a brief history of that location. While the recording is playing, a little red light will blink on the plan. When you leave, the red light disappears. That way you know what you’ve missed and what you’ve covered.

The recording provided historical perspective, palace trivia and other interesting information. But it is the palace intrigue which really made the money I paid for the audio set well worth it. Tales of jealousy and betrayal among concubines, eunuchs, emperors and empresses can stand up to the twisted plots of Desperate Housewives easily.

Wumen from the inside. The middle arched portal was reserved for the emperor's exclusive use

The English translation of the names for the many halls and palaces has a certain loftiness to it, which was at once exotic and corny at the same time. They sound like they came right out of a fantasy tale or something – Hall of Supreme Harmony, Hall of Middle Harmony, Gate of Heavenly Purity and Palace of Earthly Tranquility, just to name a few. But I suppose they sound perfectly acceptable and normal in Mandarin; there are nuances which simply cannot be translated from one language to another. Of course, I could be wrong given my extremely limited knowledge of Mandarin and Chinese literature.

The number of beasts on the roof denotes the building's importance

At the risk of sounding racist, I did feel a surge of pride when I saw exhibits of Chinese military might of centuries ago. It is amazing to think how my ancestors survived the turbulent history of China and making their way to then Malaya to produce offsprings who would then visit the “motherland” as a tourist. But this story is not unique; it is shared by millions of Chinese outside China. Were it not the decisions made just over a hundred years ago within these walls which shaped the destiny of the multitude of Chinese people? Decisions and decrees which led to my grandparents’ decision to leave on a boat to seek their fortune in a foreign land?

It is this possibility (or reality perhaps?) which made the Forbidden City relevant to me. It wasn’t just another tourist attraction or physical structure – it was a part of my personal history even though it is probably a very tiny part but this tiny part was my link to this place.

And what a place it is. It really is a city within a city. Because I started my tour late (no thanks to the Olympic torch!) and had to leave before four in order to make it for my appointment with Linda, I didn’t cover the entire Gu Gong despite my four hours there. (You need at least one day to see everything at a leisurely pace.) Since a few of the main halls were closed due to restoration work which is slated to be completed in 2020 (!!!) or some other time in the near future, I hope to visit Gu Gong again. I will definitely be back!

God's at work in China

2008-08-14T23:27:00.005+08:00

Day 3

Hello blog. It’s been a while and that third day in Beijing was oh so long ago. I’ve been distracted but seeing Beijing streets on TV during telecasts of the road cycling events at the Olympics over the last few days got me inspired again.

So how did my third day go? It started with a walk to Tiananmen Square, again. The weather was beautiful that day, not a cloud in the deep blue sky and not a hint of rain or smog. I almost skipped my way to the square in this beautiful weather and my guess is I wasn’t the only one. The square was absolutely crowded with people – families and tourists alike.

I hung around snapping pictures of a young family trying to fly their kite. There was only one kid – aged four or five – as is the case with Chinese families given China’s one child policy. Is it surprising that the younger generation of Chinese is more assertive and outspoken? (At least on the Internet they seem to be.) They get all the attention from their parents and grandparents, hence the title “the little Emperor”. Most likely, the kids’ demands are gladly met since they have a monopoly of their parents and grandparents’ love and affection. The downside is, they may turn into a generation of brats in years to come.

Anyway, after taking my fill of photos, I took a cab to the Beijing International Christian Fellowship, where my friend Linda worships. It is a church open only to foreigners. The Chinese government is very strict about this, putting a man at the door to check the passports of those entering.

The congregation as you can imagine is very cosmopolitan; you will find white, black, red, brown and yellow worshipping under one roof. For me, it was a like a glimpse of God’s kingdom – every knee shall bow, every tongue shall confess.

After service, we had lunch in a Mediterranean restaurant and headed to the Pearl Market near the Temple of Heaven for more shopping, naturally! We shopped for fewer hours than the day before because I was soon exhausted by all the haggling even though I was only a passive observer of the negotiations taking place.

On the way back, we came across a group of young men and women singing along a tunnel leading to the subway. We stopped to observe what they were doing: was it some kind of street performance? It turned out that these were local Christians – mostly young adults – worshiping openly in the subway station. It was their way of spreading the Gospel.

“Is this allowed?” we asked. Wasn’t there a clamp down on religious freedom in China? Aren’t local Christians only allowed to worship at the few churches recognized by the government? Stories of persecution of local Christians are still commonly heard and what we saw in no way diminishes what they went through. Nor does it mean there is now complete freedom to worship in China. The fact that a passport is required to ensure you’re not a local entering into a church attended by foreigners proves that.

But God is definitely doing something in China. These young people said they have had no problems worshiping openly at the subway station every Sunday.

It may be a mystery to me – an outsider – as to why in the morning I needed a passport to get into the Beijing International Fellowship only to encounter locals praising God openly at the subway station attracting inquisitive stares but I take comfort in the confidence and trust these young people showed. They were not afraid or worried; they were simply delighting themselves in worship.

Beijing's many faces

2008-06-21T17:29:00.012+08:00

Day 2

Qianmen Gate: Zhengyangmen (in the background) and Jianlou on a clear day

I started my first full day in Beijing with a walk to Qianmen Gate and then proceeded to Tiananmen Square – both located a 10-minute stroll from where I stayed. That had to be the greatest advantage of Qianmen Hostel – location, location, location.

The bleak weather from yesterday persisted throughout the weekend. I was so glad I brought my wooly stuff even though they took up so much space in the suitcase. Springtime was already here as evidenced by clouds of pink flowers here and blooms of white there but you just never know…

As I waited for my friend, I loitered around the area, taking in the immensity of Tiananmen Square. The focal point from where I stood would be Tiananmen Gate which leads to the Forbidden City. On the gate a gigantic portrait of Chairman Mao hung. According to my guide book, people had gathered outside this gate since the mid-17th century and it was here that the declaration of the People's Republic was heard in 1949.

My first thought as I walked around the square was on the student uprising in 1989. Did they really camp here for two months 19 years ago, demanding for democracy? I certainly remember watching them on TV but as I looked around me it was hard to imagine the protests ever took place. The square was bustling with people in a buoyant mood – maybe it was the weekend or perhaps it was the many reminders of the Olympics games, which would start in a matter of months.

Nearby, dozens of visitors queued up for entry into Chairman Mao Memorial Hall where his embalmed body is displayed. Most of the visitors were Chinese, probably from other parts of China on a visit to the capital city. For some reason they reminded me of home, especially my relatives who are in many ways just like these aunties and uncles whose hard lives are etched on their weather beaten faces.

As I waited for my friend, the cold got to me. I couldn’t take the cold and after some waiting I got myself a pair of gloves from a tourist trap for just five yuan. It was money well spent as they protected me from the elements throughout my trip.

I walked around the area on pavements along the wide boulevards. The whole experience reminded me so much of Washington DC. In terms of physical reminders, in DC, the White House would be Beijing’s Forbidden City. In DC, the seat of government - the US Capitol - is aligned with the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial so that when you stand at the steps to the memorial you get the monument and Capital all in view. Beijing was also a planned city. A series of nine gates control access to the Forbidden City and if you stand on Jing Shan Hill behind the palace, you will see all the gates to the city and palace aligned. Turn around and you see the Drum Tower and Bell Tower in one straight line. Ah well, maybe good city planners – in ancient and present times – all think alike.

Finally, Linda and I meet. We decided, or rather I decided we should go shopping at Silk Street Market. Shopping in communist China would make Marx turn in his grave… unless he is also embalmed and displayed in a glass box! It is a known fact that China is communist only in name and administration. Money talks as loud in China as any capitalist economy.

Anyway, back to shopping. Silk Street Market is a multi-level shoppers' paradise selling clothes, shoes, bags, pearls and semi precious jewellery, arts and crafts. You can get knock-offs of branded goods at very reasonable prices if you are willing to haggle and bargain. It helps if you speak the language. Another trick is to pretend to walk away if they won’t give you the price you want. See if they call you back. I was told to aim for up to 70% off the opening price but unfortunately I wasn’t smooth enough. Thanks to Linda however, I got some really good deals.

The day ended with a meal of kao ya or Peking roast duck, savoury man tou and a dish of cabbage at a Quanjude restaurant. The company which owns the chain of restaurants is listed on the Shenzhen Stock Exchange. We were treated to a cultural show too. While the pi pa playing was a bit of a yawn, the changing of mask show was quite good. This guy would do his kung fu dance and then surreptitiously change his mask numerous times during the routine – an analogy of the many faces of Beijing perhaps?

Newbie in Beijing

2008-06-19T00:15:00.010+08:00

Is the China I visited three months ago the same as the one we know today? The spate of tragedies striking China has revealed her new face to the world but some say China has always been evolving, it is the rest of the world who isn’t aware of the myriad changes happening there.

It has been a while since my trip to Beijing. I thought I should get down to blogging about it before I forget everything or before an entirely new China emerges.

Day 1

I got into Beijing right on time – in fact we were a few minutes earlier than the estimated arrival time printed on my itinerary. That gave me hope of getting into the city with just enough time to look around for a bit before it got dark. I wasn’t so lucky because of the snaking queues at immigration. You see all kinds of people at the airport, white, red, brown and yellow – just another sign of Beijing’s rising importance in the world today.

Next, I had to contend with the Friday afternoon traffic and did I mention it was raining? It wasn’t pouring like it often happens here but the rain did lower the temperature a few notches and slowed traffic somewhat. Finding my hostel was mildly difficult as it was under renovation and the signboard was hidden behind the scaffolding. The hostel is located right in the city centre, in a bustling area known as Qianmen which literally means “The Front Gate” – the gateway into ancient Beijing, that is.

The hostel didn’t look like the pictures on the Internet at all. It was dark and looked ancient. I remember reading on the hostelling website that it was an old building, so that explained it. I only hoped there were no ghosts. But it did have character I must say. I shouldn’t complain much given the price and location. It has a courtyard too, just like in the Chinese period dramas I grew up watching.

My room was well lit but dank – Linda attributed it to ancient Beijing sewers – and it was located next to the kitchen. When I showered, whiffs of the chef’s cooking would find its way into my room. I swear preserved vegetables are a staple in Beijingers’ diet because I smelled it almost every day.

The room had two windows: one looked out to what was once a courtyard which had been turned into a storeroom. There were bicycle wheels, boxes and a mish mash of things right outside this window, like right in your face when you draw the curtains. Another window looked out to the common area in the hostel.

The highlight of the day was the thunderous knock on my door as I contemplated my plans for the night. The answer was right outside my door. There was Linda, one of my oldest friends from school – now a seasoned Beijing expatriate – looking a little flustered from all the walking and searching for Qianmen hostel.

After the initial excitement of meeting a familiar face, we headed to Wangfujing for dinner. Wangfujing is one of the city’s major shopping areas. It reminded me of Nanjing Road in Shanghai, only much nicer but that night I couldn’t remember much of it except for the bright neon lights and the cold, wet weather.

We had Szechuan food for dinner, I think, because everything was hot. And I loved it. We had Ma Po tofu (pix), Kong Po chicken and stir-fried vegetables. The numbing sensation from the Szechuan peppercorns in the tofu took some getting used to and soon I was spitting them out. The Kong Po chicken was cooked using peanuts instead of cashew nuts and tasted delicious.

The restaurant where we ate was packed that night. Still new to the city, I kept forgetting that Beijing is home to 18 million despite being reminded of that fact everywhere I went. You have to jostle with dozens of people to get onto the subway; on the streets, you mind your steps to avoid knocking into people and it was impossible getting a cab at Wangfujing on a Friday night. In a way, you’re never alone.

Thursday blues

2008-06-12T23:55:00.007+08:00

I came down with a case of the blues today. I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly. It could be a combination of the gloom and doom scenario in the financial and political environment. Or it could be me missing the charming company of my very cosmopolitan former roommate who passed through town recently with her entourage of hubby, baby and nanny.

They were here for a holiday in Pangkor and spent a few nights in the city. When she called to tell me she was in town and we made plans to meet for dinner, I was determined to take them on a journey of Malaysian culinary delights – yes, Malaysians are proud of their cuisine.

So proud I spent hours checking out restaurant reviews, food blogs and books to find the perfect restaurants and bars for the two nights we would dine together. I asked around for suggestions – where can I get not just good Malay food but a memorable dining experience as well? (Answer: Bijan Bar & Restaurant.) Or which is the latest place to chill out in KL? (Answer: A. Asian Heritage Row or B. Q-ba. We ended up in B.)

I was so into it I didn’t mind driving to town to meet them, never mind the expensive petrol that we now have to pay. I didn’t mind buying an expensive dinner either. The bill for a meal of crabs and one half of a suckling pig (among other things) came up to a lot, a lot of money – enough to fill up the petrol tank twice over. Gulp. I wanted them to taste the best of Malaysia or am I simply happy to see them? Answer: Both.

After two nights of wining and dining, reminiscing about Washington DC (where we met) and exchanging notes on life in KL (where I live), Shanghai (where they live) and New York (where he grew up), I now feel so…bored. Let me clarify, bored to be back in the mundane routine of my life.

Am I missing something here?

Is time really running out? Tick, tock, tick, tock…

Waltz of the flowers

2008-06-06T21:30:00.013+08:00

That's the title of one of Tchaikovsky's compositions, one which I played during my formative years. It is a lovely piece and if you listened to the full orchestra version of it, it really isn't hard to imagine flowers dancing - yellow flowers mind you because yellow is such a cheerful colour.

The orchids in this picture reminded me of this song. They are not yellow but they cheer me up all the same, especially after all the bad news of the last one month.

The orchids look like they are waltzing towards you, don't they? Or maybe it's me admiring my own work. Grin.

I took this shot months ago at the Lake Gardens and it was the first time I shot in raw. I like the colours and details the format captures but the downside is it takes up so much memory not to mention time processing it.

Farewell, Toni

2008-06-05T23:48:00.005+08:00

Yesterday, Malaysia lost one of her illustrious daughters when we lost Zaitun Kassim - better known as Toni - to cancer.

I first met Toni three or four years ago at a Sisters In Islam workshop which she facilitated. We met a few more times at gatherings and parties after that and although we were just acquaintances, she was nothing but warm, kind and friendly to me. There was nothing superficial about her friendliness; she was 100% real. Toni had no airs, she was always cheerful and it was just so easy to like her.

I barely knew Toni - at least not on a personal level - but I’m saddened by the loss of a life so young with so much potential and goodness. She had already accomplished so much and touched so many lives in her 41 years. She will remain an inspiration to many.

Farewell, Toni.

Al fatihah.

R.I.P. May 13, Really.

2008-05-12T22:59:00.008+08:00

It is May 13 tomorrow. It is not that this date is marked on my calendar. No, being born after 1969 it is not a day that haunted me or held a significant place in my memory and yet the events that followed have made such an impact on all Malaysians’ lives it is forever etched in our consciousness.

Even so, aside from the veiled threats from politicians of a repeat of May 13, the day would have just been another day for me. Thanks to StarMag though, I’ve been forced to acknowledge the day that changed Malaysian history forever. The paper is advocating putting the event in its rightful place in history instead of sweeping it under the carpet only to be used by politicians to spook the rest of us at their convenience. I'm paraphrasing...but that's the gist of it.

(Sometimes I think The Star and StarMag are two separate papers altogether - the former a party mouthpiece whereas the latter may be considered as a paper with more heart and soul than the main paper.)

Anyway, if I haven’t any conscious attachment to May 13, why am I bringing it up now? Mainly because of the following piece published on Sunday in StarMag. It first appeared in theSun about a year ago if I’m not mistaken. It’s a heartwarming story of two families brought together by the events of this day, 39 years ago. I still get dewy-eyed reading it for the second time. Sniff.

I’m posting it to archive it and for anyone who missed it.

Choosing to live or die together
By DATUK MAHADEV SHANKAR

MAY 13, 1969. On that day I had finished with a case at Court Hill and returned home a little earlier than usual. My wife and children were out and got back just before sunset.

By twilight, all hell had broken loose. A shouting mob seemed to be coming from the junction of Princess Road (now Jalan Raja Muda) and Circular Road (Jalan Pekeliling and Jalan Tun Abdul Razak) which was less than half a mile from our house on the corner of Jalan Gurney Dua and Satu.
Datuk Mahadev Shankar

We were well within earshot of the commotion. We were out on our badminton court when a young Malay, face ravaged with shock, ran past us, intermittently stopping to catch his breath and then run on.

The panic he radiated was very contagious. A few moments later, my neighbour Tuan Haji Ahmad shouted from across the road that a riot was in progress at the Princess Road junction and that we should immediately get back indoors.

Soon afterwards as the darkness set in, we saw red tongues of flame crowned with black smoke go up from the direction of Datuk Kramat. From town there was a red glow in the sky of fires burning. The acrid smell of smoke was coming from everywhere. Fearing the worst, we locked ourselves in and huddled around the TV set. Then I heard this high-pitched wail: “Tolong, buka pintu, tolong. buka pintu!” (Please open the door!)

A diminutive woman with a babe in arms was desperately yelling for shelter, obviously not having had much luck with the houses nearer the Gurney Road (now Jalan Semarak) junction. Without a second thought, I ran out, unlocked the gate and let her in. She was wide-eyed with terror and the baby was bawling away.

Once inside, she slunk into a corner in our dining room and just sat there huddled with her baby. It was now evident that she was Chinese, spoke no English, and was quite unwilling to engage in any conversation except to plead in bazaar Malay that she would give us no trouble and that she would leave the next day.

Our attention soon shifted from her to the TV set. A very distraught Tunku Abdul Rahman came on to tell us that a curfew had to be declared because of racial riots between the Malays and the Chinese, caused by the over-exuberance of some elements celebrating their election victories. He gave brief details of irresponsible provocations, skirmishes and fatalities. He stressed the need for calm whilst the security services restored law and order.

I remember his parting words to us that night, “Marilah kita hidup atau mati sekarang” (Let us choose to live or die now). As my attention once again shifted to the tiny woman and her tinier baby, let me confess, to my shame, that the thought crossed my mind that living in a predominantly Malay area, I had now put my whole family in peril by harbouring this Chinese woman. It was evident from the TV broadcasts that her race had become the target of blind racial hatred.

None of us were in the mood to eat anything. We all just sat and waited, not knowing quite what to expect. Hours later there was a loud banging at our gate accompanied by a male voice shouting. I realised then my moment of truth had arrived

In that half-light, I saw the most enormous Malay man I had ever set eyes on. With great trepidation I asked him what he wanted.

“You have got my wife and child in your house and I have come for them,” he said in English.

Still suspicious I asked him, “Before I say anything, can you describe your wife?”

“Yes, yes, I know you ask because I am a Malay. My wife is Chinese and she is very small and my baby is only a few months old. Can I now please come in?”

I immediately unlocked the gate.

In he came and we witnessed the most touching family reunion. He thanked us profusely and without further ado they were on their way. In the excitement we did not ask his name or address.

If that baby who sheltered in our house that fateful night has survived life’s vicissitudes, he would be 49 today. All the major ethnic races which compose our lucky nation were fully represented in our house that evening when the Almighty brought us together for a short while.

With our hopes for racial unity so much in the forefront of our minds, may I leave it to my readers to ask themselves whether there is a point here for all of us. Folded into our experience of the night of May 13, 1969, was there not the glue that binds all of us with the message that we must love each other or die?

Datuk Mahadev Shankar, a lawyer in 1969, retired as a Court of Appeal Judge in 1997. The full version of this article was first printed in The Sun on Aug 22, 2007.

Death & taxes

2008-04-27T22:55:00.006+08:00

First, the good news: I finally completed my tax returns. Yay!

Now, the bad news: I owe the government money. Boo hoo.

Now I see the merit in not filing tax returns. What is the likelihood of the tax man coming after me? They have bigger fishes to catch, no? If you've been reading the papers the last couple of years, you'll know what I mean. Heck, as long as you haven't been living under a coconut shell, you'd get the drift.

This year, I must work out a scheme to cut back on taxes. I think I'm paying enough taxes as it is - too much I think for the little I get in return and look at the way they are squandering taxpayers' money.

To lower my taxes, I figure I'll need to up my "personal relief" by:

1. Spending more on books (yay!)
2. Getting a new computer (yay!)
3. Having kids (that's going to be a problem...)
4. Pay for my parents' health care (this is a double-edged sword - it's not morally right wishing them ill)
5. Get more health insurance
6. Go back to school (too expensive)

OR

7. Move to another country altogether!

Someone said that nothing is certain but death and taxes. There is not escaping either, is there? They will come bite you in the ass eventually, the only thing you can do is delay it or in the case of taxes, minimise it.

Any ideas?

Keep the pages turning

2008-04-22T22:31:00.010+08:00

So many books, so little time!

It is World Book and Copyright Day tomorrow. To learn more about its significance, read this.

Since it's World Book Day, I started reminiscing about books I have enjoyed over the years. Here is my list of 10 - fiction and non-fiction:

1. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
2. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
3. The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
4. Life of Pi by Yann Martel
5. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
6. Walking the Bible by Bruce Feiler
7. Personal History by Katharine Graham
8. The End of the Affair by Graham Greene
9. Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
10. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

There are many more books I've been wanting to read in order to expand and add variety to my list but there always seems to be so much more to do. For now, these books will do.

Happy World Book Day and it's the perfect excuse to buy a book for someone special, and that includes yourself!

The enemy within

2008-04-16T21:41:00.006+08:00

Last Friday, my apartment was broken into while I was away at work. I found cash and jewellery missing but much more has been lost.

I found my room in a complete mess with drawers turned inside out, their contents emptied onto the bed and floor. Important personal documents were thrown all over the place, probably flung in frustration by this trespasser looking for something more "liquid" like cash. I feel exposed knowing that this sh*thead - who had no business going through my things - had gone through my birth certificate, university ID cards, old passports, bank passbooks, income tax returns, etc, etc.

Clothes that I had folded and stacked neatly were now like a pile of rags. Eww...the thought of someone's grubby fingers going through my underwear still makes me sick.

Hah, he took my faux pearls. Amateur! Sadly, he also took precious gifts from loved ones. :-(

I feel violated and shaken. My sense of peace replaced by images of a faceless, nameless intruder breaking and sneaking into my home and rummaging through my things. Was there one or more? Why did they pick me? Almost everyone, including the police say it was likely an inside job.

They took the monetary but they also took away my sense of security (with hindsight, it was obviously a false sense of security I had), my cavalier attitude - the nah-it-wouldn't-happen-to-me mentality, my privacy and peace of mind.

I get responses like "Luckily they didn't take this or that." I honestly don't feel lucky and I don't think "lucky" is the best choice of words given the situation. But I am thankful it isn't worse than it could have been. I'm also ever grateful for friends who stood with me and are still standing with me through this incident.

I know I was marked, but I know there is someone much greater watching over me.

Beijing blues

2008-04-07T00:26:00.008+08:00

When friends and acquaintances found out I was going to Beijing for a holiday, some asked me why I chose Beijing as a holiday destination. It was simply a matter of getting the most out of my air miles.

When I traveled to the US back in 2001, I clocked more than 20,000 air miles on my frequent flyer membership. Through the years I did nothing with them despite knowing they would expire someday. Fortunately, they were still usable up to 31 Dec, 2007, which was when I quickly booked myself on a flight to Beijing.

Now, why Beijing? With the number of points I had, I could fly to anywhere in Asia. Given that, I narrowed my options to Tokyo and Beijing. Tokyo would give the most value per air mile but it would be too intimidating since I don’t speak the language and besides, with the yen at current levels, it would be too expensive.

And so I found myself heading to Beijing at the crack of dawn on the last Friday of March. Just before I left, I wondered if there was a scripture for this trip and flipped through the Bible the night before my flight. None spoke to me. Then on Friday morning, I came across an old postcard while doing some last minute packing. On the card was written:

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him." – 1 Corinthians 2:9

It seemed spot on and indeed, I had a great time in Beijing, catching up with Linda, making new acquaintances while immersing in the city’s history and culture. Even the journey home accorded a few pleasant surprises. For one, I had enough air miles to fly business on the return trip. This not only meant more leg and butt room but also relaxing in the premier lounge in the airport and stuffing my face with food. Hehe…I confess to stuffing my face all the way back. You can take the girl out of the kampung but you can’t take the kampung out of the girl!

Another surprise was the awesome view of dusk falling over the horizon at the edge of a sea of clouds. One part of the sky was bathed in bright red and orange while the other part in blue and black. In the darkened parts, through the clouds, you could see lights lighting up cities below. It was truly an awesome sight.

Thank you Freedom Forum for that trip to the US – I’m still reaping the benefits years after. God, thank you for Your providence. I’ve been truly blessed.

Now, on the eve of my first working day after a long break, I’m having a case of Beijing blues. I am not quite done with Beijing. I hope to be back another day but for now, I will be nursing my Beijing blues.

Ni hao?

2008-03-27T18:52:00.006+08:00

There really ARE a gazillion things to do in Beijing - my dear friend in Beijing wrote to me and another friend YJ confirmed it with his voluminous lists of places to visit, things to do and food to eat while at Beijing. Ever an organised person, he had everything neatly grouped into categories in an Excel spreadsheet and managed to sum up Beijing in this "skeleton" map here:

That's Forbidden City right in the middle and the two of five ring roads (or is there more?) surrounding it.

Looks simple enough but when I see the real thing tomorrow, I'm prepared to be overwhelmed by this rambling new old city and attempt to do some of the gazillion things one can do while in Beijing.

Looks like seven days is too short a time in Beijing!

Sad movies make me cry

2008-03-24T00:49:00.010+08:00

I don’t know what is it about certain movies that can make me so sad. My earliest memory of crying at the movies probably took place when I was four or five. My mom took me to watch a Chinese movie where the heroine ends up dead and I bawled my eyes out at the cinema. My poor mom had to persuade me that it was just a movie.

Well, that line doesn’t work all the time. These days, I may not cry at the end of the show but a disturbing ending leaves me, well, disturbed for days. Like The English Patient, Brokeback Mountain and most recently, Atonement. The one common theme of all three movies is this: lovers who can never be together.

I only saw Atonement last night. It was beautifully made with superb acting, writing and directing but the ending broke my heart. Even the alternative ending didn’t do it for me. I felt cheated by Ian McEwan, or is it Briony Tallis I should be angry with? McEwan is the author of the book with the same name, from which the movie was made. Briony Tallis is also an author, but she is fictional, just a character in the movie.

Anyway, the movie is made in such a way that the viewer is able to witness a series of events unfolding from different angles, something which cannot be achieved in real life. We only see whatever is before us and we have to imagine the rest based on what others tell us. In the movie, Briony, only 13, imagined the worst, likely out of jealousy, coupled with an overactive imagination. Or like her sister said, she is “rather fanciful”. Her overactive imagination became both a blessing and a curse.

So why am I angry with McEwan? For coming up with such an amazing and moving story, for beguiling me, making me fall in love with the characters (especially James McAvoy…mmm), for making me root for the lovers, only to learn the truth in the end. What is truth? “You can only imagine the truth” – the tagline of the movie teases.

I realised that truth is not always what we want. For this movie, I rather not have the truth. Go on and beguile me, all the way to the end, please. That is why I watch movies.

crony plaza

2008-03-17T22:19:00.002+08:00

Who knew taxi drivers can be so comical? Last week, I took a taxi to town and had a lesson in English/Manglish pronunciation.

“Crowne Plaza, Jalan Sultan Ismail?” I asked before getting into the taxi.

“Huh? What?” the cabbie asked with a puzzled and annoyed look on his face.

“Crowne Plaza,” I said slowly this time.

“Where’s that? Never heard of it.”

“The old Hilton on Jalan Sultan Ismail?”

“Oh, Crow-nee Plaza!”

“Crony?! Crony Plaza? Isn’t it pronounced Crowne?”

“It’s Crow-nee Plaza, the old KL Hilton. Why you studied so much, yet dunno how to pronounce properly? Aiyo!”

I was getting a bit cheesed off but better play dumb and not bicker with a cabbie or I’ll miss my meeting starting in half an hour. Whatever la, if you say it’s Crony Plaza, then Crony Plaza it is. After all, words like “nepotism”, “cronyism” and “cronies” have become commonplace in our daily lingo and collective consciousness, no thanks to Malaysian politicians.

“How I know la, it’s always been Crowne Plaza to me and not Crony Plaza. Now will you take me there or not?”

“Get in, get in!”

Crony Plaza Kuala Lumpur, here I come.

Hear the people sing

2008-03-10T00:17:00.009+08:00

What an outcome the 12th general elections has turned in. It is incredible how the tide has turned. Finally, the people have spoken – loud and clear – and they are saying “enough!” Here’s hoping the new government will start listening with their ears and hearts.

And here’s a snippet of Do you hear the people sing? from Les Miserablés, which came to mind in the aftermath of the general elections:

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing the song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!

Okay, okay, the drama queen in me reared her gorgeous dramatic head but it is very apt, don't you think? :-) Makkal sakthi, indeed! (I learned today the phrase means people power.)

’Twas a dark and stormy night…

2008-03-05T00:54:00.009+08:00

…when a friend and I braved the sudden tropical downpour to attend an opposition ceramah in SS2, PJ on Monday night. Cursing the unusually heavy rain aggravated by the strong winds as we walked towards the venue, I wondered if I would ever get to listen to Tony Pua, the DAP candidate running in PJ Utara.

I got interested in seeing him in action when a friend whom I had thought to be apolitical sang praises of him. Having worked with him in the corporate world, she knew him personally which explains the bias. This friend was sorely disappointed she isn’t voting in PJ Utara. Neither am I voting there but my curiosity has been sufficiently piqued.

I tried to catch him last Thursday but the event was cancelled because DAP couldn’t get a permit to hold the ceramah. (WHAT?!) And now, on Monday night, soaked to the skin and with our plans thwarted by cats and dogs falling from the sky, I thought maybe I should just watch him on YouTube.

My friend and I agreed to seek shelter and feed ourselves first. There may be no ceramah in this heavy rain anyway but I was wrong: we could hear a broadcast address in the distance, drowned by the sloshing rain as we pushed the glass door into a MacDonald’s restaurant.

After getting our carbo and sugar fix, we went out into the now subsiding rain. We just walked in the direction of the voice which was getting increasingly louder as we hastened our pace. Stepping on puddles of water and mud, we soon reached a sea of umbrellas sheltering hundreds of people (the organizers claimed there were thousands) listening intently to the blogger, Raja Petra.

We only managed to catch the tail end of Raja Petra’s speech and I had trouble concentrating without seeing the speaker. He exclaimed "makkal sakti" at the end of his talk and some in the crowd continued shouting the phrase as he left the venue.

Next came Tony Pua amidst chants of “Tony! Tony! Tony!”, as if he was a super star. (By then I had found a suitable spot to view the speakers.) He spoke in English and translated to Mandarin after every single point. Being the economic advisor to DAP, he focused on the NEP, inflation, petroleum subsidy and the many economic corridors in the country, among other things. The audience loved him obviously, forgiving him easily when he stumbled with the delivery of his speech in Mandarin. When he admitted making a mistake, the audience clapped and cheered. He was like a golden boy-whiz kid upon whom the people laid their hopes.

If he was the golden boy, then Fong Po Kuan has to be the golden girl. She arrived at about 11pm accompanied by a flag-carrying, whistling entourage. The crowd broke into thunderous applause as she climbed onto the platform. They don’t call her cili padi for nothing. She spoke eloquently but slowly in English and Cantonese, ensuring every word was heard loud and clear. Every phrase sounded rehearsed and practiced – she must have done this a dozen times, given the seasoned politician she is. Next to her, Tony’s inexperience stood out like an open umbrella on a deserted beach.

Po Kuan played the crowd expertly, asking questions and establishing rapport while highlighting issues close to audience’s hearts like racial discrimination, security and gender equality. And the audience just lapped it all up. Someone gave her flowers too. People clapped and raised clenched fists into the air, responding to her statements. One member of the floor agreed with her tirade against the government with the now infamous “Correct, correct, correct”. (Someone may copyright that pretty soon!)

At the risk of sounding naive, Po Kuan held me enthralled throughout her speech. After an emotional plea to vote Tony into Parliament for the sake of the future generation, she returned the stage to him. By the time he finished, the atmosphere was electrifying. Discounting faith-based rallies, I haven’t seen anything like it. It was almost surreal; I felt as if we were in a movie as more clenched fists were raised in the air at Tony’s rallying cry to vote for change.

With hopes and spirits raised, anything seemed possible that night.

I am Malaysian

2008-02-29T00:39:00.004+08:00

What does it mean to be Malaysian?

Honestly, I don’t feel Malaysian most of the time or rather I don't think of it much. The most Malaysian I’ve felt was when I insisted to some mainland Chinese friends that I am not a chung kuo ren and that I am an overseas Chinese or to be more precise a Malaysian Chinese.

That happened years ago in America. It’s funny how we feel more patriotic when on foreign soil. I’d get excited when I met a Malaysian. Heck, when you’re thousands of miles away, you feel just that much closer to home with a Singaporean even.

I guess it is the same with everyone else – there is a sense of kindred-ship with your own kind. On one occasion, I was in the university library surfing the web for data on Indonesia for an economics project paper and a guy came up to me and asked if I was Indonesian. I said no and he looked a little disappointed. Nevertheless he gave me the e-mail of an Indonesian working at the World Bank who could help me with the paper.

Anyway, how did I come to ask this difficult question? Oh yes, the polls. It is polling time and I am compelled to cast my vote this election (I didn’t the last one) and exercise my right as a Malaysian. Surely being Malaysian is more than putting crosses on pieces of paper? More than having the choice of nasi lemak, roti canai or wan tan mee for breakfast. More than driving a beat up Proton. More than paying and filing taxes diligently, year in year out. More than having a MyKad in my purse.

It is more than all that yet I can’t precisely say what it means to me to be Malaysian.

You've got a friend

2008-02-14T15:05:00.007+08:00

I've been learning to play the song You've Got A Friend written by Carole King but it was the song that won James Taylor a Grammy. My teacher used his cover to teach me the song and I heard James Taylor on the radio for the first time just recently. It is really beautiful.

And so I imagined James Taylor to be this handsome long-haired hippie plucking the strings of his guitar while singing in his deep voice. Some imagination is required since he is before my era, ya? I was quite disappointed when my guitar teacher showed us a video of this aging middle-aged man strumming and singing You've Got A Friend. Did I mention he's bald? What an anti-climax!

"What did he look like when he was young?" I don't give up easily.

"Much better than this la," another student replied.

My teacher chuckled, he probably thinks I'm shallow. I probably am but someone with that voice and soul surely must have looked gorgeous no matter how he has aged. Hmmmmph. I didn't give up and went looking on the Internet for the young James Taylor and I'm happy to say my presumption has been right.

Here's James Taylor on the cover of Time on 1 March, 1971. (Told ya he's before my time.)

And here are the words to the lovely song:

When you're down and troubled
And you need some loving care
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
You've got a friend

If the sky above you
Grows dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind begins to blow
Keep your head together
And call my name out loud
Soon you'll hear me knocking at your door

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there

Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend
When people can be so cold
They'll hurt you, and desert you
And take your soul if you let them
Oh, but don't you let them

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
You've got a friend

To all my friends, Happy Valentine's!

The setting Sun

2008-02-14T14:39:00.007+08:00

Yesterday morning, on the way to work, I heard on the radio news of the shocking testimony of Datuk VK Lingam's former secretary on how he had dictated the judgement for a landmark libel suit which awarded RM10m to a Malaysian tycoon. It is absolutely disgraceful.

As soon as I reached the office, I asked for a copy of theSun from my colleague. In the last two years, I have relied mostly on the free paper for what I consider relatively unbiased and independent reporting. (The fact that I once wrote for the paper probably made me partial, too.)

I flipped the pages and read column inches of mundane details about lawyers arguing with members of the royal commission and found nothing on VK Lingam's former secretary's testimony. Then it dawned on me, the sun has really set on theSun, since the said Malaysian tycoon now owns almost the entire shareholding of the holding company that publishes the paper. In fact, since the deal was announced and management and editorial changes made, theSun doesn't quite feel the same as before.

The timing is impeccable too, the deal was done just before the damning testimony and before the general elections.

What will become of the paper? Another bigger question is what will become of this country when public spaces for independent thought is getting increasingly scarce? The answer may well lie in our hands this coming polling day.

New nest

2008-01-27T19:02:00.001+08:00

I have moved to a new address!

Finally. My very own place, my piece of real estate in the sky. It is not located in a swanky part of town and the residents are more hoi polloi and working class than uppity uptown but it is home sweet home, for now, at least.

Pity pity pity

2008-01-04T01:16:00.000+08:00

It is old news and I had actually decided not to waste time on the issue but on the long drive home from Ikano (see, Ikea is my new hangout and I do most of my thinking while driving), I started thinking about the debate raging in Cyber space over whether the now former minister of health Datuk Dr Sri Chua Soi Lek should have resigned over his sex scandal.

One camp says he did the right thing by resigning. Another says no, it is a private matter and it shouldn’t matter as long as he does his job. The wrong was against the minister’s wife and family, so it has nothing to do with his public duties. Besides, he was a competent minister, some say.

Well, I beg to differ with the second camp. When one undertakes to serve the people in a leadership position, in public office, one should be aware that the position would come under scrutiny by everyone, from the roti canai seller to the media to sworn enemies. The moral character of leaders in public office matters not just because people look up to them but also because they make judgement calls and key decisions on public policies day in and day out. It is a position of power and privilege.

If it was Paris Hilton or the head of a conglomerate in that DVD, would people have minded so much? I doubt it. But it was an elected representative, a cabinet member caught, with his pants down, literally. As a taxpayer, I would like to know if the hotel room was paid using taxpayers’ money.

At first, I was sad at the filth coming out from this government but when I saw what looked like a lack of remorse on the minister’s part – in fact, his replies at his last press conference were peppered with sarcasm – I was mortified. Here is a man who did an obvious wrong claiming to take the moral high ground! It was just too much to stomach.

While Jesus says let he who is without sin cast the first stone, I’m just appalled with the way people deal with the consequences of their actions.

For me, the biggest hypocrisy emerging from this lewd affair is this: why is it that other politicians accused of gross misconduct, nepotism and corruption are still in office. Is it because it is easier to prove sexual wrongdoings?

If so, it is even more pertinent for leaders to stay faithful to their spouses. The former MOH was not just naïve, he was plain stupid to have taken such risks.

New year thoughts

2008-01-02T00:20:00.000+08:00

It’s almost the second day in the new year and my thoughts are still with the year that just ended, simply because I had resolved to post a couple of items from 2007 before moving on to an even better and brighter year in 2008. (One of my resolutions is to develop positive-thinking!)

But firstly, my thoughts are with Reuben and Aamir, two individuals I met some years back. Reuben is from Kenya and Aamir from Pakistan. Reuben was a fellow journalist on the JIR exchange programme I took part in in 2001. Aamir was a fellow in 2000 and I only met him a couple of years back when he visited KL.

My thoughts are with them this time as their countries are plunged in chaos in the wake of recent tragic events. In Pakistan, a light was snuffed out with the death of former prime minister Benazir Bhutto. Meanwhile, Kenya is engulfed in deadly riots following elections held recently.

I had spent more time with Reuben since we were both placed in the same city but unfortunately we have since lost touch. He was a tall and lanky guy who was showing off pictures of his newborn baby when we first met. Reuben can be quite funny, easy going and helpful. My Chinese roommate and I got along very well with him. In Washington DC – a city of foreign diplomats and diverse nationalities – two Chinese girls and one African boy hanging out together fit in perfectly.

Although I only met Aamir once, we have been in constant touch through e-mail and I always get a reply when I write to him. Sometimes he would send me articles he wrote. He has been quiet lately and with the tragic turn of events in Pakistan, I asked him if he was ok. He replied that they are in shock and asked that I pray for his country. Well, that is the least I can do.

SO LONG 2007

The main items I needed to tick off my list of things to get done before midnight Monday were postings on Christmas 2007 and my Manado trip in October. Hee hee… it’s already 2008 but better late than never. Given the eleventh hour posts, I’ll just let the pictures do the work.

Christmas yummies

Manado, Sulawesi

Happy new year!

Winter Wonders

2007-12-24T00:44:00.000+08:00

Over the weekend, my family and I celebrated the winter solstice.

I also just learned that for the Chinese, the winter solstice is in fact more important than the Chinese New Year. I’m not sure why that is the case but for me it simply means a delicious bowl of tang yuan in the morning for breakfast.

Tang yuan is a soup of sweet ginger syrup with round glutinous rice flour doughs wrapped around palm sugar. It is served on winter solstice but you will also find it served in a bride's family home on the eve of her wedding. No idea why either.

If I'm not mistaken, tang yuan is taken during the winter solstice, where yuan means round signifying reunion of family members for the season. For more info on the festival, check this out.

This year, my sister made the savoury version for lunch. She cooked the red and white glutinous dough in an anchovy and mushroom soup and served it with lettuce, topped with braised minced pork. It was good but growing up with the sweet version, I much preferred the sweet one.

Then on Sunday morning, my nephews surprised me with an early Christmas present: a mini Christmas tree decked with cutouts of Santa and his helpers and reindeers. Sigh, I feel so blessed already. :-)

That’s not all. A dear friend popped by bearing loads of goodies and a bottle of bubbly – non-alcoholic but I’m not complaining.

It is turning out to be a lovely Christmas after all!

Monkey Business

2007-12-20T11:32:00.000+08:00

It seems to me that I have to be like the three wise monkeys in order to maintain my sanity as long as I live in this country.

Speak no evil
See no evil
Hear no evil

Why? Because the government of the day expects us to accept whatever it says while it continues to spew out hypocritical rhetorics day after day. It changes the rules according to the whims and fancies of the little emporers in power. One set of rules applies to them while another applies to the masses. The law is hard on some but soft on the rich and well-connected. Yes, it seems justice can be purchased and corruption continues to be commonplace.

And the government mouthpieces pretend that all is hunky-dory while on the ground it certainly doesn’t feel that way. So what do we do? We continue our schizophrenic existence, we turn to the 100 odd channels on our satellite TVs and we go shopping at the many sales held at the fancy malls in the capital city. Wonderful, isn’t it?

No, it isn’t. Something is very wrong in Bolehland. It has been for a long time.

The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.”
They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds,
There is none who does good.

The Lord looks down from heaven on the children of man,
To see if there are any who understand,
Who seek after God.

They have all turned aside; together they have become corrupt;
There is none who does good,
Not even one.

- Psalm 14: 1-3

All I want for Christmas

2007-12-03T23:46:00.000+08:00

I finally feel inspired to write again. Not just vent but write a proper piece with a proper subject. I’ve been slacking off for various reasons – laziness mostly, then there’s speechlessness, anger and plain indifference.

Then this morning, I opened my Gmail account and found three e-mails from someone unknown to me. With Gmail or with any e-mail account for that matter, you just never know what you might receive in your mailbox. I once received an offer for a position in San Francisco – it was for me all right, it had my name on it except that the last name wasn’t very clear. I replied to the sender, thanking her for the offer except that I live half a world away.

At other times, I have received invites to BBQ and movie nights, all from people I have never met. How interesting, I used to think, being invited by strangers.

So it was not surprise to me when I saw yet again, another batch of e-mails that got lost in cyber space and somehow wound up in my e-mail. Without hesitation I opened them up, after all they were in my Inbox, never mind that they were meant for a Jennifer-something somewhere out there.

It felt a little voyeuristic reading other people’s mail but curiosity ruled the day. Though the mails were anything but exciting they provided a glimpse into the lives of this group of people living thousands of miles away. From what was written, it appears that they were making arrangements to meet up with their parents and an aunt for Christmas somewhere in Manhattan and they were Asians. Based on their correspondence, one gets the warm and fuzzy Brady Bunch quality about this group of people.

Then I began to wonder what their lives were like. What would it be like to live their lives, to read and send out those mails for real, to have a cosy family dinner on Christmas eve? Indeed, what would it be like to be in their shoes?

Would they know that someone else was reading their mails? Since I was getting these e-mails, could someone else far away be reading my e-mails? Chances are, yes.

It would be nice to know how the Christmas dinner went, what presents they got and the jokes and family gossips traded.

It would be nice to have a nice cosy Christmas eve dinner this Christmas, wouldn’t it? Ask and it shall be given. So I asked with a short prayer and quickly deleted the e-mails and silently wished Jennifer-something and her family a Merry Christmas and safe journey.

We are not stupid, or are we?

2007-11-19T22:32:00.000+08:00

It is the corruption, stupid.

It is the rising crime rate, stupid.

It is the injustice, stupid.

It is the loss of integrity, stupid.

It is the discrimination, stupid.

It is the lack of accountability, stupid.

It is the greed, stupid.

It is the arrogance, stupid.

It is the abuse of power, stupid.

It is the disappearance of good governance, stupid.

Get it, stupid?

Back in therapy

2007-11-06T23:24:00.000+08:00

I am back in therapy. The write therapy, that is.

It has been a while since my last post close to a month ago before I left for Manado, Sulawesi. Though I have been back for more than two weeks, I haven’t found the inspiration to blog. Not that I don’t have things to talk about or frustrations to vent out on my blog – I just couldn’t bring myself to write. A case of writer’s block? Not quite…

I blame it on the 5,000-word series of eight articles I was working on during the two weeks of unexplained absence from this blog. It was a freelance project I took on to fund my South Seas adventure - a writing assignment which I had left to the last minute to complete: just before the deadline and after the adventure too. I was all worn out during that time – there were no words left in me after wringing out everything I knew about insurance onto my computer. Yes, insurance. Yawn. That explains everything.

Sulawesi...where's that?

2007-10-11T22:06:00.000+08:00

It seems that not many people know where Sulawesi is. I don’t blame them, I didn’t know where Manado was before this.

Tonight, I begin my journey, via Singapore, to Manado, a city located on the northern tip of the Indonesian spider-shaped island of Sulawesi. Back in school during history lessons, we learnt that in the 16th century, Sulawesi was the center of trade for pearls, gold, copper, camphor and of course, exotic spices such as nutmeg, mace and cloves, which led Western powers to sail thousands of miles away from their homeland towards world dominion in order to secure supplies of these spices in the 16th century. They even went to war over them. Sounds a little like the situation in Iraq, doesn’t it? History does repeat itself!

Now, 500 years later, I’m going to Sulawesi to flirt with the island’s marine life in the blue yonder. The dive sites of Sulawesi are a diver’s haven and rank among the best in the world.

That’s about all I know about the island right now. Let’s not spoil the surprise, huh?

2007-10-05T14:53:00.000+08:00

www.free-burma.org

November or March

2007-09-21T00:32:00.000+08:00

IS IT GOING to be November or March? I'm of course referring to the general election. The smart money is betting on March 2008.

I still remember that infectious tune aired on government channels years ago imploring the citizenry to exercise their rights. I think they still played it at the last election.

Marilah mari, marilah mengundi.

As a kid, I found general elections very fascinating, it was as if the whole country was having a carnival. And there would be a traffic jam outside my house almost every night as members of a political party gather at a neighbour's for meetings and campaign activities. Being on the opposite end of the spectrum of political ideology, my parents were naturally never invited to any of their gatherings. Nevertheless our families remained friendly neighbours right up to the time they moved.

I remember being confused by posters of the rocket and scale or the occasional bull, with "X" next to them. I also remember mom being away almost the entire weekend one general election as she was helping out at one polling station. Dad was in charge that day after sending mom off and I wondered what all the fuss was all about.

In fact, mom was the one who registered me as soon as I was eligible to vote.

Mom, who only spent less than 10 years in school knew how important it is for her to exercise her right to elect the government and future she wants. Having lived through the British and Japanese occupations, she understood that this right is not to be taken for granted. Sadly, many in my generation don't seem to care whether they vote or not. Would I be doing the same if not for my mom's influence? I won't really know but thanks mom for leading by example.

Recently, some kind soul sent me a link where you can check your polling station.

Selamat mengundi.

One Life

2007-09-12T07:42:00.000+08:00

I’VE BEEN TRYING to get to bed early but there’s just so much to do that I usually only hit the sack past midnight. Then the next day, the sandman would pay a visit as I struggle to stay awake at work.

It’s not that I lead a super busy or intensely interesting life (although I’d like to think I do. Grin. ) but between the TV and the Internet, there just isn’t enough time left to do the other things I want or need to do – like reading the AWSJ I’ve just subscribed for one year (I got a very good deal for that one), the piles of magazines and books I bought at the many book sales and there’s the gazillion reports I bring home from work (only to bring them back to the office the next day, mostly unread). After a stress-filled day, all I want to do is either be a couch potato or log on for other distractions.

And logged on I did. Most recently, the Internet has become like a black hole sucking in most of my time and beckoning for more as I discover more and more neat applications on the web. There’s blogging, there’s Facebook, LibraryThing, Picasa Web, Photobucket and numerous frequented websites on top of the regular stuff like e-mailing, e-banking, instant messaging, reading the news and such. Suddenly I have more web logins and passwords than I can possibly remember.

Sounds like I don’t have much of a life, as someone remarked. Well, this is pretty much my life after work. Sad, huh? Just how much time are we spending online? Judging by the accounts I’m reading in the media, it is only going to increase. The popularity of Second Life, the gaming site where users create pixelised versions of themselves who lead virtual lives working and earning Linden dollars in this virtual world called Linden. Users spend hours working on their avatars, dressing them up, equipping them with vital “assets”. Through their avatars, users live and work in Linden where they earn salaries, buy groceries, go window shopping, start businesses, take holidays and socialise with other users – some even have sex and marry – online, that is. Kinky.

While I shudder at the thought of replacing real life with a virtual one, I can see how easy it is to get hooked. My limited experience with Facebook proved to me that I am just as susceptible to creating an alter ego and “live” in Linden town to escape the real world. Eight million already do and books are now being written about the phenomenon. Newsweek quoting Gartner Research, reported that by 2011 four out of every five Internet users will actively participate in Second Life or something similar.

Thanks, but I think I will stick to this life. There is just too much that cannot be replicated, fabricated or pixelised. This is the One Life I have and I’m determined not to let it slip by. As the wise Bono sang: “One love, one life, you have to do what you should”.

IHeartNY, still

2007-09-11T22:37:00.001+08:00

Happy Birthday to you, Malaysia

2007-08-30T00:29:00.000+08:00

Come Friday, Malaysia will be 50. The 50-year mark is a significant milestone and politicians, advertisers and the media have milked as much benefits as they can from this event. There is nothing wrong with celebrating of course, only if it’s worth celebrating.

Despite all the reminders of our 50th year as a nation all these months, it is only this last week leading to Aug 31 that I felt like I had anything to do with the celebrations. Maybe it is simply excitement over the three-day weekend, maybe it is annoyance at the traffic jams as major roads remain closed for the National Day parade rehearsals. Or is it the noisy spectacle from the Russian fighter jets as they sliced through the air, turned and twirled in the sky as they polished their routine over Dataran Merdeka these couple of days? Or is it the facsimiles of The Straits Times from the week of Aug 31, 1957, that you get with the NST for a week up to Aug 31.

Flipping through the pages of the “old newspaper”, I wondered how people felt during those last days under British rule. There appeared to be a lot of excitement and anticipation as the fledging nation ushered in a new era and the news items projected an innocence and naivete that would only be apparent to those with the benefit of hindsight.

The future seemed bright and promising. After years of hardship under various political masters, the country was ready to set its own course, led by none lesser than a prince.

And another thing, there was an absence of reports on communal politics in the papers then compared to papers today. Or maybe it got snipped by the editor? Or maybe I’m over romanticising the whole era. But that’s only because the innocence is no more and the future is dim.

Anyway, come Merdeka weekend, I’ll be burying my nose in Animal Farm by George Orwell. I felt it apt to read Orwell’s little book on how animals in a farm kicked the humans out and implemented a socialist system where all animals were equal. Alas, even animals are fallible. Discord grew among the animals and eventually it soon became clear that some animals were more equal than others.

A case of life emulating art? Actually the book is an allegory of the Stalin regime following the Bolshevik Revolution. While we are not a basket case like the Russians at the turn of the 20th century, the parallels with Animal Farm is uncanny – as soon as we got rid of the common enemy, we turn against each other.

Well, that’s what I’ll be doing this Merdeka – reading, and praying for a future that could have been and may still be, if we allow it.

Happy 50th birthday, Malaysia!

Man's best friend

2007-08-21T22:35:00.000+08:00

A man and his dog were walking along a road.
The man was enjoying
the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him
that he was dead.

He remembered dying, and that the dog walking
beside him had been
dead for years. He wondered where the road was
leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone
wall along one side
of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the
top of a long hill,
it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the
sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a
magnificent gate in the arch
that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the
street that led to the
gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog
walked toward the gate,
and as
he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one
side.

When he was close enough, he called out,
"Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the
man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have
some ice water brought
right up."

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog,
"come in, too?" the
traveller asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back
toward the road and
continued the way he had been going with his
dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of
another long hill, he
came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate
that looked as if it
had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside,
leaning against a
tree and reading a book.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you have
any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on
in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveller
gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough,
there was an
old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveller filled the water bowl and took a
long drink himself,
then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back
toward the man who
was standing by the tree.

"What do you call this place?" the traveller
asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveller said.
"The man down the road
said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street
and pearly gates? Nope.
That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your
name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the
folks who would leave
their best friends behind."

I got this from a friend, another dog lover. After reading it, I immediately thought of my black cocker spaniel-mongrel half breed who died nearly 10 years ago. She was a gift from a neighbour when I was about 10 so I practically grew up with her. I still get dewy-eyed sometimes when I talk about her.

Thanks for the memories and I miss you loads, Poppy. Rest in peace and we'll meet again some day.

Favourite waste of time

2007-08-18T00:58:00.000+08:00

I HAVE A new addiction and I’m not alone in this I am certain. It’s a condition shared with 31 million others around the world. It is Facebook-ing.

Since signing up two weeks ago, I’ve been checking my page twice daily, sometimes thrice. At times it’s in the morning or during lunch and then before I clock off work or at home when I feel the urge to take a peek just before I go to bed.

Well, it really isn’t that bad because by the second week the novelty has already started to fade. Plunging stock prices across the globe has ensured that I have enough work to keep me from checking whether I have new friends wanting to “be my friend” on Facebook or if anyone wrote on my wall. Besides, the amount of traffic the site attracts has made downloading applications as exciting as watching paint dry.

But really, once you get those nifty stuff on your page it does get rather fascinating. For me, it was seeing how many cities I’ve been to on the "Where I've been" application. Seeing your “global footprint” sets off the wanderlust within me. Besides that you can do lots of really fun but pointless stuff, like sending virtual gifts, play Scrabbles, rate people or throw food items at friends. It is like a blog, only more interactive.

On my Facebook profile, I had taken pains to fill up my interests, activities, favourite music, TV shows and quotes. Are all these information necessary? Not really, I mean what good does it do to know so-and-so’s favourite books or songs or movies? If that friend is important enough for the need to know these facts then I should already know of them. To show I have culture and am learned perhaps? The narcissistic dog in me would wag its tail to that. But for whatever reason, I get a thrill from doing all these juvenile stuff on Facebook.

The one really good thing about Facebook is that it puts you in touch with friends from all over the world – even friends you forgot you had – as you discover long lost friends from a friend's friends list. Another amazing thing I have discovered is that Facebook is proof of the six degree of separation theory which states that “anyone on the planet is connected to any other person through a chain of acquaintances with no more than five links”. It is also known as the “small world” phenomenon. With Facebook, you get your social network mapped out and you’ll be surprised to know whom the people you know know.

But there is a downside to being in touch with too many people: sometimes you get invited by people you’d rather remain in your past.

Another downside is that almost every action taken is noted for all to see on your page. I felt a virtual sense of nakedness at first when I first started using Facebook. Now, I have learned that less is better and that there is such a thing as “limited profile”.

I also blame Facebook for my lack of posts on this blog lately. Facebook-ing – my term for logging onto Facebook – can be such a distraction. I guess that is because it appeals to something (the social butterfly maybe?) in some of us. It is like signing autographs for friends during your last year at secondary schools – some of us would take pains to decorate the pages we write on but some not.

Facebook is like an interactive autograph book, where some of us enjoy doing all those time-wasting stuff while some leave their pages empty with just the basic information – just enough without revealing too much.

Random notes of a Malaysian in the Philippines

2007-08-06T22:46:00.000+08:00

THE PHILIPPINES IS not a country I would visit say, for a holiday simply because it is not on my list of places to visit. It would have been my loss then because I would have missed out on the Filipino’s brand of warmth and hospitality as well as Manila’s charm.

God has other plans and I found myself in the Philippines last month to attend the Every Nation 07 conference. The church I am attending is a member of Every Nation, essentially an organization of Protestant churches from all around the world.

Here are some of my notes from the week-long stay in the Philippines.

Room with a view

After almost six hours of traveling through oil palm plantations, across the South China Seas, and then through mountains, volcanos and padi fields, we (as in me and a bus load of fellow church members) finally arrived in Manila. Mabuhay! Welcome to Manila!

Our hotel is located in Cubao, once a seedy part of Metro Manila until the Aranata family decided to construct a posh shopping complex there. The seediness is still apparent if you look hard enough – you don’t have to walk far to see the riff-raff of society lounging by the streets.

I used to take pictures of views outside my hotel window when I travel although I had stopped doing so a few years back. This time, I was determined to take one from my room. Here it is.

There is no window in my room! Not even a hole or a slit. In place of a window with a view is a wallpaper of some town in Europe. It is to be expected I supposed. After all, the hotel is called Eurotel with a corny tagline: “Experience Europe at Eurotel” or something like that.

Balut – National pride

Every foreigner who has ever stepped foot on Filipino soil and been in touch with the locals would face this challenge – to bravely eat a balut. The balut is a local delicacy of incubated duck egg, steamed and eaten with salt. It is believed to contain aphrodisiac properties.

The balut, to put it crudely, is an aborted duckling. You can see its defined shape once you crack open the shell. Sometimes you see feathers and at the one and only balut-eating session where I was present, I even saw tiny little webbed feet in one of half-opened shells.

Thanks but no thanks – it is against my beliefs and I have no need to prove anything to anyone.

Not so for some friends who took up the challenge. They were guided through the process – first break the shell at the narrow end of the egg, then suck the liquid out, break more shell, sprinkle some salt and then take a bite of the mass of yolk-feather-embryo. Once you do that you’ll be embraced as a true Filipino!

What did it taste like, I asked.

Just like eggs, came the answer.

Room service

On our second night in Manila, the window unit AC started acting up. The room became unbearably hot and when the maintenance failed to get it to work properly, we requested for a change of room.

“We’ll get back to you ’mam,” the operator assured me over the phone.

A few minutes later, the phone rang and the same voice told me that there’d be people on their way to change the AC. Change the AC? Did I hear correctly?

True enough, the doorbell rang and when I opened the door, I found two guys with a unit of AC on a trolley.

“We’re here to change your air-con, ’mam,” one of them said cheerfully.

Okay, seems like it is the norm here to change air-conditioners in the middle of the night. My roommate and I watched in with eyes wide opened as they pried the old AC out of the wall and carted it out. There was a gaping black hole in my European view. We could feel a cool breeze in the room. Ahhh…that must be what Europe felt like right then.

I climbed on a chair and peered into the hole to see what was in there but it was too dark to make out anything.

The two guys carted a unit of AC into the room and gingerly shoved it into the wall. I crossed my fingers as they tested it.

“’Mam, it’s working,” one of them commented.

Indeed, I could feel cool air in the room again. I could kiss those two guys but I could be accused of sexually harassing them. Heh heh…no need for scandals in a foreign land.

Just when I was about to give up on customer service in the Philippines, I got a taste of the Filipino can-do attitude and expediency. Was most impressed.

Foot reflexology

“What’s with all the foot massages in Kuala Lumpur? Are people there very stressed?” asked a Filipino acquaintance I made in Manila.

I was stumped by the association between foot massages and stress levels as I’ve never given much thought to the foot masseurs offering their services along the five-foot way of Jalan Bukit Bintang.

“I don’t know but yes, I think people living in KL are subject to high levels of stress,” I answered candidly although I think most of the foot reflexology services are targeted at tourists. Then again, there really has been a mushrooming of such services all over KL.

If KL were to expand like Manila or as some doomsayers predict, end up like the Philippines if we become complacent in the fight against corruption, Malaysians may end up needing a lot of foot massages after all.

The Manila Metropolitan is home to 12 million people compared to KL’s two million odd. Manila and its metropolitan areas are all together bigger than the island of Singapore. That’s more people spread over a bigger area, yes? No, Manila – once labeled the Pearl of the Orient is a dense city, earning it the 19th position among the most populous cities in the world.

Getting around in Manila requires strategic planning in order to avoid traffic jams at peak hours and the sights and sounds, thrills and spills of Manila traffic are both fascinating and hair-raising. The jeepneys with their colourfully decorated bodies are quite a sight as they speed along Manila streets. Their incessant honking every minute (if not every few seconds) reminded me of musicians in an orchestra tuning their instruments before a performance. If you think KL drivers are inconsiderate, the dare devil drivers in Manila can out-bad KL drivers anytime. (Empty Nest – it’s not true that democratic values and practices produce better drivers!)

If any city dwellers need foot reflexology, I think Filipinos living in Manila certainly deserve it.

Although I think the comment about Malaysia becoming like the Philippines is somewhat unfair, I hope we’d at least have their free press, meritocracy and policy of equal opportunities for citizens.

Porky pork and other Filipino cuisine

If you love pork, you’d love Filipino food. There are various ways of cooking and presenting this versatile meat. At my first Filipino meal, I tried the chicken version of sisig which is normally cooked using pork. It is fried to a crisp giving a good crunchy chew in your mouth and it is tasty too. But it may not appeal to everyone’s palate as it utilizes the pig’s jowl and other bits of its face.

Then there’s adobo, a delicious dish of pork or chicken cooked in soy sauce and vinegar. Absolutely yummy, especially with rice.

Crispy pata or roasted pork knuckles is another dish not to be missed if you like pork. It is eaten dipped in a sauce of soy sauce, vinegar and cut chilies.

There’s also lechon or roasted suckling pig. It may not be politically correct to eat a little pig – think Babe in the movie Babe – but we eat it here in Malaysia too at wedding dinners. In any case, I didn’t get to sample lechon during my stay in Manila. Just as well, I’d feel too conflicted to really enjoy the meal.

There is more to Filipino food than just pork - there’s halo halo, a dessert of shaved ice with nuts, yam, custard and ice-cream. There’s kare kare, a curry-like dish of beef; bangus, barbequed fish and other delicacies.

How can I talk about Filipino food and not mention Jollibee, the Philippines’ most successful fast food chain serving a mix of local and Western food. With Americans occupying the Philippines for close to 50 years, it is hardly surprising to see the American influence everywhere - from the sprawling malls, huge billboards to…the Filipino fast food scene. You can spot McDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Hut, Wendy’s, Burger King’s, Taco Bell, Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks signages almost everywhere you turn in Manila. Outside Manila, you’re just as likely to see the major fast food chains and their towering signboards vying for attention.

The newcomer to the scene would be Krispy Kreme, the American doughnut franchise. Our Filipino hosts took us to a Krispy Kreme outlet at Bonifacio High Street, a spanking new shopping area catering to the upper middle class.

Having heard so much about how delicious Krispy Kreme is, we Malaysians behaved like we’ve never seen doughnuts before and very unashamedly ate two dozens or so doughnuts between the 15 of us. We also snapped lots of pictures of ourselves eating doughnuts, pictures of the Krispy Kreme outlet and pictures of doughnuts…we went Krispy Kreme crazy!

It must be the sugar. I blame our irrational behaviour on the sugar.

Filipino nationalism

Filipinos seem to genuinely love their country. Never mind that there are eight million Filipinos (out of a population of 80 million) working abroad – well, one has to make a living and feed the family at home.

Given the possibility for individuals to come together to create changes for the greater good and really play a role in nation building, it is no wonder Filipinos are so devoted to their country and the fire of nationalism burns in their bosoms.

Many years ago, that fire burnt brightly in one Jose Rizal, Filipino’s most revered national hero who was accused of leading an uprising against the Spanish government. I remember studying about him and his book Noli Me Tangare, in history class in Form 2. I remember thinking he was one of two best looking Asian personalities in my history book then (the other being General Aung San). Indeed, judging by portraits of Jose Rizal hanging in Intramuros where he was imprisoned just before his execution, he was a handsome man. And he had quite a few girlfriends too, which only enhances the romance of Jose Rizal.

Dead at only 35, Rizal left behind a legacy of writings which inspired generations after him.

Up, up and away

2007-07-15T23:02:00.000+08:00

WHAT DO TORTILLA, popcorn and tau fu fah have in common?

Well, aside from the fact that the first two originate from corn, the prices of all three are likely to go up, up and away!

A recent Citigroup report took note of rising food prices around the world.

In the US, food inflation in the first five months of 2007 has risen by 3.1% year-to-date, the fastest pace in over 15 years. Similarly, the UK is seeing the highest food inflation since 2001. In China, recent food inflation levels have reached the low end of alert levels. In Mexico, food inflation has become a political agenda item (particularly tortilla prices).

In the US, moviegoers may have to dish out more for their popcorn. The Wall Street Journal reports that US popcorn prices have risen more than 40% since 2006 as the demand for corn for ethanol production spills over to popcorn. (Popcorn trivia: Popcorn is different from regular corn and has smaller and harder kernels than other types of corn.)

Since corn is now sought-after to produce fuel, it has become a three-cornered fight between cattle and humans who eat them, and ethanol producers who turn them into fuel. So that means higher feed meal prices for cows, pigs and chickens…and more expensive corn flakes for our breakfast.

Surging demand for corn by ethanol producers caused farmers to switch from planting soybeans to corn, leading to rising soybean prices. In Malaysia, the hype over biodiesel – a blend of diesel and refined palm oil – has lifted crude palm oil prices to stratospheric levels. Furthermore, crude palm oil is a cheaper substitute for soybean oil; naturally, higher soybean prices pulled crude palm oil prices along.

There’s another reason for higher food prices: China. The booming economy has created a growing middle class who are now more affluent and presumably has pickier taste buds. Think fried fast food, rich cakes and snacks. Hence the need for more of everything from cooking oil to pork.

Corn, soybean and palm oil are not the only items costing more, milk, sugar, wheat and even pork are some of the other food stuffs undergoing inflationary pressures.

So don’t be shocked when you find either your regular bowl of tau fu fah shrinking in size or the same bowl of tau fu fah costing more.

Not to fear though, there is hope yet in a declining US dollar which makes imports cheaper though it is likely to be insufficient to offset the jump in commodity prices. Another saving grace is that some of these items are controlled prices under the Control of Supplies Act 1961.

In any case, what goes up must come down, the question is when and whether prices will unwind in a gradual manner without causing major shocks to the system.

In the mean time, all this talk of food is making me hungry. Think I’ll have a bowl of tau fu fah today. And maybe some tortilla…and char siew… and popcorn the next time I’m at the movies.

Two Become One

2007-07-08T09:22:00.000+08:00

FIRST, THERE WAS one...

Then there were two...

And the two shall become one.

Last week, one of my oldest and closest friends tied the knot after a whirlwind, against-the-odds long distant relationship. Time and distance proved to be no match against their love for each other. Here's wishing Ivy and Jeh the very best of God's blessings for their new life together.

Fever!

2007-06-28T23:35:00.000+08:00

IT'S HOT, HOT, hot! Be it La Nina or El Nino, I think global warming is here for real. I'm feeling it under my skin, in the heat around us, in the spate of thunderstorms and flash floods we have been experiencing.

Well, it usually gets hotter this time of the year and gets worse in the next two months. I hope mother nature hasn't gone over the edge and throws a lengthy heat wave our way. I'm still haunted by memories of carrying buckets of water from the water truck or washing up by a public tap during the 1998 dry spell.

Hope there'll be a shower of rain tonight. That'd be so nice.

Investor non-relations

2007-06-28T23:33:00.001+08:00

LAST WEEK, THE press reported the establishment of the Malaysian Investor Relations Association whose objective is to develop investor relations among public listed companies in Malaysia.

Well, it’s about time! Companies should realise that the public is not a public ATM where they can go to whenever they need funds for expansion and then leave them in the cold without any info updates once that need is met. Often investors are left at the mercy of insiders’ maneuverings – so much for transparency and good corporate governance.

What irks me is management’s ignorance of the importance of good investor relations. When shareholders call to ask for information, they do not appreciate being given the run around as their calls are passed from one department to another. Some company officials may not even be aware of the concept.

Although some companies do practise impeccable investor relations, for most, the concept of investor relations probably does not exist. It’s either that or companies simply do not bother with investing in it.

Certainly, both sides will have to pull their weight to elevate the profile of the Malaysian capital markets. Investors too should exercise their rights as shareholders by pressing for greater transparency. For one, retail investors especially could do with more research into the company before buying its stocks. For another, they could attend the AGMs and vote on resolutions. There’s more to the meetings than door gifts and buffet spreads.

Then again, these are not necessarily bad if they could be used to get shareholders to exercise shareholder activism.

Upsy-daisy

2007-06-20T23:32:00.000+08:00

PEOPLE MESS UP sometimes, to quote Kate Walsh’s Dr Addison Montgomery-Shepard on Grey’s Anatomy in season two. It struck a chord within me as I replayed in my mind the episode where I saw THE ex-boyfriend with his fiancée who once was a close friend of mine, at a shopping mall last week. I felt like a loser who messed up.

It was my day off and I had gone to a mall on the other side of town to look for something naughty for someone’s hen night. As I walked out of the Gap store, I saw from the corner of my eye, my friend (now an ex-friend obviously) with THE ex. Suddenly, a scene of me hiding behind racks of clothes as I spied on them flashed before me. My instinct told me to run, dash, flee, whatever, just get out of there as I didn’t want to deal with them right then. So I bolted into a Guess store and pretended to be looking for something.

I have no idea why I reacted that way. The relationship died a natural death years ago and although I had felt a tinge of betrayal, the fact is they hooked up after the break up. Regardless, I knew deep in my heart he wasn’t the one.

Yet when I saw them, I wished the floor would open up so that I could disappear into it. I had enacted scenes of me bumping into former boyfriends in my head where I imaged myself saying “Hi” brimming with happiness and confidence and preferably with a man by my side. I had neither man nor the chutzpah to deal with this particular skeleton from the closet that day and I felt crappy seeing them happy together.

An overwhelming sense of insecurity and doubt flooded my mind – did I do the right thing but made the wrong decision? I thought of the could-have-beens and at that moment, I felt like crying. I sent an SOS text message to a girlfriend and asked if what I did was normal.

Thank God for friends, she affirmed my humanity.

After what seemed like an eternity staring at expensive clothes I couldn’t afford I took a deep breath and walked out of the store. I resolved to get over my foolish behaviour and go about my business without acting like a fugitive. (In hindsight, I feel foolish and embarrassed. Ah well…I am a mere mortal.)

Upsy-daisy. Shit happens.

I left the store and marched next door back to Gap and splurged on a nice white shirt. Retail therapy never felt better!

After some soul searching, prayer and whinging to girlfriend, I decided there is no such thing as right thing, wrong decision. Doing the right thing makes the decision a right one. If ending something that didn’t feel right was the honourable thing to do, no matter how attractive the package, then it is the right decision. While it is no fun being single wishing you were married it is better than being married wishing you were single. I just feel crappy now because I am the one without.

But life goes on. Upsy-daisy.

Aging rockers, not

2007-06-17T22:35:00.000+08:00

TODAY IS A day of many firsts for me.

First of all, it’s Father’s Day and I called my dad to wish him “Happy Father’s Day”. Now, my dad and I don’t have the easiest of relationships and we don’t just call each other to wish one another “Happy Birthday” or whatever. Even having a proper conversation with him is a major milestone for me. So picking up the phone to wish him wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

But I did it anyway because as I sat in the car with the phone in my hand I asked myself whether 10 years from now, I would regret not wishing him. The answer was yes. Regardless of what he has or hasn’t done, he’s still my father. So I said a little prayer and pressed the tiny green button. I had to shout “Happy Father’s Day” three times before he heard me.

There, what a relief. Dad must have been surprised because he thought something was up – that shows how rare phone calls are between us (usually mom is the mediator and messenger) – but he was clearly happy to receive the wishes and replied, “Oh, thank you, thank you ah.”

With that out of the way I was set for my debut as an aging rocker! My music school where I have been taking guitar lessons for close to a year was having a concert and I was jamming with Stephanie, a mother of two, and my instructor, a last minute replacement for another musician. Stephanie would take the drums while my teacher would play the lead guitar. I was to play the second guitar, accompanying the lead.

As I was waiting for things to get running, I felt slightly out of place among the other performers who were all pubescent boys and girls. I felt more like one of the parents. It didn’t help that my drummer – the only performer within my age bracket (my teacher doesn’t count because, well, he is the teacher) – was nowhere to be seen.

My teacher’s father-in-law saw me lingering in the hallway and asked me if I was nervous, I said no.

“What are you playing?”
“The electric guitar.”
“Whoa. You can imagine that you were Keith Richards playing in the Royal Albert Hall.”

Keith Richards! With due respect uncle, your age is showing.

I would have preferred The Edge but never mind, now my age is showing.

Incidentally, this morning on the radio, the DJ announced that “aging rockstar Rod Stewart” was getting married for the nth time. Aging rockstar? I would be offended if I were Rod.

Well, I was a little annoyed that when introducing my rag-tag band, my instructor said, “It is never too late to learn music, ya?” obviously referring to the adult performers taking to the stage.

Excuse me? Hmmmph! If I wasn’t a bundle of nerves I would have glared at him. There was no time for that anyway. The show had to go on. So we launched into our Mandarin number as I fumbled with some chords here and there – so much for not feeling nervous!

I was so focused on my chords that I wasn’t paying attention to what my band mates were playing. Some discordant notes were heard here and there – mostly from me, heh, but we managed to wrap up the song and the audience clapped obligingly – they probably couldn’t wait for their cute teenaged offsprings to reclaim the stage.

So that was another first for me – jamming in a band and I must say it was fun playing in a group together. I just wish that we (myself included) would stop thinking that music – especially contemporary music – is the domain of the young only. Music should be enjoyed by all – young and old. If you’re 60 and still enjoy playing the electric guitar or drums, so be it, no need for condescending references to age. Agree?

Well, anyway, that was my day of two firsts – I wouldn’t count out seconds, thirds or fourths... :-)

Wanted: patron saint of small investors

2007-06-15T00:39:00.000+08:00

COMPARED TO THE worms emerging out of the woodwork in corporate Malaysia, the termite infestation in my bookshelves looked harmless. In the last month, the investing community in Malaysia has had to stomach not one but two cases of corporate shenanigans.

Two in one month – that’s quite a shocker but what was more shocking was the enormity of the amounts involved as well as the extensive nature of fraud, going back a few years. This means the shenanigans have been going on right under the noses of regulators, external auditors, lenders, creditors and hapless investors for a number of years.

The first case was Transmile where company officials overstated profits to inflate the value of the company. I shall not repeat the details, for more info, read here.

The second was Megan Media where a network of fictitious creditors and suppliers was uncovered by investigators, revealing company officials’ elaborate scheme to siphon money out of the company. More here.

How did fraudsters become so bold? We are talking about hundreds millions of ringgit here and apparently the crimes were committed over a number of years. It is almost daylight robbery!

Someone said that it is not that Malaysia has inadequate laws – we have enough laws to nail an elephant to the wall – but our lacks are enforcement and the will to see that justice is carried out.

In the corporate scene, how many of the bigwigs convicted of crimes have seen the inside of a jail cell and actually served prison terms? Most of the big fishes pay a few millions in fines and jump right back into the corporate world, conducting their businesses through nominees or even plot their political comeback! It certainly helps to have money, doesn’t it? Loads of it, too.

Say what you will about the Americans but they are dead serious about putting perpetrators of white-collar crimes behind bars. (Unless they kick the bucket before sentencing as did Ken Lay, Enron’s CEO and chairman.) Jack Skilling, Enron CEO in 2001, is now serving a 24-year sentence in Minnesota. Even Martha Stewart spent five months in jail for insider trading which helped her avert a loss of just US$45,673.

Perhaps we need someone like Eliot-“the patron saint of small investors”-Spitzer to kick a few butts. Eliot who? Spitzer is the Governor of New York and a former attorney general who was feared by Wall Street for his crusade against unfair practices of corporate America. Vanity Fair (Jan 2005) wrote:

In 2002, Spitzer took action against Merrill Lynch for conflicts of interest between their research and investment-banking divisions, having uncovered a series of e-mail exchanges that irrefutably confirmed their private misgivings about a number of the stocks they were touting publicly; 10 other securities firms under investigation joined in the settlement. He has taken on the mutual fund industry for its preferential treatment of favored clients, particularly hedge funds, permitting them to buy shares after the market’s closing and to trade in and out quickly, siphoning profits from long-term shareholders. Most recently, he has exposed practices tantamount to kickbacks and bid rigging at Marsh & McLennan, the world’s largest insurance broker, prompting reforms at other companies and the resignation of CEO and chairman Jeffrey W. Greenberg.

Well, Transmile and Megan Media are still under investigations so it may be too early to conclude that those behind the abuses and accounting fraud will not be brought to book. Meanwhile, the investing community is still smarting from being misled by the wool these two companies pulled over their eyes all this while.

If justice is not served in courts here and now, we take comfort – though small, it may be – in the belief that it will be served in the eternity.

Knocking on wood

2007-06-05T00:19:00.000+08:00

MY LIFE COLLAPSED before me last night. Let me explain. Some of the material things I treasure include my collection of books – books that thrilled and entertained me, books that reminded me of specific times in my life when I read them and books that reminded me of the people who gave them. Well, last night I discovered a nest of terminates in my bookshelves, feasting away on my precious books, turning them to dust! So it did feel like part of my life literally and metaphorically, collapsed! Those wriggly little buggers!

I live on the 10th floor in a 20-story building, so how did they get here? I’m thinking this building sits on what must have been a rubber estate 50 years ago. Furthermore, this being an old building, it is infested with all sorts of ailments, termites being one of them. Actually, this would be my second termite attack in the eight years I’ve been living here. The first attack was in the kitchen, discovered when I moved in.

But back to the books…I remember opening the shelf’s glass doors and moved some books less than a month ago and didn’t notice anything amiss. Those guys must have been chomping and munching day and night because going by the mud tunnels they’ve built, it looked like they’ve been hard at work. I mean it was like Termite City! I even have a tagline for it – the city that never sleeps! Corny, I know, but humour me.

Well, given the damage the termites left in their path, I could do with either a good laugh or a good cry. I figured a laugh was less of a mess. Just how bad was it? The termites bore through 80% of close to 100 books and cleaning through them, I’ve concluded that those buggers like hard covers – they didn’t spare a single one of them. I had to throw away one hard-covered tome which was unsalvageable, what with the insecticide which I was using liberally. I threw away two other paperbacks after concluding that with the amount of insecticide soaked in the pages, they have become potential health hazards to anyone reading them!

As for the rest, the termite-eaten pages actually give them an air of antiquity. If one doesn’t mind a few missing words on every page for say about 30 pages – depending on how deep the termites bore – one can still read most of the books.

As for their literary taste, I must say the termites like fiction more but they also seem to like economics and finance-related stuff. Yawn. What sort of party were they having, an economics forum?

They didn’t take to politics very well because they only nibbled at the books on Tun M’s administration. Too toxic eh?

Fortunately, those invertebrates left a couple of my favourite books unscathed. Thank God. Speaking of God, the termites left God’s Little Book of Virtues as good as new. Divine intervention? Hey, at this point, I’ll take any miracle. The termites also spared The Bible in One Year. Okay, I think God is telling me to read the Bible cover-to-cover at least once. (God, while we’re at it, why did you create termites? Sigh.)

By 1am, I had cleared the infested shelves and moved the books into boxes after painstakingly cleaning them and flipping through them page by page to weed out any of those wriggly little buggers. I have also knocked my knuckles blue knocking and checking on other shelves, door frames, tables, kitchen cabinets, chairs and everything wooden in the apartment.

Well, I hope the pest control guys coming tomorrow to assess the situation will not have more bad news to break.

Knock on wood.

Sleep writing

2007-05-26T21:53:00.000+08:00

I CAN WRITE in my sleep, I swear.

Late last night, I was trying to put together a post for this blog when I nodded off to dreamland for a few moments. With much effort I managed to shut down my notebook before going to bed. Today when I opened my notebook, I saw this:

That was when I realised what an emotional and heart-wrenching song this is. The songwriter must be a man for one thing. There certainly are lots of places the whole family could go.

Huh? Where did the last sentence come from? My subconscious must have been thinking about places to take my sister and her family when they visit the next day.

Once many moons ago, lying on the floor, on my tummy and between struggling to stay awake and completing an essay for my English class I wrote a sentence about a cow flying. I can’t remember what I wrote exactly but it had absolutely nothing to do with my English homework. Flying cows?! No, English homework was made of more sedate stuff. I was quite amused.

Well, that was then, I didn’t know I could do the same with a keyboard.

Is there such a thing as sleep writing? I googled “sleep writing” and found two anecdotes here and here on the act of writing even as the mind meanders between consciousness and the subconscious.

Hmmm…Maybe I should try it again and see what comes out. Maybe I can muster more than one sentence and spin a tall tale.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Fingers crossed

2007-05-26T21:51:00.000+08:00

THERE IS HOPE after all!

Having written about cracks, floods and leaks in public buildings here on this blog, I should at least point out that the Anti-Corruption Agency is investigating the plumber and contractors of the Jalan Duta court complex.

So there are right-minded people in government after all. Hats off to the powers-that-be who decided that enough is enough.

Let’s see what comes out of it. My fingers are crossed.

A crying shame

2007-05-20T23:26:00.000+08:00

GROWING UP ON a diet of Cantonese dramas, I often hear on these shows the saying that those who commit shameful acts do not know how to write the character chou, which means, among others, ugly, vile, disgraceful or shameful.

After the events of the last two weeks, I am convinced there are more than a few Malaysian politicians who know not the meaning of shame. For that matter, they know not the meaning of honour, respect, honesty and integrity.

What has a leaking roof got anything to do with a woman’s menses? It is just preposterous. Thanks to the YBs of Jasin and Kinabatangan, the world knows of their most unchivalrous, if not idiotic ways. And to the women MPs who kept silent, how can I trust you to defend women’s rights? The truth is, I don’t.

Let’s not forget the issue that brought about this whole sorry episode in the first place. Why is it that the Parliament’s roofing of less than three years old already falling apart? According to news reports, the Works Minister said extensive repairs would be required.

The Parliament House was renovated only two years ago, at the cost of RM90m. It is obvious now the renovation work is riddled with defects. Whatever happened to pride in one’s work? Were the people who put the roof there in the first place qualified to do the job? If so, why did they do such a poor job?

Questions are aplenty but answers are few. At coffee shops, in private conversations, we whisper the answers and say, “Aiya, Malaysia is like that what.”

The politicians are right about one thing: we are a tolerant people. Perhaps too tolerant for our own good.

Sungguh tak malu.

Post script: It has been reported that the RM90m bill did not cover the roof. They refurbished the interiors but left out the roof. Go figure.

Home free, almost

2007-05-13T10:54:00.000+08:00

WHAT A COINCIDENCE! On the morning of my exam nightmare, newspapers published the the Malaysian Examination Syndicate’s proposal to abolish UPSR and PMR by 2012 and 2015.

Hip hip hooray! No more bloody exams! Kids have it so good these days.

Well, the euphoria may be short-lived as certain quarters objected to the proposal. Party poopers.

Anyway, when they take away something, they replace it with something else. So instead of UPSR and PMR, you’ll have the National Educational Assessment System. It has been hinted that the new system would make learning a more wholesome process.

I am no authority on child development but as someone who has gone through four central examinations, I speak from experience. I didn’t mind exams that much back when I was in school. Certainly, there were lesser distractions in an all-girl school making it easier to focus on studying. Besides, mugging for exams has its benefits.

If you do well, you get rewarded – in cash or gifts – either by parents, relatives or the school. Sometimes, it’s all three. But it may have been easier for me to study for exams because girls in general do find it easier to sit still and mug for exams. Boys who tend to be more active may find it harder to do the same. In our exam-oriented system, this has led to more girls than boys in local universities. Of course, don’t put the blame on exams alone, the curriculum may be at fault too.

Now that I’m all grown up, I certainly believe I could have done with less exams. For one, they just take up too much of a kid’s time, which could have been better spent playing in the field or reading or socializing with siblings and friends…there could be a gazillion things a kid could be doing instead of mugging for exams. With the right parental guidance and control, this time could be used to develop and stimulate a child’s mind. The flip side is, parents are way too busy working to bring home the char siew or capati or nasi lemak.

Stories of competitive parents comparing their children’s grades while waiting for them at the school gate is another symptom of an education system so obsessed with grades that it has forgotten the joy of learning. Personally, I would have preferred more field trips, more discussions and Q&A sessions where there is two-way communication between teacher and students. I would have preferred teachers who understood the importance of inculcating in students independent and creative thinking, the ability to analyse, question as well as a thirst for truth.

Looking at the regularity of tests and exams in my nephews’ school, I worry that the constant drill would kill their curiosity for knowledge. But if they don’t do the same, the fear of being left behind is too much for their parents to bear.

It is no wonder then that home schooling is so popular now. Increasingly, more parents are choosing to opt out of the national education system for a myriad reasons, including the obsession with exams and studying merely to pass exams.

There is still a place for exams and national exams may still be necessary, for example, to determine entrance into institutions of higher learning. Today, where creative and independent thinking has become vital to staying in the game perhaps there ought to be alternatives.

Of course, we could argue that the competitive environment in school prepares children for the tough globalized world ahead of them but in a knowledge economy, the trick is the ability to compete in ideas and breakthrough research. And ideas blossom when there is creativity and a love for knowledge and truth.

Exam blues

2007-05-08T00:24:00.000+08:00

Is the answer

A I only
B I and II
C I, II and III
D I, II and IV
E II and IV

DON’T YOU JUST hate exams? They still haunt me after all these years. Last night I dreamed I was in an exam hall again with hundreds of students, some were familiar faces from school. In fact, it was like a reunion of sorts: Hey I know you! Oh there’s so-and-so!

But that did not distract me from the real reason I was there – exams! For some reason I couldn’t locate my desk. It appeared that there was something amiss with my registration records and hence I wasn’t able to sit for the paper. Normally that would send people jumping for joy. But not yours truly, I panicked.

What, you mean I can’t take the paper after studying for hours for it?! I’ll have to wait a whole year to sit for it again!

I paced up and down the hall frantically looking for a desk with my name on it while the other candidates completed their paper. I pleaded with the invigilator to let me sit for the exam. Honestly, I can’t believe how kiasu I was but I would have freaked out if this really happened to me. This dream brought out my kiasu nature from the subconscious.

Finally, at the eleventh hour, they let me sit for the paper. With what little time I had, I blackened the answers to as many questions as I could. Luckily it was a multiple-choice test. Whew! Within two seconds however, the invigilator said, “Please put your pencils down.”

But I just started!

Stubbornly I continued shading the bean-shaped circles with my 2B pencil.

[Speaking of 2B pencils do you know how much they cost these days? The good ones that is, nowadays you have rip-offs from China. Based on the 25sen I paid aeons ago, the inflation rate for 2B pencils is like more than 300%! Okay, exactly how long was aeons ago? Let’s put it at 15 years. Which works out to 2.5% per annum and these are just pencils! Someone should really conduct a study on prices of 2B pencils.]

The invigilator tapped at my desk.

Just a few more, please? At the rate I’m going, I’ll definitely be back next year. Must tembak as many as I can!

I could feel myself breaking into a cold sweat. The fear was real.

Then suddenly, I heard sirens screaming away. Yay, saved by the bell! Or rather my alarm clock, beeping away. I jumped out of bed, still in a daze, wondering what that noise was… Thank goodness, it was just a dream.

I slammed the darn clock.

The prospect of dressing for work never looked better.

Hooray! No more exams! What a relief.

Turning pro?

2007-05-08T00:21:00.000+08:00

On another note, would you say you are

A A professional blogger
B An unprofessional blogger
C A semi-professional blogger
D Dunno, dun care
E None of the above

Mouhahaha…

Things Fall Apart

2007-05-01T12:08:00.000+08:00

AIYOYO SAMY, APA sudah jadi?

First it was the Immigration Department headquarters then it was the Entrepreneur Development & Cooperatives Ministry building and now the Kuala Lumpur Courts Complex. Ceilings crashing down, pipes bursting. I want to laugh but the joke is on us – ordinary taxpaying Malaysian citizens.

Buildings are now falling apart just a few years after being built. What next? Highways? Not that that hasn’t happened before. Hospitals? Ur…check that too. Schools? Check. Dare I go on?

Clearly the decay of public buildings and infrastructure so soon after construction indicates slipshod work and an absence of proper checks and balances in the implementation and execution of grand visions dished out by politicians on high. While you may point the finger at the elements at work – buildings like everything else are subject to normal wear and tear – but surely it is only reasonable to expect routine maintenance work by the those who own and manage these assets. Besides, the three cases reported within the last month involve new buildings.

The government had better take on third party liability policies. You wouldn’t want visiting foreign dignitaries hurt while on a lawatan sambil belajar to Boleh-land. As for us taxpayers, we’ll remember to don construction site helmets and Wellington boots whenever we go to Putrajaya.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Let’s pray the bright shiny city of Putrajaya and other public structures will still be intact when we get to 2020.

30-something going on 26

2007-04-29T17:03:00.000+08:00

LAST SUNDAY, I attended a work associate’s birthday dinner party at a Vietnamese restaurant in town. I was surprised he invited me considering we’ve only met twice.

Maybe he likes me. Blink blink. Blush.

So, anyway, I decided to go since he’s kinda cute. Plus he’s been really sweet to me. I knew he was younger but I wasn’t sure how much younger. Maybe I’m in for a “May-December relationship” [why is it May-December not January-October?] ala Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher. Grin.

Wait a minute! I’m putting the cart before the horse here. Shame on you, Jens! Someone asks you to a party and you build castles in the air. P’rasan betul. Mouhahaha!

Ok, so I sobered up. The alternative is staying home and watching the telly and invariably slip into a spot of pity party. And I’ve had enough of that. Besides, I could make new friends at the party no?

And so, there I was on Sunday night, sitting next to the birthday boy. Inevitably, his age became the subject of discussion.

“So birthday boy, how old are you?”

“I’m turning 26.”

“Twenty-six!” Cradle snatcher!

“Yeah. I’m getting old.”

“Are you kidding? You still have a long way to go.” OLD?! You ain’t seein’ nothin’ yet!

In spite of myself, I ended up having a good time. I was reminded of when I was 26 – almost without a care in the world, I was having the time of my life during the second half of my 20s.

Looking at the people around me, I wondered what I did at 26, which seemed like such a long long time ago. I recall ending a very deep relationship, switching careers and moving to another part of town. I was on a journey of self-discovery where my personal life and career were the two things that occupied my time then. I didn’t feel old at all. I felt I could take on the world. I was confident, arrogant almost. My world revolved around ME, ME, ME.

But eventually I grew up while growing old, humbled and wised up along the way. There is a difference between growing up and growing old. Growing old is when you see more and more grey hair on your head and crow’s feet appear at the corner of your eyes each time you smile. You see nephews and nieces and friends’ children growing up. You see your own parents getting old and sick, your nurse them and hold their hands and wonder at the reversal of roles. And then there are the goodbyes as loved ones, including your peers – pass on.

Growing up is going through all that and more. It is coming to grips with all the changes around and within you. It is taking responsibility for yourself as well as the consequences of decisions you have made. It is accepting the cards life has dealt you and moving on and letting go while embracing the challenges ahead. I am still growing and learning to deal with issues in my life. I hope I’ll continue growing and developing until the day I die.

Sadly, some of us grow old without growing up. Our bodies age but there is no renewal of the spirit and mind. It sounds scary but it is so easy to slip into such a mode, it is so easy to shrink back from the world because it is almost effortless.

What advice would I give to myself at 26? I would tell me to:

1. Take more risks and not be afraid of having desires and aspirations for greater and bigger things and to pursue these goals single-mindedly. No pain no gain.
2. Claim God’s promises. The Lord is faithful to all his promises and loving toward all he has made. (Psalm 145:13)
3. Heed words of the wise but to always live my own life.
4. Trust God.
5. Trust my instincts.
6. Be joyful.
7. To live each day like it’s the last.
8. Appreciate what I have.
9. Build on the positives.
10. Worry less.

Of course, with hindsight we have perfect vision. But it is only through experiences we’ve been through that we learn. The rear view mirror is there to guide us on the journey ahead. While it would be suicidal to focus entirely on the rear view mirror all the time, we need to check the mirror occasionally to help us chart our course of direction.

What would the person I become at 46 say to me now? I wouldn’t know but knowing what I know now, I’d stay close to the main scripture in today’s Sunday message:

And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. – Micah 6:8

Father, deliver us

2007-04-24T14:28:00.001+08:00

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT, wanting to see why Peter O’Toole lost the best actor Oscar to Forest Whitaker, I watched The Last King of Scotland. By the time the movie ended, I wished I hadn’t seen it.

The violent and barbaric acts of despot General Idi Amin Dada against the populace left me disturbed to the core. The day after, I was still thinking about the horror portrayed in the movie. How can one man be capable of such cruelty? Yet throughout history, even up to today, we come across tyrants – single individuals – who reigned in terror and maintained regimes of torture to stay in power.

The names and times may be different but their acts have the unifying theme of sheer madness underscored by a thirst for absolute power. Haven’t we got enough Neros, Ivans the Terrible, Stalins, Hitlers, Maos and Pol Pots throughout history? Yet it seems the answer is no as we add more names to the list: Augusto Pinochet, Slobodan Milosevic, Saddam Hussein, Kim Jong-Il…

Madness is not exclusive to those in positions of power and leadership. It is all around us, among us. And we saw that madness face to face last week in the self-made video of the Virginia Tech shooter brandishing his handguns, broadcast all over the world. Gave me goose bumps when I saw it and I refused to watch it a second time.

Whatever the causes of such madness, Father, please deliver us.

Our Father, which art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
in earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive them that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation;
But deliver us from evil:
[For thine is the kingdom, The power, and the glory,
For ever and ever.]

Amen.

Virgin books - Part deux

2007-04-14T18:46:00.000+08:00

ANJALI'S COMMENT ABOUT books wrinkled with age with no one to go through them page by page reminded me of an analogy used to describe girls back in the university I attended (once an outstanding institution of higher learning in this country but now falling, nay, tumbling, down the list of world's best universities - but that's another story la).

Here goes the silly analogy that's been passed down from one generation of students to another: girls are like the reading materials in the library. According to the know-it-all infallible seniors, first year girls are like newspapers because they are so popular that all the guys want to date, I mean read, them.

The second year girls are like magazines - still popular but not as popular as the freshies. In the third year, if you're still single, you are no different from books in the reference section of the library. The reference section of the library consists of books labelled "red spot" which are essentially the main reference text books for specific courses. Hence they are "taken out" occasionally - more so at the start of a new semester when lecturers release their lists of reference text.

If by the fourth and final year you're still unattached, you are like the encyclopedias - unpopular and unnoticed. If anyone does read them, it is highly probable that the reader taking them off the shelf is a geek! (Nothing wrong with geeks, see how Bill Gates turned out - rich and famous, that's how!)

Not surprisingly, there is no such analogy for the boys. Well, given the quality of guys I met during my four years there (which ran the gamut of the painfully shy to the high achieving psycho-stalker), I gladly graduated an encyclopedia - smart and too clever for the boys, if you ask me. ;-P

Virgin books

2007-04-10T00:00:00.000+08:00

OVER THE YEARS I have developed a bad habit: buying books I don’t read.

It’s a good thing I no longer live with my parents because mom would probably curse the bad luck I bring with all the books I have. This is because the Chinese character for books, shu, sounds like “losing” in Chinese. But then dad has tonnes of magazines as well as a small collection of books…so maybe it runs in the family.

Actually mom can blame dad for my love of books. When I was a kid I remember trips to the library with my father. I think he needed to leave us kids somewhere for a couple of hours because he would take off while we lose ourselves among the towering bookshelves. On rare occasions, he would take me to the bookstore where I could choose any three books I want. I would treasure them, carefully wrapping them in plastic sheets and made sure I read all of them.

These days however, I have no patience with books I can’t “get into”. If it doesn’t appeal to my literary tastes – whatever my flavour of the month may be – I have no problems abandoning them and moving on to another book. There’re just too many books out there waiting to be read. And that’s how I ended up with dozens of books yellow with age but unread and “virgins” metaphorically.

So browsing through my bookshelves for my list of 10 all-time favourite books for a StarMag poll in conjunction with World Book and Copyright Day on April 23, I come across dozens of books I’ve barely read. Instead of a list of favourites, here’s a list of some of my have-nots (haha) grouped according to the various phases of my book-shopping sprees.

*The chick-lit phase

Sushi for Beginners by Marian Keyes
I had read Sophia Kinsella’s Shopaholic series and the Bridget Jones diaries when I bought this at a book sale. While I found Kinsella and Helen Fielding’s offerings of female angst amusing and entertaining I just couldn’t get into Sushi despite many attempts. Guess there is only so much chick-lit my brains could take. This book is heading to the secondhand bookstore for sure.

*The literary phase

Howards End by E.M. Forster
Loved the movie bought the book. Not always a wise thing to do since you already know the ending. That is why more often than not when I know there’s an interesting movie made from a book I’ve not read, I’m inclined to just watch the movie. Lazy la. Having said that, I just had to read Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient after watching the movie because I simply had to know the details and nuances the movie left out.

A Streetcar Named Desire and Other Plays by Tennessee Williams
This, I got in a second-hand bookstore in Cambridge while visiting a colleague. I do intend to read this some day, even if it’s just to satisfy my curiosity as to the reason for Williams’ popularity.

Our Man in Havana by Graham Greene
Never got past the first chapter as I was still hung up from reading Greene’s The End of the Affair, which described the male protagonist’s heartbreak so poignantly. Moving so quickly from tearjerker to satire just didn’t seem to do justice to the sadness of The End of the Affair.

*Gifts

There are also books given by friends. I find it hard to buy books for others so I tend to avoid books for presents unless I know the recipient’s preferences. I am sure those who gave me books meant well but somehow I couldn’t sink into the following:

The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams
Didn’t manage to break into the story and I don’t know what the fuss is all about. I didn’t get it then and still don’t. Ah…there’s always the movie.

A Potrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
Got this one Christmas.

Good Girls Gone Bad by Jillian Medoff
The giver is a sadist with a twisted mind.

*Cheap-lit phase

I love book sales especially warehouse sales. With books marked down 70% how can one not buy anything? The carnival-like atmosphere at warehouse sales injects fun into the whole experience and when you’re happy you spend. The downside is that the heat under the makeshift tents can be so unbearable you just want to pick up your purchases, pay and run to the car and blast the AC. And that’s how I ended up with these:

Half a dozen of PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Blandings Castle series which I’ve been saving for holidays because they are so fun to read. The problem is whenever I go on a holiday, there are a million other things to do, I’d be too exhausted to read.

Flight to Arras and Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I must have read The Little Price at least three times so imagine my delight when I found other works by the author. Autobiographical, introspective and philosophical, these two books are no easy reads – a disappointing discovery after the pleasures of The Little Prince. Will give them another try when I’m contemplating life and its mysteries.

For every book mentioned here, there are at least two more in my collection that I’ve not read from cover to cover. Sometimes I wonder if I bought them because I thought they’d look nice on my shelves and make me look smart too . Ok, so I’m guilty of literary snobbery. Whatever. It’s my money and my shelf space.

Here's to many hours of happy reading. Happy World Book Day!

Sincere thanks to Monica for the visual.

Weird is as weird does

2007-04-05T00:40:00.000+08:00

WHAT WOULD WE do without lists? What would we put on our blogs if there were no such things as lists?

Yes, I’ve been tagged by Nicole to list six weird things about myself, presumably those that I know. I had quite a hard time with the list. I think that’s because I’m normal and hence boring. Until I started digging into my childhood, that is. Maybe I was a weird kid but growing up I eventually conformed to parental, societal and peer expectations and became who I am today: a pretty normal person (I hope!). I’m probably still being moulded every day, well life is a work-in-progress, don’t you think?

Ok, back to the list. Six weird things, starting with the present followed by the past:

I have a dimple-like indentation on my right ear at the upper end of the fleshly part known as the auricle. My sister told me about it or I wouldn’t have known of it. I think it is nature’s way of tagging my family gene pool since my nephew has one too. It never crossed my mind to check my parents’ ears though. Note to self: check mom and dad’s ears.
One of my two front teeth on my upper jaw is actually my third set. The first one was a baby tooth naturally. The second or permanent tooth that erupted qualified me for the circus. Horror of horrors! It was a fang, smack in the middle of my once cute grin. I was teased mercilessly by my siblings and had to endure many sessions of show-and-tell to the aunties and uncles. After many visits to the dentist and one x-ray, a third tooth was discovered in my jawbone. Fortunately it was a normal incisor but by the time it erupted from my jaw, there was no room for it so it grew perpendicular to its neighbours. Hence the braces in secondary school.
I sometimes get a sense that I would bump into someone I know in a totally unexpected place and it turns out to be true. It’s not déjà vu neither is it the gift of prophesy – alas, am not that gifted. It has happened so many times – at airports, shopping malls, in cities miles away from home. Like once, on a trip to Singapore, I got a tingling feeling that I might meet someone from my hometown of Seremban and I did! At the railway station. During my stay in the US, on a weekend in New York City, I thought I might bump into a fellow journalist based in New York. There are 8 million people living in NYC and while taking a stroll in Central Park, from one of the bridges, I saw my Bulgarian friend and companion paddling a boat in the lake. Maybe they were all coincidences or maybe I wished them all. Have you had experiences like these Nicole?
When I was in kindie, I noticed the suns other kids drew were yellow. My suns were always fiery red because I saw illustrations of the solar system in my brother’s science book where the suns were always great balls of fire. I used to think the other kids were the weird ones until I looked up to the sky and noticed that yeah, the sun IS yellow from here.
As a kid, there was a period when I ate my hair. Well I didn’t swallow them I just sucked the ends that always seemed to be poking my cheeks. Fortunately I grew out of it after threats from mom to shave them all off.
As a kid, I wasn’t really sure how to smile. Looking at my childhood photos, I was either sulking or pensive looking (like models in a Calvin Klein ad!) in most of them. I remember trying to break into a smile in front of the camera only to end up looking like Joker. I suspect now this is somehow linked to item no. 2.

There you go, six weird things about myself. Given the limited number of bloggers I know of personally I shall skip the tagging for now. The buck stops here. Yep, I’m a weirdo all right.

Hey Mister DJ!

2007-03-27T23:52:00.000+08:00

I GOT MY 15 minutes of fame today. Ok, so it was actually only three minutes but it was on live radio!!!

This was what happened. I was on my way to the gym and as usual I had the radio tuned to Red FM. Tim and Terry were on and the topic du jour was the right age to have kids. So Tim (or was it Terry?) said that women should have kids at 25 and men when they are in their 40s because men in their 20s are just starting out and would need to establish their careers, work late blah blah.

Hey, women need to build their careers too y’know. These days most women I know work and with both husband and wife working, we’re talking about two careers here. Unless you’re talking about a rich couple and the wife can choose not to have a career (I say career and not job because being a housewife IS a full-time job), which is great because that is what she chooses to do.

There really is nothing wrong with a woman starting a family at 25 but I thought the way it was put dismisses the fact that women work too and sometimes twice as hard as men.

And Mr DJ announced the number for listeners to call in to give their opinion. Missed it the first time but when they announced it the second time, I felt an urgent need to dial the number. So voila! I called and I got through – the first time any of my calls to a radio station got picked up!!

“Hello, yes Red Fm. What’s your name and tell us what you think.”

So I told the producer and he said I do have a point and I’ll be on air in 20 seconds.

“By the way, get off your hands-free.”

“What? I’m driving.”

“Can you pull aside just for awhile. You’ll be on in 10 seconds. Please?”

“Okay, okay.” Fortunately I stopped just as the traffic lights turned red.

In an instant, I could hear Tim or Terry’s voice on the other end. I told them that I had a problem with the Terry's statement (yes, think it was Terry) that women should start having kids at 25 and men at 40 simply because men in their 20s need to work hard and climb the corporate ladder. In fact, women need to do the same too.

"Shame on you Terry and you go girlfriend!" I think that was what Tim said. I was too nervous to remember.

Terry reasoned that he thought women should have kids in their 20s before they get too old when pregnancies become a little more complicated. I agreed but pointed out that I just wanted to highlight the point that women have careers too.

Since I was saying the same thing for the second time, I was more confident but given that I was driving with one hand on the phone I wanted to keep the conversation short. So I think I came off sounding cocky. Like a bra burning ultra-feminist!

Have two years on the features desk covering current and social issues turned me into a bra burning, hyper sensitive, highly strung ultra-feminist?

I still like my bras and can’t afford to burn them in any case. But I must say I’m more sensitive to gender issues than ever before. I often kept quiet when I hear insensitive remarks made about women simply because they were meant to be funny and even if you did point it out, you get brushed off as being too serious. After a while, it just got tiresome.

Today, I felt I simply had to speak my mind or forever hold my peace. So I chose to speak my mind and it felt good Mister DJ. Though my point may have been a little off tangent but thank you for listening anyway!

Grouchy Cabbie

2007-03-25T18:14:00.000+08:00

EN ROUTE TO town last Thursday morning in a cab, I was caught in a horrendous jam caused by road closures to allow the military and police forces to rehearse for some mega parade over the weekend. To make the time pass quickly and possibly to assuage the driver’s foul mood, I struck up a conversation with him. It proved to be a bad move as he launched into a tirade against the police for choosing to close the roads during the morning rush hour.

I learned later that his displeasure was partly due to the fact that he has been driving since 4pm yesterday. It was close to 11am and he hasn’t achieved his quota to call it a day. Has it been that difficult getting passengers at night, I asked.

“Hujan tiap-tiap malam, siapa nak kelaur?” he retorted. (It’s been raining every night, who would want to go out?)

Ooops. Wrong question.

“Semua orang ingat kerja ni senang. Selalu kata kita tipu. Tapi bila harga benda lain naik, adakah orang kata peniga, penjual surat khabar tipu? Lawyer tipu?” he went on. (Everyone thinks our job’s easy. We’re often accused of dishonesty but when prices of things go up, do you say that traders, newspaper sellers, lawyers are dishonest?)

Oh dear, what have I started?

He silently cursed at the traffic. Since I already got him talking perhaps I could ask him about tourist arrivals in Malaysia given that 2007 is Visit Malaysia Year. Has he been taking more tourists recently? He answered in the negative and pointed at a double-decked glass-roofed tourist bus with the words Hop On Hop Off emblazoned on its sides, also stuck in the same jam across from where we were.

“Macam mana mau saing sama itu bas? RM30 pergi round KL sampai Genting Highlands.” (How can I compete with the bus? It goes around KL and Genting Highlands for RM30.)

This was one unhappy and grouchy fella but I don’t blame him, driving for a living in KL traffic with mad KL drivers would make anyone depressed. Aside from the traffic, you’re in a sedentary position for more than 10 hours a day and you inhale the toxic fumes from other vehicles during those 10 hours. Despite the grueling working conditions, you get pittance after paying for car rental, petrol and maintenance.

As I alighted from the cab upon reaching my destination I told Grouchy to keep the change. It wasn’t much but perhaps it would be enough to get him home for some rest.

So much for the feel good factor. It sure didn't feel very good in Grouchy’s cab that Thursday morning.

What's your addiction?

2007-03-21T23:36:00.000+08:00

NICOLE IS ADDICTED blog-surfing. A neighbour I shared the lift with confessed to being addicted to American Idol as she rushed off to catch the show.

I am addicted to blogging. No, addicted is too strong a word. I just obsess about it. My addiction is the six seasons of Sex and the City. So addicted that I had separation anxiety when I returned the DVDs to the person who loaned them to me. What am I going to do on Saturday nights?

Yeah, yeah, Sex and the City is so 2004 and I have seen most of them too but there’s nothing wrong with a little nostalgia right? Let me indulge in a spot of New-York-state-of-mind. Besides I had missed seasons three and four during my HBO-blackout period.

I still didn’t get to watch all of season four because the DVD decided to call it quits midway through the season. Dang! How did Carrie and Aidan get together for the second time? And why was Big still in the picture? So today after work I drove to my neighbourhood DVD store and asked for SATC season four.

"You ohnee wan season four?"

"Yes."

"You saw season five and six oreidi ah?"

"Yes."

"You saw season one, two and tree oreidi ah?"

"Yes." And yes, I see you can count. Now just give me the DVD will ya?

"We only sell the six-season box set la. I call and see first la."

DVD man proceeded to speak into a walkie-talkie.

"Wei? That Sax and CT season four got ah? Ya, ya…ah…ah…oh."

"Miss ah. No la, Don have la…we dun sell one season ohnee la. Cannot order oso. Too old oreidi la. You wan CSI? New York? Miami?"

Damn. What will I do this Saturday night? :-(

Blogatitis

2007-03-18T21:25:00.000+08:00

SINCE I STARTED blogging about a month ago, I have to admit that blogging has taken a hold on me or as someone pointed out, it's become an addiction. Every once in a while in the middle of doing something out of the ordinary, a thought flashes across my mind: This would make an interesting subject for my blog...hmm.

Maybe when the novelty wears off I won't obsess about blogging and life would return to normal again. At this point, I am still trying to establish the boundary between what's private and what's public. When I'm spilling my guts out about something or someone, would anyone be interested to read it? One blogger's poignant heartwarming masterpiece may be another's trash. One blogger's thesis on global warming may be an interesting read to some but puts others to sleep.

But I guess there are certain aspects of blogging which are different from journalism. In writing for a paper or magazine, the writer always writes with the reader in mind. When blogging, you can do just about anything you want (provided it’s not slanderous and within the law but that’s another story) – you write for yourself.

According to an article in the Wall Street Journal, narcissism may be one of the reasons why blogging has become so popular.

Some attribute the popularity of instant broadcasts to a growth in narcissism among young people. “They are seeking attention and think everything they do is important and should be read by other people,” ways Jean Twenge, an associate professor of psychology at San Diego State University…

Me, a narcissist? Maybe. Blogging gives me a space where I can voice out thoughts which I may not normally have the chance to say but of course I could do that with a personal journal kept under my pillow too. But then with blogging I could share those thoughts, stories and pictures too with friends near and far.

Which brings me to the dilemma I’m wrestling with: how much of myself should I reveal? There are some things that are off limits but it does seem that anything goes in this age of tell-all and show-all.

People are increasingly documenting the most mundane and private aspects of their lives and posting them the instant they happen.

And there are myriads of electronic gadgets out there to help you do it. You can do it on your cellphones and BlackBerrys from just about anywhere your service provider allows. (I tried on mine, I could read previous posts but nope can’t post with it just yet. Darn!)

The amazing thing is, according to the Journal, there are people out there who actually read the minute details of another person’s life. How much of yourself do you reveal when you blog? How much is too much?

I am still coming to terms with this phenomenon called blogging, which has turned out to be quite fun and exciting. At times I feel as if there are two of me – the brick-and-mortar or rather flesh-and-blood me and then there’s Jens, my online alter ego. Of course we’re really the same person, it’s just that there will be areas in my life I won’t blog about unlike some of the bloggers mentioned in the Journal article.

Well, to each blogger his or her own.

Revive me in Your way

2007-03-17T07:50:00.000+08:00

Dear God,

This week has been a tough week although it started out good enough, pregnant with hope and anticipation for a revelation of Your blessings and goodness. On Thursday morning, You told me in Psalms 119:37 to Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things, and revive me in Your way.

What a revelation that was. Indeed I had been looking at worthless things – worthless in Your eyes. I had been worried about the stock market rout because I have a stake in its performance, both in terms of my work as well as some investments I’ve made.

At work, I was due for my one-year assessment and wasn’t confident of achieving all my KPIs (key performance indicators).

Then I was worried about my tenants who were on their way to becoming “non-performing” as their rent was long overdue despite constant reminders to pay up or move out. I was about to scrap the bottom of the money bin (more like a cookie jar really).

I was slightly embarrassed when I got a call from my tenant on Thursday morning itself informing me that he would bank in the money the same day. Gee, and I had been worried sick about this? I was elated and knew You meant Psalm 119:37 to shake me from this state of distrust in Your providence. When will I be able to trust You with the big things when I can’t trust You with the small things?

Well, I must be on to something since the enemy seemed ever ready to mess things up – the said tenant did not deposit the rent and still hasn’t up to this very moment. At work, my KPIs were…let’s just say there’s ample room for improvement. But I have decided not to fret too much over these things, as hard as it is. I will not let the enemy have an inch space to wedge seeds of doubt and distrust into my mind. You are still in control of both the big and small things in my life, You always will.

Revive me in Your way, Jesus.

Amen.

Your worrywart,
Jens

A Slap In The Face

2007-03-13T23:36:00.000+08:00

I HAVE PRESCIENT powers! I can tell the future! Well, actually no. I am just picking up on a pattern that just keeps repeating itself.

I’m referring to the Minister of Tourism’s outburst on International Women’s Day no less, when he said all bloggers are liars and 80% of unemployed bloggers are women.

Asia Media reported the following:

The Chinese-language newspaper Sin Chew Jit Poh quoted Tourism Minister Tengku Adnan Tengku Mansor as saying last week that "All bloggers are liars, they cheat people using all kinds of methods. From my understanding, out of 10,000 unemployed bloggers, 8,000 are women."

Read the Sin Chew translation here.

I had written earlier on this blog that despite the many things women have achieved, there are those who continue to put them down with insensitive statements. The Minister went ballistic when asked to comment on a post by Nila Tanzil, an Indonesian blogger and TV show host/journalist who complained about the red tapes encountered while filming a focus on Malaysia here.

Two questions come to mind, where did the Minister get his data from and are they reliable. Secondly, why not zoom in onto the Indonesian journalist’s complaints and comment on their validity instead of going off tangent and branding bloggers as liars.

It seems politicians are skilled at diverting attention from the issue at hand – perhaps it is an evasion strategy. By stirring up the ire of bloggers and women especially, perhaps it is hoped that we would soon forget the earlier problem of weaknesses and the unnecessary amount of red tape and bureaucracy in the delivery system.

A Walk In The Park

2007-03-12T00:16:00.000+08:00

IT WAS THE proverbial killing-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of activity, which was one of my criteria for the things I choose to do over weekends. With long hours at work, I treasure my weekends and have resolved to use the hours wisely.

So I roped Anjali into joining Walking Tall 2007, a charity walk in Taman Titiwangsa organised by the Obstetrician and Gynaecology Society of Malaysia, in support of women’s health and held in conjunction with International Women’s Day. Not one for huffing and puffing around the racetrack during PE lessons in my school days, the 3km non-competitive walk suited me just fine. I get some exercise and it was for a good cause.

So there we were at 6.30am on a Sunday, making our way in the dim morning light towards Taman Titiwangsa in downtown KL. We got there 10minutes before 7 – the time stated in the press ads – and made our way to the registration desk. The walk proper only started at about 9am after the warm up session and initial disorganisation involved in getting participants signed up. We paid RM10 each and got our T-shirts and purple wrist bands too.

The walk around the lake was pleasant enough, with the imposing Eye On Malaysia Ferris wheel in the middle of the park – lifeless for once at that time of the day. We passed throngs of joggers on their morning run, a group of middle-aged men and women line dancing and another younger group shaking their bons bons not too far away. In the playgrounds, children kept themselves busy on swings, see saws and slides while parents kept themselves busy watching over them. There were even park rangers on horses doing their rounds.

With open spaces becoming scarce in a rapidly growing and developing city, it is nice to know there are still places within the city where KL-ites could go to unwind and relax. Let’s hope these places will be maintained and given the pace of life these days, we need even more places like these for the public.

At the end of the walk, we got our goody bags and Milo drinks from the Milo van (they always taste better, don’t they?) and I even took home a hair dryer from the lucky draw. A very nice start to the day and week ahead!

Muchos Gracias

2007-03-12T00:13:00.000+08:00

A note of thanks to Anjali for getting this blog into shape over the weekend, for having the patience to go through the minute details – right down to the width and length of each column space, colour codes, font sizes, etc etc – stuff which would have made me pull my hair out! It turned out beyond my expectations. Mucho gracias, muaks!

A Salute To Women

2007-03-08T00:35:00.000+08:00

MY MOM OFTEN told us how in her early teens, she had to tap rubber trees in the morning and then cycle for miles to get home to get ready for school. She was the fifth child in a family of seven kids and had to chip in to support the family. Grandfather was a farmer and grandmother was already dead by then so education wasn’t an option the family could afford. But my mom insisted on continuing her schooling even if just for another few years and so she persevered juggling work and school.

What a difference a generation makes. There were times I dreaded going to school and took the many things I can do today, as a woman, for granted. Just by examining my life and my mom’s, I see the giant strides women have made in this country.

Today being International Women’s Day, I salute women who have touched my life as well as women everywhere for their contribution to society through their multiple roles as sisters, daughters, girlfriends, wives, mothers, grandmothers, caregivers, workers and leaders.

Women have certainly come a long way, yet we are constantly reminded that Malaysia is still off target when it comes to achievements in gender equality. Need some examples? We have had no end to dim-witted leaders (male, of course) making comments that put women down or suggestions to curb women’s freedom of dressing which puts the onus on women to ensure men do not act on their lusty thoughts – women are still blamed for violent acts against them. How about employment terms that restrict the number of kids a female employee can have? Yes, they still exist. Or laws which are biased against the fairer sex?

For all that women have contributed within the family and to society, this is how we are rewarded? It sounds like a raw deal to me.

It is still a tough world out there for women and if I ever have a daughter, I hope she will have even more opportunities to excel than my generation of women did and that she is accorded the same level of respect as her male counterparts wherever she goes.

I wish the same for women everywhere.

Jumping Onto The BANdwagon

2007-03-01T22:28:00.000+08:00

I DON’T GET this ban-this-ban-that business that’s been making headlines recently. Are we becoming like our neighbour down south? Because if we are, then I might as well move there. ;-p

First it was certain books and even articles in the Economist (ok, it was censored but same thing, innit?).

Then the good Minister of Health proposed – close to the oinky CNY celebrations – a ban on fast food advertisements. And then after that, as expected, the government banned Amir Muhammad’s Apa Khabar Orang Kampung, the sequel to Lelaki Komunis Terakhir.

In the spirit of the filmmaker’s list of 14 reasons why the ban should be lifted, here are some things, in no particular order, which I’d like banned in this country.

1. Queue jumpers from public places especially on the roads.
2. Speaking of road users, no mad/rude/insane/unstable drivers and motorists either.
3. No-holds-barred racist, chauvinist, rude and insensitive remarks (and behaviour) that degrade or belittle any individual.
4. Cruelty to animals.
5. Corruption. Seriously!
6. Discriminating race-based policies. Surely all Malaysians who deserve or need help should be helped.
7. The Printing Presses and Publications Act, the College and Universities Act, the Sedition Act, the ISA, the OSA, the Emergency Ordinance among other repressive laws.
8. Exorbitant toll rates!
9. Indiscriminate and wanton development with little regard to the greater good and welfare of the public and future generations of Malaysians.
10. Exploitation and unjust treatment of any community – especially minority groups, natives, foreign workers, the disabled, children, the elderly and the sick.

Yes, I’m an idealist. Sigh. Well, as long as there’s life, there’s hope.

Cherry Blossoms Here & There

2007-02-25T00:52:00.000+08:00

In these degenerate latter days, I stare
Astounded: cherry blossoms everywhere!
- Issa

INDEED CHERRY BLOSSOMS are everywhere!

Oops, I stand corrected – you see them mostly in shopping centers where branches of synthetic cherry blossoms have sprouted from marble floors and pillars. Springtime is here in Malaysian malls, folks! Who needs the four seasons when you can have fake snow for Christmas and paper cherry blossoms for the Chinese Lunar New Year? LOL

For the real thing, I hear that the nearest place a Malaysian can go to see cherry blossoms is Chiengmai, Thailand. If you’re willing to travel further, there’s China or Japan. Or if you happen to be in Washington DC, there is always the Tidal Basin where the cherry trees and their glorious annual blossoms are the pride of the city.

I was fortunate enough to be there in spring 2001 on a journalists' fellowship and managed to witness the cherry trees in bloom – a riot of pink and white – and even wrote about them for the paper I worked for. According to my trusted notes, the 3,750 cherry trees on the banks of Tidal Basin by the Potomac River are the progeny of a gift of 3,020 trees from the mayor of Tokyo, Yukio Ozaki, back in 1912.

All this happened before World War II. But even after the war, the tradition of exchanging gifts continued. In the 1960s, Japan sent more cherry trees. Other gifts included a stone lantern and a pagoda while the Americans presented cherry trees to Japan to replace some trees whose quality had deteriorated during the war.

Today, the cherry trees along the banks of Tidal Basin are treasured by Washingtonians and rightly so not just because of the tourists they attract but also because of the sense of rebirth and renewal they bring. Park and weather officials monitor closely the “peaking” (when 70 per cent of the trees are fully in bloom) of the blossoms, determined principally by the weather so that visitors can view them at their best. This usually happens in March or April for a fleeting 10 to 14 days. During that time, the city toasts the clouds of pink and white heralding the arrival of spring with the Cherry Blossom Festival – an annual event since 1934.

Dont' Cry For Us St Valentine

2007-02-15T00:47:00.000+08:00

MANY MOONS AGO, capitalists in dark suits hijacked Valentine’s Day from right under our noses. Sorry St Valentine, but we sold out to capitalism a long time ago. Your intentions were noble but left in the hands of greedy capitalists Valentine’s Day has turned into an excuse for young singles and couples to go on a spending spree for gifts and pricey meals.

Couples spend money on Valentine’s Day for obvious reasons – to demonstrate their love and affection. Meanwhile insecure singletons go on spending sprees to make themselves happy, to make up for the lack of love and affection. Or single friends gather for a night out to stand in solidarity against all the mushiness around them.

From an economic perspective, all this is good actually. Spending three times more than the price you would have paid on any other day for a stalk of rose sounds exorbitant but hey Valentine’s only once a year and what’s money compared to the joy you’d bring to your loved one.

And how could dewy-eyed lovers resist the Valentine special offered at dimly lit restaurants? I happened to be at a restaurant with some gal pals this Valentine’s Day (yes, was dateless and no, we were not standing in solidarity against all the mushiness around us), where business was brisk and a far cry from the quiet dinner I had on my last visit just weeks ago. Needless to say, on Valentine’s Day, almost all the diners were couples. Awww…

All this is good business for florists, gift shops, shopping malls and restaurants who then plough the money back to the economy by spending the proceeds to grow the business and generate more money which trickles down to the man-and-woman-on-the-street through the multiplier effect. Granted, one day out of 365 isn't going to make that much difference but honestly one day is quite sufficient for all that collective expression of lurve.

All said, instead of decrying that Valentine’s Day has become commercialised (pray tell, what occasion isn’t these days?), I say, go ahead and spend baby!

The Debutante

2007-02-11T23:43:00.000+08:00

HERE IT IS. Welcome to theWRITEtherapy.

After being a reader and spectator for so long, I am finally taking the plunge to contribute to the burgeoning volume of vainglorious self-promotion on the Internet. Can’t beat them… join them. ;-)

But seriously, this blog is the result of a combination of a narcissistic need to project my views as well as the therapeutic need to write – to let it all hang out. Well, almost. So yeah, this is my very own soapbox, so to speak. A platform to share my thoughts with anyone who cares to read and hopefully the reader will find something of value while I too learn from this introspection.

It is also an extension of my six years in journalism when the written word was so much a part of my life. While I’m no longer a journalist, I hope to continue writing, but in a more personal way.

In a way, it’s like having my own column…but without the limitations of a newsroom environment where editors, deadlines, house styles, journalistic do’s and don’ts and other rules define and shape the piece you work on. Furthermore you couldn’t write just about anything that struck your fancy if you were writing for a publication; after all newsprint and ink don't come cheap.

Perhaps life can be more efficient with a blog too. For example, you don’t have to repeat your latest holiday over and over again to different friends. You can just tell them to visit your blog!

Now that I no longer write just to pay the bills, perhaps the words will flow freely again.