Kampua Noodle

Half an inch

2011-12-11T22:17:00.001+08:00

One of the other changes that I noticed about myself apart from personality related ones of late is how the pair of jeans I bought about two years ago can now no longer be worn without a belt. Not even a tucking in can help this time - walking more than 20 metres will require me to pull it up before it starts showing my peachy bum and underwear, which is most inconvenient to say the least.

Feel free to thank me for choosing this image.

I'm not certain about how I lost that half-inch or so worth of waist fat. The most obvious reason might probably have something to do with the bout of digestion problem in the past three weeks or so. It probably reduced my appetite for food that smaller portions of food nowadays are enough to satisfy the stomach.

Some in the office suggested that my mind was distracted by either more interesting things or stressful ones (or both) that causes the same effect in what is usually called 'mind over matter'.

"Nah, I'll just nibble off this bit of cucumber".

Otherwise a change in sleeping habits might just have some minor effect on that - been sleeping a lot more this time, as in getting at least seven hours instead of the usual less than five.

Back home my parents might just ask if I'm all right in their most subtle of manners if I don't seem to be eating like I normally do when the cook is my mother. Every trip home for the holidays is a feast as they know I don't get top quality cooking like this over here in KL, so my annual visits home are one of the few times when I get to indulge.

Including copious amounts of God's gift to mankind.

The downside of what is supposed to be a positive thing depending on the circumstances - being seriously ill is probably a lot less desirable - is that the clothing my now start to look a lot less fitting. While some of the older t-shirts are no longer wearable without further reduction to the volume of fat, some are now feeling pretty baggy. The trade off of a much healthier body size is the loss of some clothing that might no longer look good.

Still, my trip home in a little more than a month from now might just 'fix' that.

Besides, a lifetime of bamboo diet didn't help this fella with his weight.

Good storytelling

2011-12-04T21:26:00.001+08:00

Spend quite a bit of time on Skyrim the past couple of weeks, the fifth installment of the sandbox role playing game (RPG) that allows you to do whatever you want and whatever pace, usually along the lines of becoming a powerful warrior and defeating whatever comes between you and your goal.

Including freaking dragons.

I'm not going to wax lyrical about the game or describe what it's all about as it is already done to death by countless community wikis or game sites, but instead talk about one part of the game that I find to be most unexpectedly poignant.

Throughout the many journeys all over the game map looking for a fight or things to explore (usually the former), I arrived at a small town and was appointed as the Sherlock Holmes of the game to investigate the case of foul play.

Happy little chicks playing in a box?

A mother and daughter perished in a fire in that town that had everybody talking, not of sympathy or grief but more about the scandalous nature of how the husband switched hearts within a week to another woman.

Long story short, one part of the investigation required that my character visit the burnt down house to find nothing but the apparition of the little girl named Helgi. My character agreed to play 'hide-n-seek' with the spirit of the dead girl but only after dark.

What got me were the few lines that she spoke (paraphrased as I can't remember the exact dialogue):

"It was so hot and I was so afraid. Then it was cold and I am not hurt anymore", all in the tone of innocence (or ignorance of her own state).

Little Helgi was a lot creepier than this, glowing blue et al.

At the end of the quest she then bid goodbye:

"Thank you for helping mother. I'm feeling so tired, I think I will sleep for a while...", as the option to 'talk' to her casket disappeared.

I sat there somewhat numbed, either by how expertly crafted the little bit of dialogue was or by how much I actually felt somewhat moved that her journey for the long rest has come to an end.

This, folks, is good story telling.

Feeling awful

2011-11-23T22:28:00.001+08:00

One thing I noticed about being sick is that the magnitude of illness sort of increases the longer you are on a healthy stretch. I'm not talking about the likes of common cold where the only inconvenience is a runny nose or minor diarrhea. Imagine something that really makes it very difficult for you to think straight or function properly or serious illnesses that warrants hospitalization.

I'm normally a pretty healthy person, small niggling common colds and migraines notwithstanding, rarely sick to the point of giving control to the immune system to wage their own war against the offending invaders and losing motivation for all else.


"What's this 'flu' crap you've been talking about, Lieutenant?"

Perhaps it's due large to growing up in an environment where exposure to germs is a daily thing, especially from the activities that I take part in the afternoons such as waging imaginary spy wars by moving from point to point via climbing up and down drains, get cuts and bruisers along the way from climbing trees as well playing football barefooted in the rain.

Despite the environment at home were ultra-clean considering both my parents being clean maniacs - you can't keep a piece of half used paper on the table alone for a while without it ending up in the bin the next time father passes by - it is not unusual to come home in soiled shorts and dirty slippers with caked sand around the body. Strange enough that my parents never complained (much) about coming home looking like I rolled around in a dumpster, only if I stepped into the house without first cleaning up.

That includes pig snot.

There's some sort of line drawn between being 'sick' and being 'a phony' by my parents when it comes to illness - if you brain can function as normal, it's school as usual or have the entire day being viewed as a wuss. That includes the likes of the sniffles, sprained ankles and other physical issues that does not affect the ability to think. I was not allowed to go to school during those infectious disease periods though - mumps and chicken pox, which always results in fever, achy limbs, headache and nausea.

So yesterday as well as today's after effect of food poisoning almost floored me as the last major illness I've had was almost five years ago - viral fever - that got me hospitalized for a couple of days, not before enduring five days of really bad aches all over the body, fever and the overall feeling of Apocalypse. What followed was around a month of recuperation that had me feeling like a total wreck for weeks.

"Do I look like I give a damn about your sticks?"

One exception to the story was almost four years ago when my father was a passer-by involved in a robbery at a local tuckshop, causing him to lose a great deal of blood and passing out before reaching the hospital. My brother was frantic when he sent him to the hospital, everybody was in panic mode. Mother must have felt like her world was being turned upside down again less than ten years after Denis died - could not imagine how it felt to be cleaning the car porch of blood dripping from the open wounds of my father.

All in all, thank goodness that this is just a bout of mild food poisoning that did not cause any complications - sufficed to say mother won't know about it until later.

That said, no more Singapore meehoon from that shop ever again.

Except in this most awesome of all forms.
khonilious.blogspot.com

Achy breaky

2011-11-23T21:28:00.001+08:00

Spent the last two days away from work recuperating from possibly the worst effect of food poisoning that I ever felt. Used to be able to get through slightly undercooked food or a little less hygiene, resulting in the runs lasting no more than a day and slight dehydration. Usually feels somewhat 'OK' after taking in some isotonic drinks and frequent visits to the toilet.

This time though, my body had to raise the white flag as whatever that caused me to feel so ill was of a degree stronger than ever. Woke up twice in the middle of the night at four and six with a stomach that felt like bottles upon bottles of water was pumped into my mouth whilst sleeping, threatening to escape with the slightest of movement. The cramping was so bad that after morning shower, I decided to let it all out in the most horrible feeling of stomach wrenching ever.

Dried well, they make nice healthy snacks.

I did feel better... for a while. Some of the colleagues who saw me in the morning thought I looked really bad, more so after tracking down sixteen stories down from the office staircase for a fire drill. I was sweating profusely whilst standing outside with them, feeling progressively worst as time passes. Drinking bottles of 100 Plus didn't help either as they only kept me feeling bloated. It was after the second time of retching that I decided to call it in and go home.

Ate nothing for the whole day, just bottles of Gatorade and much resting, drifting between resting the eyes and sleeping as well as some weird dreams usually conjured by the brain during times of distress of such. Woke up at one point around 5:30 pm feeling like the body was on fire, except without the sweating as the immune system turns up the heat to try to cook these pathogens alive.

Posh kid - I didn't even have a thermometer.

Didn't notice how time passed as I woke up around 11:00 pm from the countless sleep-wake-sleep-wake period. The earlier plan to have a meal of vegetable soup for dinner had to be scrapped as the body was still as heaty as five hours earlier and my back were aching from the after effect of fever combined with lethargy.

Things improved slightly the next morning, with the wrenching feeling in the stomach now reduced drastically and the vomiting stopped, replaced by achy limbs and a throbbing headache. Again, I felt 'healthy' enough to resume work only to arrive in the office and feel progressively worst as time passes.

"You look really pale", said Darren who sat to my right. I could only shake my head helplessly when one of the ladies in Software Solutions asked if I was feeling better. Gave up after half an hour and left for home again.

Looked like this 68.3% of the 45 minutes I was in the office.

Spent most of my time lying down and keeping half an eye at the laptop monitor in case all hell breaks loose in the office. With John away with the boss to Korea, it's my job to man both the security and network bit of the infrastructure - thankfully nothing major broke down that could not have been followed up with tomorrow.

As of now, 10:20pm, things have improved greatly from the days of great discomfort. Perhaps, the vegetable soup meal helped greatly considering that it was the first solid meal I had in 36 hours.

Boy, did it tasted divine or what.

Good morning

2011-11-20T02:08:00.001+08:00

I do vary my routines somewhat during weekends just for the heck of it, usually because I was in bed earlier the night before compared to the usual wee hours of the morning of Saturday. It would come as no surprise that waking up earlier for the weekend would offer less of a challenge than a work day because let's face it, who would bother?

"I'm not sleeping - I'm taking my vacation in 10 minute increments ".

The nice thing about being up earlier on weekends is the lack of need to do anything in a hurry. Dragging myself out of bed can take half an hour or longer, the brushing teeth, shower and ... 'morning business' can all be done at a leisurely pace with little care of the world.

An empty wet area at the kitchen would mean laundry although I'll make it a point to hang them outside directly under the sky. It does feel nice to breath in the 'relatively' cool air of the morning with the warmth of the morning sun touching the cheeks. A welcomed contrast of being embraced by the cool of the night, the cycle of the day beginning again. Very little can rival the beautiful rays of morning light thrusting through the morning mist, the quiet, serene start of the day.

It's either the morning sun or a UFO surveying the 'sample area'.

Lunch is normally around 11:00 - 12:00 PM, depending on how much in a 'hurry' I am to get filled. Of late it hasn't been too much of a rush, even in the office as the appetite sort of 'normalised'. If anything a super lazy weekend would see me eating only two meals for two days - both dinners - which would be all right as long as it doesn't become a prolonged habit throughout the week.

And music on weekends are usually a lot more varied than normal weekday. DJs hosting radio shows are usually a lot more cheerful and would usually select songs from a bigger pool than usual - one of the best recently was driving my way to the nasi kandar shop to Guns N' Roses' epic November Rain. Not minding that it was a sunny morning, I literally drove slower just to listen to the entire song - all nine minutes of it - willing the traffic lights to turn yellow and red.

"Damn you #@&%^ traffic light, may you blow a bulb!"

After lunch onwards would be a lottery - if anything the one issue I have with waking up earlier during weekends is the problem is staying awake after lunch. It would be one of the reasons why it doesn't happen often because I would probably go back to be bed again for the next couple of hours. This would pretty much negate the hours 'saved' by being up early anyway.

It is not really that hard to awake early back home though - the sun is right in your face at 8:00 am and my room get pretty warm an hour later, so sleeping in really is not an option. Besides, one of my favourite things to do then is to go out with my father or brother (or both) for breakfast after minor grocery shopping or a haircut as I'm wont of doing during Chinese New Year breaks. Sitting with them at the old school coffee shops, either sipping hot laksa broth or slurping the awesome kolomee is one of the few simple pleasures I enjoy for being home.

It was a wrong idea to be searching for this image at three in the morning.
chefmel.blogspot.com

For now, I would probably do more to balance out the days when I'll sleep the morning off or wake up earlier to do whatever that comes to mind just for the heck of it, perhaps seeking things to do just so the motivation to do so would be greater.

Too much of the same routine is boring, so why not?

Happenin' sunday

2011-11-13T23:29:00.001+08:00

I mentioned before that I find the raining season enchanting but in every good thing lies a problem of sorts, almost in a no pain no gain kind of manner. In some ways the positives is that I don't need to wash the car as often as Mother Nature is already doing free carwash although the result will not match that of the service at the petrol station.

Won't happen a million years.

The stretch of kerb along the main street where I live are decorated with trees like all good urban design should be, adding a touch of nature to an otherwise concrete neighbourhood.

Unfortunately, the flowers that blossom eventually turn into fruits after a while that attract hungry birds. Not that chirping birds are bad, but they have the tendency to poop after meals on whatever is below, causing patches of white or sometimes transparent yellow goo that sticks to the car when it dries. Because of this I've moved a little further down the street to park the car nowadays just to avoid this poop-zone which is not an inconvenience.

Screw you gravity!

The other problem with the rainy season is that it affects how quickly the laundry will dry - with the spinning mechanism of the washing machine screwed, all the clothes will come out soaking wet. This adds hours to the estimated time to dry, which would not be a problem if it were hot and sunny - I could just hang them outside instead of at the wet area; it would dry them twice as fast. Well that can't happen that when it's constantly pouring five afternoons out of seven though, especially when it's possible to have two of those five days on the weekends.

Can't win them all.

Subang Jaya lived up to its violent storm reputation again this afternoon with lightning and thunder interspersing the inconsistent rainfall that ranges from heavy downpour to drizzle. One struck a little too close to home that sounded like it was just next door, causing me to jump from the seat while watching an NBA documentary. It was no big deal - it's pretty common over here.

All lightning bolts should look this good by law.

What became a common thing though is that it also fried the broadband modem, the second in as many years. The thing failed to start up properly, as well as emitting no signal when connected to a switch. Good news though it was provided by TMNet and cost nothing. Bad news thought we can't quite do much to entertain ourselves without the Internet, so I went out to Carrefour to get a cheap one to replace it.

For some reason the shopping process, though as straightforward as it should be, did not happen any easier than it should be. I had trouble looking for parking as one level of the basement parking was closed for renovation, so I had to circle and eventually exit to search elsewhere. Up I went to the multi-layered parking adjacent to the building and found a lot to park the car after enduring the experience of going round and round up the ramp. For some reason I dislike these corkscrew-like ramps, always driving slower than normal and always extra cautious of how far the car is to the side walls.

Perhaps it was the weekend, shoppers thronged the place which was not at all surprising. However for some reason I found that trying to move about either without getting blocked by slow movers or people standing in the middle of the path was not possible. To make things even better, the one of the ATM machines I was looking for was out of order. Fortunately for me there were more than enough cash in the wallet although the goal was to withdraw a bit of money to pay the rent that I have forgotten about for four freaking months.

After fiddling with the settings on the new Aztech wireless modem-router combo, we're back in cyberspace baby!

Welcome back!

Furry friends

2011-11-07T03:36:00.001+08:00

I'm a pretty boring person when it comes to pets.

Given the option, my choice would always be a split between a dog or a cat. Fishes and hamsters are nice except that I'd usually like a pet that has a little more character and independence than repeating what they do as programmed by Mother Nature. No exotic pets for me either such as lizards, snakes or *shudders* spiders.

Is this the pet or the feed?

The family have had cats and dogs as pets in the past, the first that I know of being two tuxedo cats. There is a picture of me at the age of five holding one of them at the car porch, all dressed up in a yellow Hawaiian shirt with the hair all slicked neatly to the side. We have a dog at the same time then who seem to co-exist well with the cats as long as they don't see one another.

One of the crazy things I'd do sometimes back then were to bring the cat to where the dog was and then watch it hiss like a snake. It was a miracle that I never got serious scratches. My brother seems to recall that I once tried cutting one of the cat's tail with a scissor although couldn't remember if I ever did such a sadistic act. I'm still of the idea that he recalled wrongly though.

We moved house in 1986 about two kilometers away from the government quarters, bringing along just the dog as the two cats originally belonged to the neighbour. It died several months later after being poisoned by some joker who didn't like dogs.

Makes Eustace look like a saint by comparison.

We had another dog some 10 or so years later after mom bought a dog from one of our neighbour, a puppy no more than four months old. I remember mother waking me up early in the morning at around... eight. She cradled the white furball that sported an expression that said "Who the hell are you?".

My parents were in Kuching a few months later with my late brother for his medical treatment, so it was just my cousin whom was tasked to look after me during the exam season, me and the dog. Being just a puppy in a new home, it often howled in the morning in what was the saddest sound I've ever heard from an animal. I would usually steam some left overs or just the pieces of hot dog to feed it, calming the poor dog somewhat.

Perhaps that was why it always gets amazingly animated whenever I get around, jumping around like an Energizer bunny or running to and fro like a crazy dog before showering my feet with licks. It would often draw the ire of my father for digging holes in the yard or barking at passing dogs or cats. The funniest bit of memory I have of the dog with my father is when he would occasionally have a rest waiting for dinner by sitting at the low table set to hold pots. The dog would come up and sit in front of him, prompting my dad to sometimes talk to it as well as slapping it lightly for being the dirt kicked onto the pavement during its many hole digging exploits.

"Who is this skeleton in your backyard, Master?"

It died several years ago, apparently from cardiac arrest because it became too fat from eating the leftovers from dinner - in the fashion of a Chinese saying - with its four legs facing the sky.

Until today I couldn't be sure what breed it was except that it was a pure breed as per our neighbour's description. Based on what I have seen so far on Animal Planet's Dogs 101 series, it most closely resembles a Samoyed.

RIP, you crazy pooch.

Sample image - less chubby, just as much drool to wipe.

--

Living in the city as I am at the moment makes it hard to own a pet considering that I would be away for most of the day at work. So if I were to adopt one it would have to be an animal that is independent enough to entertain itself, as well as not needing too much grooming. A smaller size would be a bonus as I only have the rented room to myself, so something clean would also be preferred.

That sounds like a cat.

What sort of cat? I happen to like those with rich, thick fur that makes them nice to stroke, but not so long that they become one of those miniature dogs. That would rule out Persians for good as this breed are usually pretty skinny. For some reason I developed a great liking for pure white cats, perhaps due to their rarity that makes them pretty mysterious to me, similar to pure black cats.

"You cat-cist!".

Personality-wise, I would like it to have a mellow temperament and a lot less condescending, something like a smaller dog minus the caffeine or steroids.

Based on Animal Planet's Cats 101, the perfect fit would be a Ragdoll.

If I were to choose a dog, I would probably go for the Golden Retriever - pretty much the top of the list of friendliest and best pet dogs. If anything, I would need to have a yard for it to roam or at least a nearby park for it to run around. One of the favourite things I did with the old dog back then were to run around with it, especially with it chasing me.

Dogs would usually need all that exercise to ensure that they don't get moody and start destroying things. Besides, it's a fun way to get some workout and some fresh air away from the room.

Besides other potential bonuses.

In the mean time it will have to be Youtube videos until I get my own place, I suppose.

English Or Not

2011-11-07T00:49:00.001+08:00

The recent decision by the MoE to abolish the Pengajaran & Pembelajaran Sains & Matematik Dalam Bahasa Inggeris or Teaching & Learning Of Mathematics & Science In English - or for the impatient, PPSMI - became the hottest topic of late in the papers with all sides putting their thoughts in support or opposing the move.

Personally, learning and teaching science & mathematics should be done using the most proficient method possible - which would mean using the language that the students are the most comfortable in. That means Chinese or Tamil in vernacular schools and Malay in national schools.

Roti kurang minyak banjir satu!

One of the main reasons why I actually think it's better this way is due to the fact that the entire goal of teaching science and mathematics is to teach students about ... science and mathematics. Forcing students to take up the subject in English does not quite make sense if the goal is get them to learn about calculus and cell structure as the facts does not change with the language, just how they are pronounced and spelt. If anything sodium is actually called 'natrium' in BM, which is a lot closer to its chemical symbol of 'Na' in Latin.

Things are also made harder when it is not even the second language, let alone first, for much of the society in general. Like all languages, English require plenty of practice, something that students don't get much unless it is frequently used in conversations. It is not enough to study the language for one hour daily in school, five times a week and then be of no more use until the next lesson.

Sure, it is also used when watching television and movies but when it comes to entertainment, people usually switch their brains off and would not concentrate on finding out how a sentence in English would be like if translated to the subs.

He had one too many cheeseburgers before filming.

There is a need to change the mindset that views English as a 'foreign' language that will erode the cultural nuances, causing many to zealously guard their heritage, especially when it comes to language. Instead it should be looked at as a skill that makes it possible to communicate 'in default', something like a fallback should no localised channels are available. That's like saying learning the guitar will make you less {enter racial stereotype here} because it's a European musical tool - considering that string instruments are found everywhere all over the world throughout human history.

If the goal is strengthen the command of the language, then the only way to do that is by creating more avenues to have it used more frequently, especially in practical circumstances. Unfortunately there isn't much that is practical that can exclusively be done only in English considering that it is by law that instructions and signboards must contain words or translations in the national language. This creates a problem that makes it possible to not ever use English at all. As long as there are 'alternatives', people would prefer the easier way than one that makes things difficult for themselves.

"Someone is bound to pay for my lackadaisical attitude and it won't be me".

So what's the solution to this conundrum?

Forcing it upon students to prove a point is not one.

Digital memento

2011-10-30T02:14:00.001+08:00

Was cleaning up the images folder on the computer and it suddenly came to mind again the photo book that I brought over from Miri almost a decade ago. Flipping through the pages, they contain many images that were arranged in chronological order from the oldest to the newest - Form 1,2,3,4,5,6 class shots, shenanigans in university in Genting Highlands and graduation photos; two of which that got my dad's attention because it was of me and an attractive coursemate together which ended with an anti-climax when I answered 'no' to his question of whether she is going to become Mom's future daughter in-law.


One of the four photos that gave Dad a false dawn.

All of which were taken long before digital photography was the craze due to equipments becoming more and more affordable to the average Joe and Jane. It got me thinking somewhat about digital photography as a whole - was it better that now we have greater freedom of art without the constraints of film or did it somehow made photos look more generic?

On one hand, I concur when some friends mentioned that it is harder to take quality photos using digital cameras because of the knowledge that there is no limit to how many you can take compared to film - snap many, delete the ones you don't like. Back then every shot counts as films cost money and developing them adds to the overall price of taking a memento in graphic form.

This is still used to represent 'Save' on almost all modern applications.

On the other hand it is not always true as well. I know friends with artistic tendencies who took awesome images with their digital cameras whom would probably never been motivated to do so if they had to pay for more than the electricity charging the batteries. I have seen some who did so with only the 5Mbps camera of their phones and took some great pictures worthy of those taken with their more professional brethrens.

I have personally only seriously used digital cameras to take any images of significance during my tenure at the first job as the designated cameraman for events. Even though I was given a Canon Powershot S40 to use back then with memory capacity of up to 800 images, I took each and every one like I was using film. Hence much of the time I had an idea of what I'd like to take, go to the very spot and wait for the right moment to snap it, often times with the finger on the focus button for minutes at a time.

"I waited two weeks for the bear to awaken from hibernation.
Unfortunately it was also very hungry".

One of the best I ever did was the image of a relay race from the corner where every single competitor was in view, unrestricted by the other as the front runners were facing to the right and those tail runners were just turning the arc. It was without motion blur, just perfect. I have always had the nose for thing such as image balance in terms of objects and emptiness. If anything I also had the patience to wait for the right moment to appear instead of going trigger happy with the shutter button.

Of late I only had the phone camera to capture whatever that took my attention, most especially at night where the contrast of darkness and light would usually create some interesting images although the quality was never as good as with an actual camera. Once had a photo of light shafts shining through the branches of a tree at the area near where I parked - there were smoke coming out from the backyard of one of the houses and it created an image that looked somewhat like a horror movie poster.

The only thing missing now is a priest holding a bag and holy water.

On second thought, no.

Getting caught in the jam never looked this artsy.

Perhaps I would in the future pick up the hobby seriously but for now I'm happy to steal them off friend's blogs - after informing them of course.

Joyeux anniversaire

2011-10-27T23:54:00.000+08:00

One of the best things in having your birthday known on Facebook is the number of times you have to say thanks to everybody wishing you a good one. I didn't really go and have a count - but it's interesting to see how many lives have I at least poked or scraped on the surface as well as others who has been there for a long time.

Family
This don't count as you'd expect them to remember but it's nice nonetheless.

"No Sis, when is your birthday again?"

Family Friends
Looking through the list of people in there I kinda noticed that a lot the family friends on there are Mark's classmates or acquaintances. We used to live in St John's Wood Quarters which was about five minutes' walk from school - the entire St Columba school system was situated along the entire side of the road - kindergarten, primary and secondary!

The dudes usually hang around for lunch or just the usual lepak (and planning for the next mischief - they make great stories during get-together sessions two decades later). Some I knew from the time I were still sucking Milo from a bottle, all the way until the end of their bachelorhood. I tend to mix around pretty well with them considering the age and generation gap, perhaps because they have been around for a long time either way.

No, I'm not kidding - ask the 'European Guy'.

School
We spend at least some eleven years out of the first seventeen in school, so we make some friendships who last all the way to the adult days, many to the twilight year of our lives. Some names pop up from as far as primary school, others mostly from the days of secondary school. Many married with children now, only shows how times has changed and how everybody have moved on with life. Best thing is to know that social networking sites such as Facebook allows these momentarily severed friendships to be reconnected again, even if just by messages et al.

I do have Madam Sandra on Facebook - YEAH!

Workplace
The next place where we spend all our lives toiling to buy the house that we will leave empty most of the time to ... toil for the money... to... pay for the house that we... will leave empty... most of the time...

This is where we'll meet the biggest variety of people whom we'll see five days a week (at least) - single, married, young, old, friendly, shy, scary, hot, arrogant, powerful etc. You can say that these will be where our first taste of 'real life' will come from as we step onto a stage populated by all sorts of people who play their role in this cinema of life - the hero, anti-hero, the villain, the extra, the prop, the fairy godmother, genie etc.

"소원을 말해봐" never looked this good.

Of course throughout those times we will meet some friends whom you will remember well, even after changing jobs for the umpteenth time - we'd keep in contact by some work-related chats or just (entertaining) rubbish to pass off time.

Acquaintances (who become real life friends)
If anything we all get to know some friends online whom we'd probably never meet, ever - all of which are either hidden behind the facade of game avatars or just guys on forums we got to know after a while. Through just about 99.9% worth of interaction via text, some become comfortable enough let others know the real person.

Introverts thrive on the Internet because they don't have to assume a different person to actually interact with people, partly due to the semi-real time nature that allows people to respond immediately or later. The scope to private message makes it possible for two people whom would probably never talk to one another in life to actually chat.

"Hi, I'm hottie95, the elf - remember me?"

Considering that the Internet could contain up to a gazillion people, it is not very uncommon that some do become real friends that we hang around to meet probably once in life, others who actually become more than just part of the list of acquaintances on the 'Friends' column.

-

To me personally I don't 'advertise' my birthdays simply because I believe that getting wishes people who do know or get the effort to find out is a lot more meaningful because they think it worthy of their time to say a simple happy birthday to you. I've actually had a friend who just wished me three years in a row - his messages were dated a year between each, three in succession including today. One of the best part about responding to Facebook greets are the number of 'thank yous' that I have to keep writing - never had the urge to just copy and paste but decided not to as that would be insincere - goes to show that even the average Joe like me can connect with so many people in this flicker of a life so far.

As I close the curtain on what is a rather pleasant birthday - allow me to thank you all again for the good wishes.

Don't get any funny ideas for next year now.

Dreams of normal things

2011-10-23T01:03:00.000+08:00

We sat at the edge of the pier that bright sunny morning, the air clear and crisp. She wore a white dress with light floral prints, her head covered with a wide brimmed summer hat. Dragonflies buzzed from one bulrush to another, drawing attention from fish gliding under the surface. A lone fisherman sat patiently in his boat at the far end of the lake.

Dipping her toes into the warm water, her giggles filled the air as the ripples stirred the grass. Gently she brushed the strands of hair moved by the breeze into her face across her shoulders. Her eyes closed as she raised her face to the sky, her fair skin made luminous by the warm rays of the sun.

Letting out a gentle smile she opened her eyes to the direction of the swan wading at the other side of the lake. Their white and grey feathers glistened as they floated majestically like princes and princesses of fairy tales.

She turned her head to look my way, catching me looking at her with fascination.

"What are you thinking about?", she asked.

Now this is a little too eerily similar.

I didn't suddenly turn mushy and all romantic - I have just described one of the few series of dreams that I had a month ago. I added some poetic license to describe what was really a 'scene' or a picture of what I saw then.

These are the kinds of dreams that are unusual - they are so normal in which nothing is out of place like they would usually do such as strange people doing strange things that makes little to no sense. Everything was as normal as it would during waking hours. The atmosphere of the entire thing was like a picture perfect painting, everything was bright white - including her dress and summer hat - like a ... dream sequence in the movies.

Had a few of them in the same week, each of it different places and times of the day. One was in the park during sunset:

The light of the day has only begun to fade, the air has cooled down a little. We walked down the stone pavement, watching a kid play with the dog and an elderly couple walking arm in arms ahead of us. We sat down on a bench near the fountain (there might be a musician there) and watched as the sky slowly turned dark, saying nothing to one another.

Not in picture: people cursing the dog turd they just stepped on.

The other one was almost of the same kind, except the location is a little different along an esplanade during the evening. This one was a little more vague except that I remember feeling like it was in a French setting:

Music et al from the nearby street restaurants - along the river dimly lit by lamp posts with intricate carvings. A boat slowly cruised along its dark surface, the lights of the nearby buildings sparkling in the resulting turbulence. We leaned over the railing and looked at the magnificent view across the river, an old world building lit by lights shining upon it. At the very top was the round moon in a dark blue sky. Again, we said nothing to another.

It's a lot harder to find a fitting picture that I thought!

To the romantic it probably meant that there is something about this lady - I know this person - that my mind seem to find so captivating that she even appears in my subconscious. If I were to be even more poetic, all three were part of a long 'trilogy' of sorts - daytime, sunset, evening.

But I'm probably more inclined to believe in the idea that all these are representations rather than absolute meaning. Like all dreams they usually refer to something in life that the mind is trying to make sense of as the brain rearranges all the memories.

A bit like a defrag that actually finish.

One of my favourite things to do with dreams of such - vivid, logical dreams - is to recall them either by writing them down (this post) or telling them to another person using as much poetic language as I can muster, something like an artist putting his thoughts onto canvas - atrocious grammar et al. Would have preferred to compose a song if I actually had skills with the piano (or the wallet to buy one) or some art medium of sorts.

So did we do anything?
Yes and no.

"Can you stop freaking talking about football already?!".

Cold, rainy evening

2011-10-21T00:29:00.000+08:00

I happen to like rainy days, especially in the evening and throughout the night that brings the ambient temperature down after a hot day. The air is filled with the pitter patter of raindrops falling on rooftops fill the air, splashing as they flow down in columns of liquid from the edges. The atmosphere is generally gloomy with occasional cool breeze of the air causing shudders.

Heavy rains are welcomed usually after long dry spells where the heat becomes unbearable - the air in the room heated, the car air conditioners not strong enough to keep it cool, the humidity causing sweat beads to build up even in the shade.

Something like meeting your girlfriend's father for the first time.

More than five years ago we had a mother of all storms (not the, but one of) when it rained so hard that I couldn't see further than 10 meters and water flying almost horizontally across the windscreen. Moments earlier there were hailstorms before the heavens opened up and literally broke lose. The freaky weather was on the news, many cars were damaged by falling branches or uprooted trees, roofs especially tin were blown off - you'd thought a hurricane passed by Subang Jaya.

During the first year in university I lived in the residential college located somewhere at the outskirts of the campus area (UPM is freaking huge). My room faced what was largely flat terrain with low hills and the highway - the engineering faculty would have covered the view now - one of our favourite things to do during rainy evenings were to sit near the window and watch lightning literally tearing downwards, the bright flash in the gloomy sky followed by the roar of angry thunder. Everybody would just sit back and watched nature's spectacular show without saying a thing.

God showing off.

People tend to be calmer and less confrontational during slow, rainy days. Perhaps the cooled air or the soothing sounds of water hitting earth, windows, cars, streets, tree canopies, or just the idea of kicking back until the rain stops automatically slows down the mind and body.

Some of the weirdest things I've ever done was to actually walk into the rain with an umbrella, just watch ripples fill the surface of water puddles, leaves moving as rain droplets hit them as well as drain water flowing furiously. I was warned to never go too near to the drains when they are flowing as so from the many news stories of drowned children who taught it fun or fell in accidentally whilst crossing. Other times I would just sit and watch rain hit the window, throwing patterns of flowing water lit by either the faint sun or the street lightning onto the face and wall.

One year we had the town level National Day Parade going on with each school and certain government agencies taking part, when not even halfway through it rained, subsided and rained again. Fortunately it wasn't heavy, simply drizzle in the evening that pretty much got us who carried the papier mâché robot in the wet. Unfortunately though, mom slipped and sprained her ankle when they came out to watch the last bit of the show and then to fetch me home. Her left feet was swollen bad and couldn't walk properly for the next two weeks. It rained again when I reached home - slept for twelve hours straight.

Must... *choke* ... stay... emo...gah!

Another memory of getting soaked in the rain at school was during the anniversary Sports Day. Organised by the prefectorial board and volunteers - invitation, arrangements, stadium rental, performances, timekeeping, medals and trophies all done by students; teachers just advised and kept tabs on us - it rained during the opening march past. The prefects whom were not participating in the races were in full uniform and blazers, whilst the first aid teams and scout members were all over the place assisting in the event. Fortunately again though, the rain wasn't very strong and has stopped by the time the first race started. Truth to be told nobody complained about it back then - perhaps we were made of sterner stuff - and had a great time out. I could still feel the chill of having the cold wind blowing onto the warm body.

There's a saying that getting wet a little will get you sick whilst getting totally wet would be fine, which is partly true from my point of view. The body heats up when one gets wet, I'd imagine the body does not regulate the temperature evenly when only some parts are wet or cold. I would usually take an either warm or cold shower (the latter resulting in wide eyed shivering) to ensure the headache does not develop later.

The rain has subsided somewhat now although still falling, the sounds of falling water slowing to a quieter splat and splash with the occasional faint crack of thunder.

So excuse me while I retreat to bed and snuggle under the blanket enveloped in the coolness.

Good night, my friends.

Ever wonder why sleeping photos are almost always in the bright daylight?

Cruisin' down the freeway

2011-10-19T00:21:00.000+08:00

Statically speaking

For some I've been discharging a lot of static in the past five months. Today was like the sixth time I can remember when I could feel a zap after putting my finger close to a metal surface. The first I time I noticed it was when Alicia tapped my shoulder and a noticeable 'snap' could be heard before a bit static of a stung her finger. Back then I remember wearing a rather thick twirled cotton polo-shirt which might probably have caught static as I moved around on the leather seat of the car.

Me in my past life.

Many of the answers on the Internet point towards the dryness of the air around me, which probably explained why I have rather dry lips at the same time - the prickly feeling when I stretch them seem to have developed of late - applying lip balm only soothed it a little and leaving them pretty oily.

The last time I remember deliberately 'oiling' my lips not from moisture lost was during the 66th secondary school anniversary. I was one of the several stage actors for the compulsory memory lane performance. Because the stage was so brightly lit by spotlights, all of us boys had to put on lipstick to prevent our faces from looking like extras from the mortician office.

Conclusion - that was the last time I had ever fish scale applied to myself willingly.

Suffice to say none of us looked this sexy back then.

Brake-breaking braking

If there's anything that is hard to predict is the traffic on the Federal Highway. There are times when you expect it to be so damn $%&!@ jam, the 20km or so home was a breeze. And then there are times when you expect it to be smoother, people decide to head out in droves.

You can almost expect it to get congested when it rains but there are times - surprisingly frequent - when the road was actually pretty clear when it poured. Most times they just pop out of everywhere as if everybody telepathically decided to go home at the same time.

Car park : Full

Often it was caused by stalled or broken down cars that you can see with flashing hazard lights from a mile away and tow trucks appearing out of nowhere like they have 'Tow Me' sonar somewhere. You have to wonder why cars seem to stall more frequently when it rains compared to when it doesn't?

More frequently than not its due to accidents because the impatient ones drove faster than their worn brakes or tyres could handle in the rain, reckless drivers with hands and eyes on the phone or the pretty girl in the car next to them or whatever shenanigans in the car, even with two people looking ahead on the road.

"Good news honey - the radio is working now".

The whole journey from Mid Valley to PJ8 took an hour and the rest of the trip another thirty minutes. Good thing I have the radio on and some music on the phone to entertain myself. Ah Mei sounded great in the cool of the car interior, the music video of 解脫 reminding me of this drive back home, minus the actual relief of a moving car. At least it wasn't as bad as the experience some six years ago when I had to hold in a full bladder for two hours.

That's one and half hours of my life I'm not getting back.

Calling home

2011-10-16T23:05:00.000+08:00

Had been meaning to call home since yesterday and only did so today after dinner when I knew everybody would be watching television and had all the time in the world to talk to me. Not spoken to Mom for quite some time now - I'm quite the bad boy when it comes to calling home - the last time I called home was probably four months ago.

Edit: Unless their visit here two months ago was a figment of my imagination, then it's no more than that.

"OMG, wer r d buttonz? Wer 2 swipe?
Wer iz d add book?!"

Most of the news she got about me came through chats with my brother but he was right when he said it would good to just call home and talk just about nothing at all. The forty or so minutes chatting with her just about anything was pretty refreshing like a sip of cool water during a warm day.

Or a dip in a basin of warm water on a cold day.

Looking back our relationship began close as a little child and his mother to the more distant once entering my teen years, graduating to just the person I call 'Ma', the one cooking the meals, the one washing the clothes, the one sweeping the floor - all the things us siblings won't be doing unless forced to. Even so, I'd probably do it half-hearted and resent being ~~asked~~ ordered.

"How many time do I have to tell you to bury your poop!".

Perhaps the period away from home that made me appreciate how important it is to maintain that relationship with home - not to mention her awesome to goodness home cooking (explains why I am such a fatty). It reminds you of the canopy of a great tree that you can always return to when it rains. These are some of the most important things we take for granted sometimes, which unfortunately for some of my friends, are not realised until its gone.

Can't quite remember if we'd ever had any more honest conversation this evening, ranging from work to me speaking of the future, our next trip to the east coast together as well as some personal things which I had never shared with her before. It never ceases to amaze me how much a person can still change after all these years. If I were to record this and send it back to the young me back in time, he'd be perplexed.

For a family who don't openly express ourselves to one another, I'm potentially the least expressive. In fact I've actually given flowers to a girl before I did my own mother - even that was shared with my brother!

One thing I can be certain is that I believe she understood the actual reason why I called home earlier even if I did not describe them fully. Wise not to feed me with deceptively misleading fantasies, all she did was tell me about the realities of life and that she will support whatever I plan to do as long as it does not lead to suffering of others.

"All your father and I want is for you kids to be happy".

In the mean time I better save up for our trip to Taiwan for 2013's Chinese New Year.

Compulsory cute piggy back pic.

Festivities and headaches

2011-10-16T19:05:00.000+08:00

My friend Ricky finally said goodbye to his bachelorhood yesterday with the wedding reception held at the ORNA Golf & Country Club. From what I heard he secured his bride Vickee after his 'brothers' swallowed a wasabi drink mixture earlier at her place in Seremban together with the rest of the stuff that the sisters had planned for as ransom. A bit of traditional fun there, and was glad not to be asked to be one of them. Not that I would say no if ever asked to, if it is a ransom to pay for his happiness, so be it.

Even the rat disapproves.

And I have absolutely no idea what 'ORNA' meant either.

We arrived earlier at about 5:00 pm and decided to mosey around MYDin instead for the next hour or so, having a drink of longan and watching some performance for Deepavali of sorts at the main entrance. There was a display of coloured rice arrangements upstairs, the names of which I could not for my life remember except that it was called 'kollum' by my Indian friends. Is it also called a mandala?

Sneaking an electric fan into this place might prove exciting.

Met up with some old friends from the previous office and boy have things changed in the short year or so. Andrew's wife is on to her second child after the first with others getting asked the question of when would be their own turn. Suffice to say that only one dude had 'definitive' answer to that question whilst the rest are either shrugging their shoulders or shaking their heads.

It was CNY four months too early for some of us.

The food spread was standard of most Chinese banquet dinners, beginning with the usual four seasons cold plate, the sharksfin soup, roasted chicken, steamed fish, brocolli & mushroom and glutinous lotus leaf rice, finished with a nice sago dessert at the end. Unusual for a Malaysian Chinese dinner though, everything was timed to perfection that it ended almost exactly at 10 pm with the tables empty within the next twenty minutes.

"I want the sweet sour fish in and out in 1057.38s - MOVE IT!"

Ricky was as high as heck - his face was flushed red by the time he came over to our table for the post dinner toast - something I have almost never seen before in the two years or so being my boss.

I did my part to fulfill what was one of his wishes, just for him this time - finishing a full glass of beer - something that I am very unlikely to do again (unless the motivations are good). Did it gladly just for him on the biggest night of his life so far.

That was just for you, Ricky.

The thing is that whilst it didn't quite hit me whilst I sipped the bitter brew bit by bit throughout dinner is that it tasted like water and had no effect whatsoever, until an hour later when the head starts to feel funny and the reaction slowed down. Something like a negative feedback thing, the more you drink, the more your senses are numbed, the 'better' you get at it when you're actually already affected.

I'm getting a headache looking at this picture without alcohol.

During our trip back down to KL I developed quite a bit of headache that become stronger by the time I reached home, showered and collapsed in bed. Woke up at 7:40 am with the head still throbbing, slept through the next FIVE hours before it subsided.

Either way, regardless of what is being said about my limit et al especially on being hungover by just 325ml of 5% alcohol - no more of that stuff except for the most special of circumstances.

Me this morning, except less furry and not as adorable.

Lyrical gangsta

2011-10-15T02:38:00.000+08:00

Ever wondered about the little little things in life that goes on daily that you don't seem to notice until later?

Like the song I heard this morning in the car on the way to work , the DJ announced the song that Alicia had posted on Google+ and realised that it had been on the radio all this time. The Band Perry's "If I Die Young" didn't quite catch my attention perhaps due to my ignorance that this band is not one of the those emo 'rock bands' trying to do the compulsory ballad, but rather a counterpart to Lady Antebellum. Once given the more attention it actually sounded a lot better and more meaningful.

Personally, for slower songs I put quite a bit of premium on the lyrics as they have less instruments or beat to distract you, so what the singer is trying to say will be quite important in whether it will get my attention or not.

For that reason I hold a special liking for ballads that are somewhat different from the mainstream 'I love you' types, especially when written from the perspective of a person telling a story or narration.

The Third Person
One good example is 그녀의 남자에게 by Kim Jong Kook, which translates roughly to 'To Her Man/Guy'. Apart from the lovely piano and somewhat unique voice of a big guy, the song speaks about his message to the girl's boyfriend/husband etc to appreciate and cherish her the way that he cannot.

She talks about you about how you're such a great person.
And she smiles all the time when she does.
Just like how I was when I saw her for the first time.
Even if she's always 10 minutes late
Just smile and let it pass.

She doesn't even know how pretty she is so
all day she'll fuss in front of the mirror like a fool.

Don't ever hold in the words I love you.
Be the first one to speak up when she pouts with anger.
And if by chance when she thinks of me and hurts
Just hold her close... even if you feel unhappy.

If sometimes she complains about stupid things
Always soothe her with a smile.
When you drop her off always turn around another time to look.
And if she tries to break up with you, be stubborn and hold onto her.

Don't ever hold in the words I love you.
Be the first one to speak up when she pouts with anger.
And if by chance when she thinks of me and hurts
Just hold her close... even if you feel unhappy.

Why is it now that I've come to realize all these things?
Why is it now that I feel like I've done the best I could?
If, for one day just one day I could trade places with you
I'd show her all the love I couldn't before

It's true I still love her
and it's true that I still wait for her like a .
Everyday I turn it over and over in my heart like an echo
But it's she that's left my side and looks elsewhere.
It's she that will be at your side

TL;DR

Simple Yet Sweet
Recently viewed this on Youtube, a cover of Kiss Me Or Not by Caroline County featuring the very talented Julia Sheer & Matthew McGinn. Begins with the retelling of a 'date' on the roof of the house, looking at the stars and talking about everything under moon, the smell of honeysuckle, her perfume and if he will kiss her or not.

Perhaps a little too saccharine to some but how many of us have had moments like this in life when we all turn into little boys and girls again?

"Arrgh, your song is giving me diabetes!"

You're Different

It always begins with the retelling of the singer's pain, anger or sadness, how things are like a black and white movie with the rain falling nonstop, the air is cold and dank. The singer sings about how perhaps this is how it will always be for them, accepting that some of the lessons of life will be harsh and not everybody wins.

Then as they step out to the heavy rain again to move on the next point of their lives, someone opens up an umbrella asked if they would like some cover. He or she then realises that sometimes a simple thoughtful question from somebody who is also drenched in the same storm would often be the only thing required to crack the coating of stone that had caused the heart to go cold.

Not quite the same, but some part of Paramore's The Only Exception seem to resonate a lot about what I think when it comes to relationships; sometimes it does look like a storm that will never stop, yet there is beauty in the rain if one knows where to look.


It's not the umbrella you're looking at, admit it.

Love/Friendship
One of my most favourite of all songs in this category is one written by Mac Davis, speaking about a lonely old man who found a note written by a lonely orphan child, discovered an unlikeliest of friendships, spending the winter laughing at the rain.

Chyi's version of the song, Whoever Finds This, I Love You! is my favourite.

"How do you spell 'hu eva'?"

All in all, one of the patterns that can be discerned from the example above are how they resonate with the everyday person instead of the fairy tale that we all wish so much to live in. They remind us that the simplest most beautiful things in life are often the very real things you see, hear or feel down the street you walk in daily.

"Ohai der!".

Onion layers

2011-10-13T00:50:00.001+08:00

Every person has three hearts:
one that they show in public
one that they show to close friends and family
and one that only they and their God sees.

Try to see through to the heart that is reserved for themselves and their God, for that is the heart most trustworthy.
- Japanese proverb -

The first time I read this proverb was from the excellent Shogun by the late James Clavell. As the description above explains, a person is made of several layers that obscure the other. Every one of it hold different truths about the person.

Something like this guy, minus the BMI and Fitness First membership.

Personally, I hold this to be true as from interaction with people down the years you tend to learn different sides to them from the people they know that might sometimes contradict with how they are with you. I suppose the best thing to do is to always be open to the idea that the person you know may not necessarily be who they appear to be.

I have always been fascinated by the third heart of other people. Digging into this very personal space of the person's thoughts had been one of my favourite things to do. Rarely ever as to use it against them, I find understanding the true nature of a person and their thoughts to be some sort of a challenge, like answering some sort of a riddle. Humans are the most complex of riddles as they have the ability to mislead or be dishonest, so the great challenge in sifting through the many things you see and find the little bits of themselves hidden behind the veil.

"I'm not playing peek-a-boo Mister, your fly is open!"

It might backfire at times, especially those whom we accurately read or understand - they tend to shrink away to close themselves for good from you either out of fear of betrayal or shame. Unsurprising considering that this is where the most intimate of secrets are kept, either good or shameful ones - knowing them means you have a hold of their psyche. As the proverb mentioned, the most honest of a person is kept here - nobody would actively betray their true selves.

I have been called very secretive by close friends, which is a good thing considering that many consider me trustworthy enough to talk to about things they won't usually tell another soul, and not to use it against them. It's like a one way street, anything of great importance to these people that they bother to talk about will stay with me.

On a personal level, my thoughts or what I feel about things get shrouded between passively misleading others e.g revealing enough of the truth to make others reach the wrong conclusion - or simple lack of reaction. There are times when I am rocked on the inside but shows just about nothing from expression - coupled with offhand reactions that is the absolute opposite of my actual thoughts.

"No really, I am quite interested to know what the 14th decimal of pi is".

This is possibly one of the reasons why I am normally slightly morose in terms of my 'default' appearance, the mind always actively thinking whilst the person appears inactive.

Doesn't mean that when people greet or joke with me that my smile or laughter in return are fake - I can compartmentalize what I think or feel to have only a 'local effect' - if that person wasn't the reason why I am moody, he or she will get a favourable reaction from me regardless - they are not why I feel that bad. To let them bear the brunt of my wrath is simply unfair because I would hate to be blamed for something not of my doing either. Often it's pride (good type) that is keeping me from lashing out on the innocent, most of the time is due to not wanting to regret doing something I could have avoided by taking a deep breath and counting to five.

Mother once cautioned me to thinking twice before saying anything, especially when tempers flare. I am not that easily ticked off nowadays especially after learning to empathise but there have been times when I have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying anything, most especially when I have to deal with it again later. As they say don't break the glass holding your drinks if you can't deal with the thirst. End result are often quick breaths, pulses in the forehead, the pressure on the chest, the heat in the shoulder and the shake of the jaws. I am pretty poker-faced as one ex-colleague once said, but only a few had managed to see the rage boiling inside - there might not even be a frown.

Kitteh sez it rite.

At the end of the day, the better angel always ask me if it is worth it - usually the answer is a simple no and things fade away. "You'll wake up feeling better tomorrow", I usually tell troubled friends.

And sometimes to myself.

"Zzz... she... izzz..cuuu... zzz... anyeong.. Liver...pzz....haz zzzz.."

Not another food blog

2011-10-09T00:41:00.001+08:00

Is it good? The answer is 'no'. But considering Tastypot is being pitted against the likes of the immortal Yuen, perhaps the expectation is going to be a little overboard - it's either as good or not good enough.

The ringmaster Jerrald had this planned in the office a few days back, so I thought why not considering I've been to Yuen some seven times in the past four years a change might be good. Also had the first ever soya bean soup hotpot which was a bit strange. Tasted quite bland at the start and ended up freaking salty at the end.


The crabs, lala, siput and fishballs stood no chance against the Mighty Jerrald.

They also had the likes of sesame honey chicken which was quite savoury - kudos to the cook who tried to be different though, otherwise it'll ended up compared to the famous barbecued wings of... a competitor shop. They have barbecued fish and crabshell egg which would've given it a plus point in compared to... that shop, if they tasted great. Never had to chance to try the barbecued lamb, poor J.

Noticed that the whole area is filled with either seafood or steamboat shops, it has probably eclipsed the coastal towns as the Mecca of hotpots, dab smack in the middle of Subang Jaya. It's like the seafood Tesco or Carrefour of our times - convenient, near and somewhat cheap.

It pretty much as the epitome of Malaysia's favourite pastime of eating, especially outside with a group of people. Almost every table was filled with at least four people each. It's a Malaysian way of getting people to talk to one another whilst getting filled up with food, which would satisfy both food and socialising requirements at the same time. The whole area was filled with people and more people at tables munching away as they spoke to one another.

None of the other tables have Choi Ji Woo or the Roman Emperor though.

The saving grace is that the ice cream was pretty good though - mint chocolate, cookie and vanilla as well as strawberry. As well as the line of four babes that stood outside the toilet as they waited for the single ladies toilet.

The lady in black in the background was kinda hot.
This is Alex by the way.

Steve Jobs (February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011)

2011-10-06T09:17:00.000+08:00

I won't pretend to be a big fan of his but what he has done to revolutionise innovations in the IT industry was if anything, monumental, so the guy deserves my respect.

Died from pancreatic cancer, he was 56.

Exam shazam

2011-10-05T23:38:00.000+08:00

A young friend of our MMO guild made a joke about how he had trouble with the first BM paper of PMR, illustrating it with a Reddit-styled comic of a guy feeling confident, only to hide behind the table after seeing the paper.

Brought me back to the time when we were all in school - national exams. Mom would never fail to prepare a bottle of Brand's Essence of Chicken every morning, moderately warmed after being submerged in hot water earlier. Never knew if they were of any good but what the heck - I actually like the taste whilst some of my friends would rather die than take a sip.

"I'd rather vacuum my room than drink your chicken piss!"

If there's anything that throws off your week long (or in most cases, last minute) preparation for an exam is to have a stomach upset right in the middle of a paper so one of my prized rituals before hours of concentration would usually by camping in the toilet as long as possible, emptying as much as I can and not taking anything until lunch.

The tables in the classroom would already been arranged and separated from one another days before, we would all sit in alphabetical order. Once ready, the teacher on duty will distribute the papers to the first person on each row - like a Mexican wave we would then pass the rest of the paper to the back, wait for the signal and start the exams proper.

Something noticeably absent nowadays is the competitive spirit between students due to the emphasis on 'equality' and 'individual brilliance' - by the time the paper is over, the ultra competitive ones in my class would seize our question papers and calculate the expected marks, tallying them up before the full results are revealed a week or so later.

I actually like this environment for some reason as it felt good to have your paper taken away for 'grading' because it signifies that your average marks can move and shake the positions in class. Due to the nature of my classmates and I being in the top class of potentially the district, the difference between positions are often very small to the point of 0.1 in magnitude. Every little bit counts. Being 1st in class mattered back then.

"Oh, you finished first in class seven times in a row? Awesome".

My performance in exams are quite predictable in the form of a skewed N-shape. It always starts pretty bad as I'd find myself at the bottom middle of the group of around 35 students, to improve to the tens and back down to the teens before really shining at the end at the top five.

I was never the smartest kid in class but I deliver when it mattered - I don't do very well in individual subject/topic exams during mid terms but would usually do quite good in overall during the actual terms exams.

Languages
If anything, I love open ended essays. You're given a topic which you are free to write about anywhere you want. To score though, you'll have to break from the pack and compose differently - teachers are bored of reading the same kinds of essays over and over; any kind of change in direction is bound to get their attention and shine above the rest.

If I recall correctly the open ended essay of our trial BM paper asked the students to write about a memorable holiday vacation. I'd imagine many of the classmates to began with a description of a trip somewhere with friends or family, what they did and how they felt at the end of it. Instead, I wrote about myself at a resort chalet ahead of my family and strange happenings that happened during the evening, together with the invention of a local urban legend of a loyal housekeeper. To cut short a long story, the old man who told me about the legend was supposed to have died ten years ago...

Even if my grammar is pretty atrocious, I had the flair to pull it off. My essays are often selected as one of the several examples of good ones stapled to the class notice board, red crosses and markings from spelling or structure errors et al.

"Who are you calling atrocious you little... oh.. sorry..".

Science & Mathematics
One of my favourite subjects although I was never very good at them, mostly due to the time needed for me to really understand a concept - an entire academic year would usually be needed, or more depending on how quickly they click into place.

Mathematics is great because once you understand the method, no memorisation is required anymore. A few classmates and I would usually buy many of those question books and do them all together with the help of teachers, labouring through hundreds of examples to get the formula and mechanics correct.

I still remember the time when we didn't have scientific calculators to do our math with, instead we had what are called 'Log(arithm) Books' or Buku Sifir that has pages of calculations for values that imitate what a calculator does but in manual format. The tables that are popular includes square roots of numbers as well as logn values. Good thing our teachers back then weren't sadists whom would prepare questions that will result in values with infinite decimal points, rather they'd usually end up as some form of rational number or fractions e.g 1/√2

Physics was fun but was never very good with it, same goes with chemistry. Biology however, was one of my pet peeves due to the amount of memorisation that needs to be done. Suffice to say my dad's "dream" of me becoming a surgeon remained all but a dream as I simply gave up on that subject... Surprising my scores for Biology was above average even when I just chose on what to read and concentrate in.

I can doctor pictures pretty good with Photoshop though.

Social Studies
History is by far one of my favourite subjects as whilst being one of most hated of all papers for a lot of my friends. I approach Sejarah like reading a novel or story book, so not only was it (mildly) enjoyable, I tend to remember the important points better that way.

Back then the questions were not very date oriented - a lot of it asks about the reasons behind a historical event, what happened and the aftermath or effects it had in the future; rarely where there questions asking specifically when was the first atomic bomb dropped into Hiroshima and Nagasaki or the date when the first Malaya National Elections were held - the cause, effect and consequences had greater emphasis than the chronological data.

Comic book equivalent of Martin Luther King Jr, but bald.

As for Geography, neither liked nor disliked it.

---

The funny thing about exams is that you tend to become really good at it when it's no longer important? I'm pretty certain if given some time to refresh and read through some of the material, I'd score really good compared to back then. I can still solve some Additional Math questions easily when our younger friends show them to us and could explain some of the concepts in Physics with better understanding now than before.

I suppose the exams were a little too early for our immature little brains.

Bukit Gambang

2011-10-05T00:16:00.001+08:00

Last Friday I was at a resort in Bukit Gambang, about half an hour from the state of Pahang's capital of Kuantan. It was a trip organised by the company as some sort of team-building practice.

Trees? Check. Pool? Check. Kids? Check.
SiangShing

I made it a point to sit away from my department team mates and lounge with the rest of the people from the office so that I get to know them better, instead of hanging around the same group of people I work with every day. The result was positive as I had quite a awesome time with the jokes flying around the place throughout the four-hour journey eastwards from KL - haven't really laughed this much in a while.

If anything it gave me the chance to know the rest of the people I see everyday in the office but don't interact with beyond the 'zhou san!' or 'yo!' we greet each other every morning. I have always done this in my previous jobs or in school as well, forcing myself to socialise away from the same group of people when the situation literally hands it to you on a platter.

As for my colleague's reaction to me, well, only they'll know I suppose. Perhaps it's a bit too offhand as the guy from IT who is usually sitting at the back quietly is suddenly in the middle of whom I call 'The Fun Group' due to the amount of laughs one can hear from that side of the room daily. Once joked with one of them if I could apply to work at their department as there's always laughter whilst the IT team is almost always so intense in mood.

Perhaps it helps to let them know that I speak that I'm not as banana as I appear - I was easily the 'whitest' chinese guy in the room, dubbed Sir Wilfred of Miri by one of my good friends, even more so than Sir Tony of Ipoh. One guy mentioned that I sounded like an angmoh speaking Hokkien.

Ho chiak!

Getting wet
After lunch and settling down in our respective rooms, we left for field activities as planned by the people of the resort - mostly brain teasers ranging from pictorial quizzes to mathematics to popular science.

The great outdoors is where it's at, son.
Alicia Suah

One of the most common comments that I get when it comes to being good in such things is "how the -beep- do you remember all that?!". To be honest I don't know either - what I do know though is that the brain has unlimited storage so that I don't have to choose what to listen, read or learn; maybe it's more of the ability to recall that amazes some of my friends. Still everything I recall is something we have all learned one time or another in school.

Or I'm a freak of nature.

"Consistent downwards slap with your palm, easy".
Alicia Suah

The final activity was the interesting one. Our task is to hold a PVC pipe about 15cm in diameter upright and fill it with water until the ping pong ball placed inside flows out. Easy right? Yes. We won anyway, both the first round of activities and this challenge called the 'Tsunami'. Dead easy.

Not if you knew that (many) holes had been punctured along the entire length of the pipe at random locations. Ten fingers won't cover them all because you'll have to stretch your hand all over the place, none which would cover ten as well as holding it upright. Once the water is poured in any uncovered holes with have water spewing out fiercely, blinding you that a slip up of the fingers might be permanent as your eyes are closed shut.

John and I were the two at the bottom and according liquid dynamics we'll get sprayed the hardest due to the highest pressure exerted at the lowest point. Add that to the hurried rhythm of our water carrier splashing water into the pipe, we were both totally wet within the first half-minute of the competition.

Sufficed to say not a single part of our body were dry by the time the event ended - my light yellow shorts wet to the point of being transparent. Also imagine that my underwear was brown in colour.

Hi Mom!

Carlsberg & ice
I had my first drink in almost ten years if you don't count Anglia Shandy, albeit just a little bit at the karaoke box on the other block of the resort building. In some ways I was reminded on why I never developed a liking for the brew simply because it was a taste that I never enjoyed - the bitter and slightly tangy taste that doesn't agree with my tongue the same way that a glass of Coke would. Still, the team director poured it personally for me and asked nicely, it's kinda hard to say 'No' four times to a chorus of cheers and glass clinking.


"Finish one full glass and I'll give you half a day leave extra!" ChuenHaw

Whilst our team manager did his karaoke round of Jacky Cheung's 'Thousand Reasons for Sadness' （一千个伤心的理由），I told the familiar story of why I don't drink to our director, from the Coke or F&N Orange Crush plus whiskey to the Heineken that I experimented with, none of which stroked my fancy. Sufficed to say the two towers of beer finished with nary a problem due to the expertise of my other colleagues.

I'll pass, thank you - but I'll probably learn to tolerate more in the future although it will always end once I turn lightheaded.

Hi Mom!

Hidden in the darkness
A session of night jungle trekking followed a far improved dinner as we made our way into the secondary forest area near the resort. The number of people who went for the trek were less than those who went for the field activity, understandably for various reasons - considering we were all under the hot sun for a few hours and then drenched wet with water, it's inevitable some would not make it. Others though...

We gathered at a clearing near the entrance to the jungle and had a briefing session on what to do and what not to do before we went in, the usual thing about respecting the forest and being aware & looking out for one another.

As the marshals spoke, there was something that I noticed and pointed out to my nearby colleagues - the sky were so dark with very little artificial light that the stars were visible, the first I've seen in a very long time ever since my return home during a short gardening leave before joining this company. There were no building to obscure the surroundings of even darker tree silhouettes, enveloped by the sounds of the night. I could make out Orion's Belt, the line of three stars between two oddly shaped squares. Just brilliant - the best things in life are often free.

We made a beeline into the jungle trail enveloped by darkness lit by only the flutter of candles that threaten to extinguish to the mild breeze of the night. During the whole trip I felt a sense of 'connection' with nature, sort of like experiencing the life of our ancestors when they first walked the earth. There were only sounds of twigs snapping under our feet or shuffle of leaves, blending into the cricks of crickets and other insects. I'd imagine that it wouldn't be any special if this were done during the day - as well as the sweat from the humidity of a hot afternoon - but at night the forest becomes almost mystical in nature, the dark shadows hiding things that we can only imagine.

"Daddy that's such a big kitty, can we keep him?!"

We walked for almost 2 hours and yet I felt little to no fatigue as I enjoyed the trek even if we had to ascend and descend slopes as well as keep a lookout for stumps, low hanging branches, thick roots and creeping vines. For some reason some of us were expecting 'something' to happen along the lines of 'strange', the nearest were the movement in the bushes twice other than which was quite uneventful

If anything we didn't get the wild boar some of us were talking about in the bus on the way to the resort, of which I'm not sure how we'll bring it down with torch lights and twigs.

There's a wild boar in that picture somewhere.

"I heard something"
Because the karaoke box was filled with cigarette and cigar smoke by the time we showered and came out to mosey around, a few of us stayed outside at the table and chairs to do what we planned to do earlier - sharing ghost stories. Too bad we can't start a bonfire toasting marshmallows or it would be just perfect - instead we have amusement park rides such as the merry-go-round and spinning teacups sitting idle as it rained, whilst downing RM2.00 worth of orange cordial diluted by melted ice to the point of tasting like tap water seasoned with lemon.

The marshmallow's are ready for eating.

We took turn sharing a bunch of stories, mine being some from my days at a previous office whilst forgetting about the one in Kelana Jaya which would've been the icing on the cake. Some are a bit hard to take whilst others were quite something. One of the bosses from the RT office joined us and told of his own experience - interspersed with sudden loud shouts to shock us - in Singapore. One of our lady colleagues were on the receiving side of our joke about her visit to Thailand soon and probably won't hear the end of it until she's back.

We're great people, like.

We all went back to our respective rooms at around 2:00 am after a photo session and slept like logs until the morning.

Splash
I didn't join the crowd to the water park because I don't quite enjoy water games as well as feeling the effects of the previous day's hot and wet escapade, so I stayed in bed for most of the morning until lunch trying to catch up on sleep that were of the pattern of sleep-wake-sleep-sleep-wake-sleep-wake for most of the morning before breakfast.

Good for my friends who went as they looked to have enjoyed themselves a lot from the photos they took.

You have to ask the ladies if they had fun, I wasn't there.
ShiangShing

Back to the city
The rest of the journey home to KL was a lot less eventful as most of the people on the bus took the opportunity to catch up on sleep, making us perfect prey for one of our most animated colleagues to snap snap. At least five of the photos were of me, none of which were at all flattering.

I can't hear you! Come on, rasa sayang eh rasa sayang sayang eh!
SiangShing

I also lost a joke of a bet that we'll be back at Mid Valley in 45 minutes after we hit Gombak toll - I'm not sure how we managed to get there in around 20 minutes, heading into the city, at 5:00 pm on a rainy afternoon. The victors got their share of the spoils of a nice meal, after which we dispersed and head home to hear about Dirk Kuyt missing a penalty vs Everton.

Until next time, comrades.

Tranquil in darkness

2011-09-25T04:19:00.001+08:00

Glowing ember
Burning hot
Burning slow.

It was late Friday evening when I drove home after the movies with a few friends, the atmosphere was calm and serene, unrushed as the weekend was only an hour away. The traffic still looked ridiculously bad going downtown but the drive back to Subang was of its normal pace with most people already home and there was no traffic jam to slow things down.

I might be driving on the wrong side of the road there...

I enjoy driving home in the quiet of the night with slow music from the radio to unwind after a busy day - there is something calming about the night that gladdens the heart.

I had Sarah McLachlan's Do What You Have To Do on via the Bluetooth player during a short period of congestion in front of the PJ Hilton. Her voice filled the dark interior of the car, the quietness cocooned within, lit only by the red dashboard displays. The air-conditioner was blowing gently - not too cold, just right.

Just her voice and the piano, singing about the conflict between the heart and the mind to let go of something so dear.

Whilst I'm nowhere there at the moment, sharing the emotions that literally oozes from the song, but she seems to capture the very essence of the dilemma that one faces when they are at the crossroads that we will all come to many times at various stages of our lives.

"Black Arial 16 bold or Tahoma 17 blue?"

Instead I was mesmerized by the three lines describing ember that is burning, literally seeing it in my mind, the orange-yellow glow, barely lighting up a monochromatic background. Combine that with the slow tempo of the piano and the hypnotic quality of the singer's voice, I was literally at peace.

The week before I had Keiko Matsui's acoustic version of Water Lily, the tinkle of the ivory hitting the strings as her fingers danced over their black and white keys. It seemed to massage the soul like the gentle fingers of a masseuse loosening the knots of tired muscles. I listened to every note and savour them individually and together, creating the wonderful melody that made the piano such a soothing instrument.

Perhaps this is why I like small or one-to-one interaction with people; I can listen to them with my fullest attention, taking in what is being said without the distractions and connect with them, to be on the same wavelength. It's like a duet, two individuals playing the same song.

Not sure how but this came out as one of the results in Google search.

Maybe because of this I happen to become a person that people are not afraid of confiding to. I have sat in front of many who told me of their innermost secrets, anger and fear, sometimes accompanied by tears that at times would sometimes cut my own heart because I 'feel' their words, not necessarily understanding it the way that only they themselves can. Sometimes all they needed is someone to listen to what their heart is crying out, not necessarily to seek in opinion or solution.

As the car cruised smoothly down the highway, I thanked God the weekend is here again.

Life's canvas

2011-09-25T03:13:00.001+08:00

When it comes to movies I can be pretty picky about what I watch, depending on the mood of the day. Went to watch Final Destination 5 the other day with my two friends and was somewhat entertained due to the fact that I was looking to do no thinking at all after a long week at work. I know it's going to be able people dying horribly because Death doesn't like to be cheated, for some reason it was all right that evening because I switched off the need to 'feel' the movie.

Most of the time though I would invest my mind and heart into connecting with a film's character and/or underlying story, fascinated with the reasons that motivate them to do what they do. I have always valued storytelling above CGI graphics and explosions - a film can have absolutely no chase scenes or epic artificial constructs to awe me, just simple yet well-written plot and acting, the act of explaining an idea with its actors putting them to flesh.

Take for instance The Shawshank Redemption - routinely touted as one of, if not the finest movie of all time - a simple story of a wronged man's life, his friendship with the people whom were all stuck at the bottom of society's eyes, the many obstacles standing between him and freedom and the triumph of hope over adversity.

Then take a look at Pixar's Up, the story of an old man who lived his old life bitter and cranky about a lost love & dream, learning to open up and embark on an adventure of a lifetime as the chains of the past are broken. The eight minute speechless montage of Carl's marriage with Ellie is one of the finest bit of animation ever made - it was simple and sweet, equally poignant because we know people or even some of ourselves who have went through something like that before. You can't help but feel sorry for the old man, knowing how it would devastate ourselves if we were in his shoes.

The best thing about well written films is that they don't force feed you with melodrama - the honesty of the scenes slither itself into our hearts and tug at the strings, reminding ourselves of our very own disappointments and flaws as humans.

Many people I know would avoid such movies like the plague because they find it boring and pointless as the entire objective of watching films is to entertain oneself. That I agree, perhaps we entertain ourselves differently - some look for stimulation, the adrenaline rush and 'hell yeah!' moments, whilst others enjoy having a story being told to them on the silver screen.

I can remember the scene of deep night accompanied by the moonlit clouds and the Latin choir as the camera pans slowly down towards the city of Jerusalem under siege from Saladin's army in Kingdom of Heaven.

I can also remember the 'mental battle' between Jet Li's Nameless and Donnie Yen's Broken Spear in the first fight of the movie Hero to the background of an old man's zither and dripping rainwater in slow motion.

And then there is the part where The Girl's blind date recounts what Gyeon-Woo told him about keeping her happy, as she realised that he understood her more than she could imagine in My Sassy Girl.

I'm not saying that I don't enjoy watching Megan Fox in the Transformers movies, it's just that some times I'd like to go away from all the heavily marketed media that promises only visual excitement and take a walk with the characters as they go about playing their part as actors in the grand canvas of life.

I'm tired of visual excitement in movies!

Now that's...

2011-09-20T20:56:00.001+08:00

Just a couple of days of talking about women and my 'expectations', I stumbled upon this on Wikipedia:

Introversion

Introversion is "the state of or tendency toward being wholly or predominantly concerned with and interested in one's own mental life". Introverts are people whose energy tends to expand through reflection and dwindle during interaction.Introverts tend to be more reserved and less outspoken in large groups.

They often take pleasure in solitary activities such as reading, writing, music, drawing, tinkering, playing video games, watching movies and plays, and using computers, along with some more reserved outdoor activities such as fishing. In fact, social networking sites have been a thriving home for introverts in the 21st century, where introverts are free from the formalities of social conduct and may become more comfortable blogging about personal feelings they would not otherwise disclose.

The archetypal artist, writer, sculptor, engineer, composer, and inventor are all highly introverted. An introvert is likely to enjoy time spent alone and find less reward in time spent with large groups of people, though he or she may enjoy interactions with close friends. Trust is usually an issue of significance: a virtue of utmost importance to an introvert choosing a worthy companion. They prefer to concentrate on a single activity at a time and like to observe situations before they participate, especially observed in developing children and adolescents.Introverts are easily overwhelmed by too much stimulation from social gatherings and engagement. They are more analytical before speaking.

Did Wikipedia just described me in three paragraphs?

This Sim Guy is also a lot richer than I am

Expectations vs desires

2011-09-19T01:00:00.000+08:00

Twice last weekend and once again last week I was commented on the reason for why I am still single as of today

"Perhaps you're being too picky".

I have been hearing that comment for the last five years now and it is not like I have not wondered about how true it is. Best part about that is all it came from people whom I have not met or seen for a long time, the last being a lady friend who is currently in Penang when I had a chat during the early morning before work.

The week before was my ex-supervisor's fiancée, Vickee, asked

"What is it in a woman that you're looking for?"

I've given thought to that question in the past week or so to fill the mind during those boring traffic jams or any other activities that requires waiting and came up with a few that more or less answers her question.

Take note that these are what I would like in a lady, not necessarily my expectations - both different things altogether. Whilst we can all wish for the perfect person to fit every requirement, it's best to expect that only some will meet what we believe to be our wishes.

Intelligent
I don't mean MENSA candidates when I wrote that. I enjoy conversations about anything under the sky and it piques my interest when a woman is able to converse about more than just the surface of a topic. It's the same reason why I read and listen to all sorts of stories instead of choosing only those that fits my interests simply because a well-rounded mind are usually more level-headed and are less prone to being one-dimensional.

So what will we talk about once the usual topics are exhausted? There is only so much cuddling and sweet talk that you can do (although that is usually enough). I'm fine with ladies who don't know much but are not afraid of the idea of knowing more for the sake of having a better perspective in life.

Again, no geniuses needed, just one open to ideas and are capable of conversations beyond the superficial. Clever ones gets bonus points.

"I do astrophysics to relax".

Strong
Not in the sense of an Iron Lady World Champion but more in the likes of perseverance in the eye of the storm. Whilst I don't expect all women to stare at danger with hearts made of cold steel but I would like them to not be discouraged by the slightest of inconvenience.

For the same reason I actually find 'girly girls' a bit of a put off because of the amount of pacifying that you need to do when they are 'not in the mood'. I don't mind playful pacification, but serious ones because of petty things really gets on my nerves. If anything I like my ladies delicate and playful but not tofu-hearted.

One woman I know had a heartbreaking time tending to her dying son after a surgery failed to keep him healthy. She had to change him, feed him and then watch him wither away. While I would know that it would've broken the lesser woman, she persevered through in faith and then let go. I won't pretend to know the kind of hell she went through, but that to me is true strength.

Her name? Elizabeth, but I call her 'Ma'.

"That kid hasn't called. Again".

Simple things in life
Can she sit with me to watch the sunset without saying a single word? There are many joys in the world that are simple and I happen to enjoy them a lot - stroking a purring cat's soft fur, listening to a baby responding to her mother, watching fish wade around in a gentle pond, closing the eyes and listening to the waves crashing to the shore or sitting out at the rooftop looking at the stars surrounded by singing crickets.

I'd love to lie down on the rug with soft music on, lights off, the room illuminated by the moon et al, and do nothing but talk until we fall asleep.

The 24/7 world cuts down time for ourselves so much that it is difficult to slow down to smell the flowers, the hidden little treasures fly through our view because people are less inclined to stop and have a look with all the distractions what not.

"Dear, I think I left the iron on".

Independent
Personal space to me is important because it is some of the things that makes us individuals instead of clones or robots. There will come a time when all I want to do is do a dungeon crawl or watch a football match uninterrupted by continuous requests for attention. Spending time is essential in building the relationship but too much too often is like the protective cloth to the skin - creates friction that leads to blisters.

There are also times when I'd like to hang out with the guys without a woman on tow. I don't mind having them meet up together some times but it becomes a problem to me when there simply isn't any division between what defines 'me' and 'us'.

In reverse, a woman should have time to have the weekend out with their girlfriends or simply do something that is all of her own that doesn't involve their guy be it watching a soppy television drama or jogging at the park - all this without forcing the guy to be there when he doesn't want to.

"Who has time? Who has time? But then if we do not ever take time, how can we ever have time?"
- Merovingian, The Matrix Reloaded -

Nice cape.

Trust
This to me is possibly one of the toughest thing to do in the world where infidelity is on the rise and divorce or breakup rates are on the rise. A world where everything is now interconnected, we all meet people everywhere, every time as well as my own call for personal space earlier.

There's old saying that if a girl asks about you all the time it means she cares which is all good and sundry. It is bad news when it graduates to suspicion and jealousy.

I experienced this first hand almost ten years ago and sufficed to say I was more relieved to be out of it than sad because I was tired of being viewed as one who was in the greatest risk of changing hearts because I was surrounded by similarly aged girls in university whom are entering their prime. Whilst I understand the concerns considering that she was far away in another continent, it wasn't the reassurance that I had to give regularly that was giving me a heartache - it's the lack of trust in my fidelity that led to the quarrels. The last straw was when she decided that she trusts her suspicion than she does of me.

I am thoroughly confident of how loyal I was to her when I was here over 10,000 km away. Sure there are temptations every where I was - it's the university when our hormones were at an all time high - but I stood through the thick and thin that the next two years we shall be reunited again.

The conclusion here is that I reserve my faithfulness to the woman only if she extends the same to me; she must understand that it cannot be a one way street where the only feelings that matters are hers. Not saying that our hearts are made of ones and zeroes that makes it either an on or off but the foundation of a stable and solid relationship begins with trust. If one cannot trust the other to be committed to the companionship, makes just about no sense to get together in the first place.

Perhaps we were immature back then, when relationships are made up just of being together, whispering sweet nothings and cuddles. We were simply ill prepared for the real challenges of maintaining a relationship beyond those.

"You.. have... just ... won... 50,000.... dollars...".

Personality
By far the toughest of them all. Everybody likes good looking people or at least above average ones as its a biological reaction - show me a person who is not interested in attractive people and I'll show you a liar.

We are all superficial but the difference is in the degree of how a person appears influences how much attention you give to how they actually are. The most superficial will put looks at the top of the list whilst the least will give the most points for personality.

In that sense whilst I have a healthy self-esteem of how I look, I'm at a handicap compared to my other friends and acquaintances who are taller and more good looking than I am. I need to do twice as much as work to achieve half of what they are capable of. In such I'm normally quite disliked during first impressions only to graduate to friends or good friends after knowing one another better.

An ex-colleague long ago told me that she hated my guts the first few weeks we met but eventually she thought I was a great guy after we got more chance to speak to one another.

Mom once made a remark that had me slighted for a bit (with a snide remark being a progeny of hers) which goes along the lines of this is a face that only she can love. She wasn't saying that I am an ugly troll - rather I happen to wear an unwelcoming face most of the time. I do admit that I don't smile very much and my default facial expression is half a unit over the 'sour' spectrum, juuuuust slightly.

Personally I have trouble smiling for no apparent reason simply because it is not only insincere, I'm cheating the other person of genuine warmth. I do smile during official matters but only because we are expected to.

Similarly I am averse to trying to become whatever I am not just to impress others (non in official capacity), most especially to women. Whilst there is truth in 'faking it till you make it', it is the very reason why you hear "he's changed" "you were not like that before" "you don't love me anymore" so very often nowadays.

I am keen on avoiding that pitfall, if she is not able to accept me for who I really am then I am not willing to cheat her of her confidence in me that will result in nothing but disappointments later - she deserves better.

That said, I admit that there is much to improve on how I package myself - there are ladies who are beyond my reach (either due to distance, status or some sort of legitimate barrier) who react favourably to how I look.

It will have to be a give and take - my expectations of them is the same as theirs of me; acceptance for the actual person, not how he/she appears to look like.

"You're a pretty puzzling fella".

---

All said, am I still being picky, I'd ask Vickee.

If you have read what I wrote from the start, you will find that I have described the many things that are foundations to maintaining a solid relationship, not the kind of expectations that I have in a woman. It would be obvious by now that I am already looking beyond the person, looking to understand what happens after the initial sparks have fizzled out.

Cracked.Com

2011-09-18T22:59:00.001+08:00

I'm going to steal some ideas from one of my favourite comedy sites on the Internet - Cracked.com's format of using lists to speak about some everything under the sun.

The highlight of the site is not the content though as they refer to many other sources from the Internet but in the way they are being presented. The humour actually makes what people would call boring (read: history) into entertaining snippets. Better still you actually learn a thing or two because of the entertainment value from reading what would normally be consigned to the classroom or science journals. Paragraphs are often followed by often nonsensical images that illustrates something else along the context or actual images on related to the topic but with humourous captions.

I also love the fact that the writers actually do some sort of research into the topic before presenting their article. Whilst some of the referrals are arguable or even contentious, they don't take themselves seriously and neither do the writers stand on the pedestal of infallibility.

Spend some time there - you'll love it.

Don't say I didn't warn you though - it's a serious time killer.

Best With White

2011-09-11T21:49:00.001+08:00

A friend recently ventured a comment that made me stop whatever I was doing for a while and realise that I have been doing things or buying stuff that was particularly of a shade of colour.

His question was harmless enough but somewhat interesting because it haven't occurred to me before:

"Is it just me or do you seem to have a lot of things in orange?".

I stopped packing up the office laptop and looked up then realising that he was right.

At least one article of clothing that I bought, usually collared polos, was orange in colour; including the one I am wearing now, bought around three years ago. I bought a striped orange coloured twirled cotton polo, as well as another the year before.

The car I just bought in May is orange.

The logo of the company I just joined recently has orange as the dominant colour.

One of the product that I was most well versed with at the previous company had orange as the dominant colour of its logo as well.

One of the towels that I use is a shade of dark orange.

My favourite pieces of software - Mozilla Firefox and VLC Player has recognisable orange colours to their logos.

One of my MMORPG avatars has the name Pumpkin (yes, she's female) - as you know they're usually orange in colour.

This is how she looks like after midnight

Wilfred of Orange

Personally I don't really believe there is anything to it except that I thought orange colours, especially when combined with white stands out. Orange is a vibrant colour, white is a pure and bright - both of which combine to make a warm yet exciting colour.

Here's what the Internet says about the colour orange:

ORANGE

Positive: Physical comfort, food, warmth, security, sensuality, passion, abundance, fun.
Negative: Deprivation, frustration, frivolity, immaturity.

Since it is a combination of red and yellow, orange is stimulating and reaction to it is a combination of the physical and the emotional. It focuses our minds on issues of physical comfort - food, warmth, shelter etc. - and sensuality. It is a 'fun' colour. Negatively, it might focus on the exact opposite - deprivation. This is particularly likely when warm orange is used with black. Equally, too much orange suggests frivolity and a lack of serious intellectual values.

Autumn

Of the four seasons I like autumn the best, followed by spring, winter and summer. One of the most popular images of this transitional period between the end of summer and the start of winter are that of foliage in shades of orange in the contrast of greys and faded greens, the atmosphere is quiet and the air growing chilly. Still not freezing but cold - or just right.

(I'm certain some of my friends would go 'Huh!' at that last sentence, especially those living or used to live in temperate countries.)

My name reflects the kind of things that I cherish in life - wish for peace and tranquility so it's no surprise that I can be slow at things that does not warrant rushes or prefer to allow others to win on things of little significance as well as not liking to be forced or goaded into actions, be it for my own good or bad.

Colour for all times

I suppose it's no harm considering that orange does look very nice in certain things - I'll probably grab more polos of such types but not sure about declaring it my new favourite though. Perhaps only if it is with white that I would consider it lovely or classy when combined with grey.

Still, an innocent question about me and the shade halfway between red and yellow had me thinking about what my mind or heart had been telling me all this while. Then again, perhaps I was probably overcomplicating things.

As always.

Fruits of Toil

2011-09-05T01:53:00.002+08:00

I often query friends, questions regarding their contribution to their employment in comparison to their gains after putting forward a scenario that pretty much sums up business as it is nowadays in a capitalist world.

Please bear in mind that I'm neither an accountant nor a tradesperson, the following are far simplified scenarios to just give some meat to the story.

Say an individual gets a US$1,000,000 loan to start a business selling sandwiches in 2010. The owner hires five people to work for him at their first store outlet at a shopping mall as salespersons, cook, accountant etc. Let's assume that business goes well and the company make 10% of net profit from total cost of US$50,000 a month (including loan payments), amounting to US$5000, up to US$60,000 a year.

In the next five years, profit increases by 5% per annum.

Total net profit is approximately US$348,113

-

Question 1: Can the owner claim to own the whole sum of US$348,113 ?

Question 2: If not, does that mean the employees are rightful owners to parts of the business too?

If Work Rocks

2011-09-05T01:34:00.001+08:00

... we would all do it for free.

No truer words spoken by Scott Adams in his book 'The Dilbert Principle'.

I recall once having a conversation with a company director I once during dinner. The conversation eventually moved towards everybody's life etc.

The guy told us about how he rarely sleeps more than 6 hours a day and have to be at on business even during weekends, sometimes without days off because let's face it, people in commerce will would try to do whatever they can for opportunities regardless of the day or risk missing out on what could amount to a big contract.

I don't fault that logic - besides I can see from his point of view that the harder one works - especially for directors in his shoes - the better the returns at the end of the day. Business grow or shrink on what these traders do at the negotiation table, the more the frequency the higher the chance of a good deal coming through. We should work harder he says, the company prospers, we would also prosper.

Even if they happen to be 'pals' with us, I didn't quite have the stomach to tickle the dragon that day by mentioning that for the rest of us employees, we could work as hard as he is or even more - 9am to 2am, work through lunch etc - weekends et al; the end result is still just our monthly salaries. We don't have 'dividends' to receive at the end of the year if sales increase by 15%. Bonuses are often afterthoughts after the shareholders have gotten their share of the 15% of extra profit.

That is why I don't touch the laptop or access company resources when I'm at home except in time-sensitive circumstances that require over the clock responses.

That's one of the problems with global trade - business day ends in Asia and it just begins in Europe. So practically you can submit a proposal, PO, letter or quotation between 7:00 - 12:00 am, receive a quick response within the next hour or so before going to sleep, then use the information for the next business day. There had been cases of mostly my ex-colleagues sitting in the office to finish a weekly update just because the partner's office starts at 9:00 our time and the local customer requires daily updates.

All fine and dandy, as long as it doesn't involve me due to the reasons above. Besides tradesmen have a reason to stay active in the market part from the frequency reasons. It's also due to their obligation or ambition to expand the business. The old saying is true, that one doesn't get rich doing their day jobs.

Do you want to be rich? Be ready to sacrifice most of your life to harder work than the average person is willing to do.

A Future Worth Believing In

2010-07-06T00:21:00.000+08:00

An old article but meaningful nonetheless.

--

She's Israeli, he's an Arab. War has made them like mother and son

Sarfraz Manzoor
The Observer, Sunday 10 May 2009

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/may/10/palestine-israel-peace-campaigners

It is a friendship as remarkable as it is unlikely: Robi Damelin is a 65-year-old Jewish grandmother whose son, David, served in the Israeli army; Ali Abu Awwad, 37, is a former Palestinian revolutionary who joined the first intifada as a teenager and was later sentenced to 10 years in an Israeli prison – he served four. David Damelin was killed by a Palestinian sniper seven years ago; two years before that, Awwad's brother, Youssef, 32, was shot and killed by an Israeli soldier.

These were two deaths that might have been expected to contribute to the cycle of violence and hatred that characterises the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Instead, for the past five years Damelin and Awwad have travelled the world, speaking together at mosques, synagogues, parliaments and public meetings to spread the message that there will only be peace in the Middle East when there is reconciliation. Last week they brought that message to Britain, attending an Amnesty International event and speaking to an audience of Muslims at the London Central Mosque.

In the back of an east London coffee shop, the two reflected on a relationship that both hope may prefigure a different future for Israel and Palestine. "If someone had said to me when I was 15 that I would have someone like Robi as a friend," said Awwad, "in my wildest dream I would not have imagined it. But when I met her she began to tell me about her relationship to her sons and how the killing of David affected her relationship with her other son.

"I felt this very deeply because my mother didn't pay much attention to me after the death of my brother, because she was closer to him than me. We made a connection."

That connection was made through the Parents Circle, a remarkable organisation that brings together Israelis and Palestinians who have lost immediate members of their family in the conflict. The circle, also known as the Bereaved Family Forum, was set up by Yitzhak Frankenthal, an Orthodox Jew whose 19-year-old son had been killed by Hamas activists. Today it has more than 500 members who have all rejected violence, hatred or revenge as a means to solve the conflict.

"At first I didn't want to mix with bereaved parents," admitted Damelin, "but I gradually realised that the only hope for progress was to recognise the face of the conflict – that was why when they told me that David had been killed my first instinct was to say I did not want anyone killed in the name of my child. I did not want revenge."

It was through the Parents Circle that she met Awwad, whose brother had been shot in the head. "When I learned about my brother's death I was just so full of anger," he recalled. "But I realised that for me to survive I needed to meet someone from the other side who could understand me – so when I met Robi I met someone who gave me hope."

It is a hope which both Damelin and Awwad are keen to stress is not based on pretending there are no disagreements, but is instead rooted in the idea that the first step towards reconciliation is to recognise thesuffering of the other side. "If you are pro-Palestinian or pro-Israel you are not helping us," said Damelin. "You are just feeling good about yourself."

"For some Muslims, the situation in Palestine is theoretical," said Awwad. "Maybe that is why there is more militancy among British Muslims than there is in Palestine, and it's the same with American Jews who seem less likely to compromise than Israelis. Why? Because they are not the ones who have to stand at roadblocks every day, it isn't their children, their sons and brothers who are dying, so it is easy for them to say they do not want to compromise."

Compromise, Damelin and Awwad believe, is possible; they are both hopeful for the future. Damelin – who was born in South Africa – suggested that the Bereaved Families Forum could inspire a future Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Israel and Palestine.

"I remain an optimist," she said. "After all, if you had told me in 1967 when I left South Africa that one day whites and blacks would sit together in the same room I would have thought you were mad." As mad perhaps as if she had been told that a Palestinian ex-revolutionary would become one of her closest friends. "It is very difficult to give away things that belong to your child," she said in a quiet voice. "It is like admitting that they will not come back.

"But I had this lovely jacket that a relation had brought David – a beautiful jacket – and Ali and David are the same height and build, so I chose to give that jacket to Ali, and I am happy I did. It was the right thing to have done."

"Whatever you do, you cannot replace the child a mother has lost," said Awwad. "Youssef and David will never come back again, but at least you find something to live for. Wherever I go I carry a picture of David with me, it's in my bag with me right now."

The tea has been drunk and it is almost time to leave. It must be a strange experience, continually and publicly reopening the wounds of personal loss in the hope that it may eventually inspire peace. "This is my life, I don't have a choice any more," said Damelin, when asked how long she imagined she would continue travelling. "I have a motherly relationship with Ali. I worry about him, I care about what happens; maybe I am a little overprotective about him."

There is a palpable sense that she and Awwad complete the other in some way, offering some consoling echo of what has been lost. Theirs is a friendship that only appears unusual when individuals are reduced to labels and tribes; and yet when Ali Abu Awwad and Robi Damelin are viewed not as Israelis and Palestinians, Jews and Muslims, but rather as a son and mother, the relationship begins not to feel unlikely at all.

"I have found in Robi what I didn't get from my own mother," said Awwad. "She knows what kind of clothes I like, the people I like, and she advises me on all these things. She even knows what food I like."

"Shrimps," said Damelin, laughing. "He is addicted to shrimps."

就像蝴蝶飞不过沧海，没有谁忍心责怪

2010-06-01T21:02:00.000+08:00

There are times in life when we will all be confronted with something that you desire to have the most, something that means a great deal to the meaning of our lives to which we are willing to give something up or change just to accommodate it.

To everybody, that something is rarely petty or shallow - it is often a thing that has either fulfills the value that one holds or actualises his or her own dreams and aspirations.

To married couples their single most aspired dream come true would be to have a child that would complete the reason for their union in the first place and begin a family together. When it did happen, just look at them giving up all their own comforts and personal needs just to make sure that their precious offspring are accorded the best future possible. Until they hit puberty and start acting emo, which is another story altogether...

An athlete would train day and night to build their stamina, strength and skill to be become the world's best, working harder than they need, pushing their limits beyond what is necesary. Becoming the best in the world is the crowning glory to their entire career.

A science researcher would gladly ignore friends and leisure, using as much time as they can to produce vaccine to the deadliest diseases in the world, putting themselves in danger by getting exposed to the deadly pathogens that they vow to put an end to, for the sake of ending the cycle of death that destroyed futures before they can begin. His journey would reach the pinnacle when the vaccine becomes real and can be mass developed to begin the end of a scourge and bring hope to dreams.

As much as we would love for dreams to come true, regardless of how true its aims, whatever the goal - it can be heartbreaking sometimes when you miss what is to be the opportunity of a lifetime due to technicality or a situation that makes it a bigger loss than a gain.

Take for instance Roy Keane, the former captain of Manchester United and Ireland - he was a great midfield general, even the most blinkered of Liverpool fans would admit how influential he was to the Red Devils. In 1999, he would miss out in appearing in possibly the highest level of professional football competition in the European Cup final by picking up another booking that would lead to a suspension.

Lesser players would have wilted and broke down, losing the very edge that made them they very winners that they could be but Roy played on with unquestionable determination and tenacity to make sure that his team makes it to the finals. They eventually won the Cup - he got a medal of course - but the very bit of missing the actual match itself, leading the best team in Europe to victory must have hurt him deeply.

We all face things like this at least once, if not frequently. Our reactions to disappoinment is either what differentiates betwen one person to another. Some would simply make peace for it is either not within their right to obtain or they see the risk of damage by reaching for it. Another person might keep it bottled and remember it as a bitter pill to swallow that changes their lives, a reminder of a denied opportunity by an unfair world. And of course those who become subjects of movies, novels and inspirational stories - people who rebel against 'fate' and decided to change the rules and achieve what they want anyway, oftimes sacrificing much of themselves to gain something that they consider to be of equal worth.

I would be lying if I said I have never needed to walk down the path of cold rain knowing that you can't stop droplets of water from falling from the skies. One feels as if the world conspires to deny you what you have wanted the most by dangling it in front of your face like a carrot on a string and yanking it away when it is within touch.

"I just washed the damn car!"

It would also be lies if I said I have made peace with it all - some of the disappoinments will remain bitter thoughts of something that could be but never will because it is not within your control. Metaphorically speaking, it's like something that will disappear when you reach for it, but will remain there if you don't.

I used to make analogies for things like this, including a butterfly that stops by your garden that you painstakingly tended - you can't reach for it or it flies away. A real life analogy would be like the cats I see along the street when I walk to and from my house - I'd like to pat and stroke their fur but the moment I get too close they get ready to scamper off; come no closer and they happily lick themselves with a little acknowledgement that a big hairless ape is walking by.

I prefer beetles - they don't run very fast.

But at the end of the day, understanding that we are part of a grander scheme of things would probably help in accepting that you did what you could in your part - the rest is not in your hands to give.

Year of the Big Meow

2010-02-25T10:20:00.001+08:00

I was home for the Lunar New Year, pretty much to spend my time resting as much as possible before returning to the rat race at the city. Life is a little more relaxed here with the hustle and bustle nowhere near as bad the hectic 24/7 life at KL. It's never too busy here and never too laidback either with things to do at all times, depending on whaty you fancy.

The journey back was pretty uneventful except for the issue of flight status updates at the airport which was malfunctioning, causing people to stand in front digital boards wondering why are the check-in counters open yet even when it's less than an hour and a half to departure. Thankfully the helpful people at the information counter relayed to me the correct gates to check in. Met an old classmate who took the same flight whom were as groggy as I was that morning thanks to the lack of sleep - I was at the airport at a little past 4.30 am.

It took quite some willpower not to bark at the check-in officers at the gate when they had to put on a show speaking to one another when queried about the problem with updates, correcting one another on the number of times they called support. I couldn't care less about how many times they bugged the people manning the digital boards, a simple "We're sorry about the inconvenience. The technical crew is working on it" is more than sufficient compared to " we've called them ten times yeah? No idea what happened there, it's still going on after we called them ten times".

Who's keeping score?

Life has gotten a little more busy of late with the festivities et al, the number of people in town seemed to rise dramatically compared to just a year ago. You have traffic jams now in town, though not as amazing as the ones on the Federal Highway every evening. Business and commerce is bustling with shoppers everywhere buying everything, pretty much to prepare for the upcoming celebrations.

I was out in town with Bro to shop for clothing and my instinct to wait until I was home paid off - every single year I went for clothes shopping in Miri because I happen to prefer the kind of cuts and designs available and get this, the sales would often render expensive brands to less than three digits in pricetag - something I don't see very often in KL considering the price war is supposed to be a lot fiercer there. Perhaps it's because I didn't go out often enough there, but I have been out for window-shopping during sales before and heck, what we have in Miri ain't chopped liver. Furthermore I don't have to fight for walking and breathing space although the number of shoppers has increased and a lot of the designs are nice enough to suit my tastes.

My cousin made an observation which I was about to talk to him about regarding the city apart from the increasing number of people - the sudden spike in the number of attractive women wondering about the place in just a single year. To quote his comment, it was as if they all took a study trip to KL or Taiwan on grooming and came back just in time for the New Year. I suppose many came back from KL or Singapore for the celebrations but that doesn't quite explain the ones taking care of shops.

If there's anything that doesn't change, the guys with spiky, ruffled hairs ala Cloud Strife are still around even if it makes them look no different to one another. A bit of highlight here and there, they still don't look any unique to the other guys who just passed by. I suppose no one is immune to cultural influence - I tried to copy Clark Datchler's prep hairstyle, while Bro did the Vanilla Ice eons ago. Nowadays to us, anything practical and easy to take care is the best.

The old barber's shop that I frequent throughout my life relocated again, now at the corner next to the old bazaar. They had six chairs now instead of four with all of it fully occupied when I dropped by, perhaps from the influx of people wanting to have their hair cut before the New Year or simply because business was getting better. I only recognised one of them now, the plump man who has been there for as long as I've had my hair cut, while the rest were people I didn't know with one youngish fella with them.

Apart from a few visits to the houses of I have not been to for ages - we spent the last few New Years away from town - it's pretty uneventful here nowadays. My parents are a little older now that they only visited close relatives & friends whilst skipping houses of others. It's also pretty hot, a big change from the flood infested of the year before, so not many of us are that enthusiastic about going out to visit houses. Gone were the days when we went from house to house in consecutive days (and raking up red packets).

It's the price we pay for a town's maturisation into a city I suppose. The busier it is the less for people to meet up unless at work, things slowly become a little more impersonal with the number of unrecognised faces increasing daily so we stick more with the ones with identify the most with.

As I type this a second lion dance troupe is making its round in the neighbourhood, the first one waking me up at the 'ungodly' hours of 8.30 am with their ching-chang and drum beats right downstairs. The family no longer appreciates lion dances like we used to - my parents probably can't tolerate the loud noise whilst I've grown cynical about 'blessings' from paper mache lion heads. I guess it's a matter of perspective now - what was fun back then isn't much so nowadays.

Undeniably, superstition plays a big part in what was supposed to simply be the ushering of the new lunar calendar year. "Do not sweep the floor during CNY or you'll sweep away all the fortunes", heard of this one before? My family has never believed in all that, I've always wondered how did things like these become as ingrained in tradition as it is in superstition. Take for instance the term 'guo nian' and firecrackers; legend has it that a monster named Nian terrorised a village in China during ancient times and were chased away by the loud noises made from explosives and clanging of metal pots & pans - how many people still believe in that nowadays?

To me the tradition to usher in the first day of New Year with firecrackers has the same logic of claps or cheers during any occassion - it's a declaration of happiness, a celebration, approval. Now that makes sense, 'Nian' however, doesn't.

I had a small chat with some colleagues in the office many weeks ago about the word 福 being suspended downwards at some houses as a symbolism of the pouring of fortune from the heavens. I asked the origin of this practice and predictably nobody gave me any good reasons except that one won't know unless they try it and it costs nothing to have it put upside down - people do so because it is a symbolism. I then ventured to the idea of turning the word gold 金, money 钱 or even health 康 the same way, but was told that people don't do so because it's not a tradition.

Tradition.

I often wonder who sets these traditions as acceptable or not anyway? Why would a reversely suspended word gold not mean the same as suspended word fortune? Why won't it be intepreted as 'downturn of fortune' instead of pouring fortune?

Well, to quote Mom, it's fine to believe in the influence of the stars and cosmos in our lives, as long as it doesn't blind you from what is true. What is true, you might ask? It can mean many things, from one's principle, to science to religion. It's ok to suspend the word fortune upside down but it's wrong to think that will be the key to success or lack of.

Whatever it is, I'll still enjoy watching people blasting fireworks of multicolours up in the sky on the midnight of new year's eve or buy pork jerky to munch on, but they will be nothing else to me but things for celebration instead the celebration itself.

Happy Year of the Tiger 2010.

Have we forgotten?

2010-01-10T16:42:00.003+08:00

This entry was originally much longer than this because of the many things in my mind regarding the current event that is happening right now in the country, but I decided to just make a few quotes from a movie, a holy book and a treatise, to illustrate what I think about the whole issue.

"I put no stock in religion. By the word religion I have seen the lunacy of fanatics of every denomination be called the will of God. I've seen too much religion in the eyes of murderers. Holiness is in right action, and courage on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves, and goodness. What God desires is (here points to head - the mind) and here (points to heart - soul) and what you decide to do every day will make you a good man...or not".

Hospitaller Knight, commenting on the movie hero's Balian's statement that he lost his religion and found no respite.

"None of us know our end really, or what hand will guide us there. A King may move a man, a father may claim a son. That man can also move himself. And only then does that man truly begin his own game. Remember that howsoever you are played, or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone. Even though those who presume to play you be kings or men of power. When you stand before God, you cannot say 'but I was told by others to do thus' or that 'virtue was not convenient at the time.' This will not suffice. Remember that".

King Baldwin IV, during his first meeting with Balian at the palace of Jerusalem.

One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?". "The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'There is no commandment greater than these." "Well said, teacher," the man replied. "You are right in saying that God is one and there is no other but him. To love him with all your heart, with all your understanding and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices." Now when Jesus saw that he answered wisely, He said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” But after that no one dared question Him.

Mark 12:28-34, New King James Bible

"And do not dispute with the followers of the Book except by what is best, except those of them who act unjustly, and say: We believe in that which has been revealed to us and revealed to you, and our God and your God is One, and to Him do we submit".

al-Quran 29:46 - translation by Muhammad Habib Shakir

"In the name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Beneficent. This is what the slave of Allah, Umar b.Al-Khattab, the Amir of the believers, has offered the people of Illyaa’ of security granting them Amaan (protection) for their selves, their money, their churches, their children, their lowly and their innocent, and the remainder of their people. Their churches are not to be taken, nor are they to be destroyed, nor are they to be degraded or belittled, neither are their crosses or their money, and they are not to be forced to change their religion, nor is any one of them to be harmed. No Jews are to live with them in Illyaa’ and it is required of the people of Illyaa’ to pay the Jizya, like the people of the cities. It is also required of them to remove the Romans from the land; and whoever amongst the people of Illyaa’ that wishes to depart with their selves and their money with the Romans, leaving their business and crosses behind, then their selves, their trading goods and their children are secure until they reach their destination. Upon what is in this book is the word of Allah, the covenant of His Messenger, of the Khulafaa’ and of the believers if they (the people of Illyaa’) gave what was required of them of Jizya. The witnesses upon this were Khalid ibn Al-Walid, 'Amr ibn al-'As, Abdur Rahman bin Awf and Muawiyah ibn Abi Sufyan. Written and passed on the 15th year (after Hijrah)".

Al-'Uhda Al-'Umariyya, 'Convenant of Caliph Umar al-Khattab I'

Run baby run

2009-11-20T09:06:00.006+08:00

There are many wondrous things that gets one going, "How the hell do {something} ?". One of my current curiosities is literally a lot more down to earth - how the hell do women run in heels?

A few of my lady colleagues wear heels to work and not all of them do it consistently except for one from next door. There are times when I would be observing at her feet (there are more to see than the feet but let's not go there), wondering how the heck could she walk so fast while balanced on a small triangle of contact to the ground with the heels elevated.

I once put my feet onto a pair of my mom's when I was much younger out of curiosity and the feeling was like a constant sensation of sliding forwards. Suffice to say my balance was crappy on them, so walking a few steps wasn't easy, let alone pacing.

On the tele and the cinema we watch women running in heels all the time but seeing it with your own eyes is not something that is easy to believe. A slight slip or twist of the steps would send them hurtling forwards and possibly sprain the ankle, yet they do so like athletes in sneakers or jogging shoes. I earnestly hope nothing like that would happen, but aside from admiring how some women actually look good on them, there's always a little feeling of uneasiness that I can't shake, magnified by the height of their heels above ground.

I once joked that they're good to throw at dogs but how about outrunning them? Her reply was in a matter-factly manner - 'can'.

"I can even chase the bus", she added.

I really didn't know what to say to that.

Grinning randomly

2009-11-16T09:27:00.004+08:00

I rarely recommend books to people for the reason that we all have our own preferences and I happen to be quite picky when it comes to books. I like books which are proven winners, that by default wouldn't disappoint for the reason that they cost in the country. The Lord of the Rings is one of those literature masterpieces that got me into Middle Earth frenzy. That said, I didn't read a single one of Harry Potter books because I was strongly partial towards Frodo & Friends. Harry fans can go ahead and flame me, but if the first movie - The Philosopher's Stone - is an indicator of what the Wizard Boy's world is all about then I'll gladly pass; it's nowhere near the epic level of storytelling that Mr Tolkien (bless him) had and whilst both stories had mumbo jumbos thrown in, the Rings Trilogy (as it is called now) is focused on the people, their history and heroic qualities whilst at the same time talking about their deepest insecurities and flaws. All that done with less focus on magic, hence a lot less 'cheating'.

I've only read some autobiographies in my life, the most recent being those by Liverpool players past and present for the reason that I was out of books to read (what irony). As mentioned, being picky meant that I needed something that would capture my attention and imagination, coupled with good storytelling and sense of humour. The first one that I did was earlier this year when I got Steven Gerrard's (ISBN-13: 978-0553817331) book. True to most autobiographies, it charted much of his life until then, a recipient of the MBE, from the time when he was a young 'un all the way the pinnacle of football as one of the best player of this generation. Some of the more interesting parts regarding the book (as per all the autobios of players I've read so far) are their relationships with their families, friends, teammates and the manager. Some trademark cheeky humour thrown in, it was an enjoyable read though not thoroughly thought provoking.

"What sound? I heard nothing".

That was left to the vice captain Jamie Carragher (ISBN-13: 978-0552157421), which I finished about two weeks ago. That was a little more entertaining for the fact that he's a lot more forthcoming about his thoughts on matters. I'm not saying Gerrard's a pussycat (Gennaro Gattuso would agree with you), just that Carragher was a lot more direct about his opinion on past players and the club presently. There were even a chapter dedicated to the current regime at Anfield in which he commented about the political struggle between the manager and the owners. Knowing which side his bread was buttered, Carra stood on the fence and played a diplomat, deciding not to get involved in something that wasn't his arena.

If there's any Liverpool or any sportsman autobiography that I enjoyed so much so far, it had to be Robbie Fowler's (# ISBN-13: 978-0330437639). I'm 3/4s in and he was even more brutally honest than his two juniors but what made it special was his brand of humour, which was like a iron fist in a velvet glove. It strikes you as harsh at times but my association with the Scousers on RAWK meant that I see the funny side to his jokes and delighted in it. I can't remember the last time I grinned so much like a madman in the train whilst reading, and then randomly grinned like a madman off the train because of how funny some of the passages were. His was what I'd call honest, self-depreciating look at his own life.

If there's anybody I'd like to read after this, it'll be Bill Shankly's, the legendary Scotsman who built the foundation of which the dynasty of Liverpool Football Club would then rule English & European football for the next two decades. Here's an excerpt typed out by a dedicated Liverpool fan from Singapore from (if all people) George Best's book, about Bill Shankly. You'd wonder at what sort of mojo this man has got if even a Manchester United legend had a whole chapter written about him.

Taken from RAWK by Ladylala from George Best's autobiography (to update the book name ISBN):

Not sure how many of you have read the book 'The Best of Times', but apparently it's a pretty old book, published back in 1994. But because it's a non-Liverpool book, I would think not many would have read it... I found this book in the library yesterday, and I don't know why, somehow I actually flipped through the pages and found this chapter titled "Shanks".

There were some priceless stories in this chapter about Shanks, so eventually I borrowed the book, and thought I'd share it with you guys...

This might be long, because I typed the entire chapter out!

But it's worth a read, if you all haven't heard the stories before. And if you've the time...

I confess I don't know much about Best and Shankly because I'm not that old, but I do know both of them were legends for their respective clubs. And the stories I've heard about Shankly have always been nothing short of amazing...

Ok here goes:
------------------------------------------------------------------
Apart from the derby matches against Manchester City the really important game of the season for me was against Liverpool. I was always one for the big occasion and they didn't come much bigger in the domestic football calendar than United against Liverpool.

For a start, you had two of the greatest post-war managers of British football pitting their wits against each other. Matt Busby and Bill Shankly both achieved a rare status reserved for the truly great by becoming legends in their own time. They were both great motivators and had that rarest of ability to spot talent. It was Shankly who spotted the potential of Ray Clemence and Kevin Keegan when they were playing Fourth Division football with Scunthorpe United. It was Matt Busby who thrust me into the United first team just after my seventeenth birthday and who signed a scrawny kid with terrible eyesight called Norbert Stiles.

It was a clash of the Titans every time the two clubs met. At United we could boast a team bristling with internationals. Likewise Liverpool. In the mid-sixties their players were household names: Ian St John, Chris Lawler, Ron Yeats, Ian Callaghan, Peter Thompson, Tony Hateley and Roger Hunt, who was a member of England's World Cup-winning team of 1966. The atmosphere when the teams met was electric. When the Liverpool Kop sang 'You'll Never Walk Alone', I'd look up from the pitch and see them swaying in time to their singing, which had the force and emotion of a massed cathedral choir.

Bill Shankly, like Matt Busby, was a canny Scot who was never lost for words. I liked him a great deal and I know he liked me. I respected his knowledge of the game and loved his keen wit, which was as sharp as legend has it. It was Shanks who, on hearing Denis Law remark that he enjoyed coming to Anfield because 'you always get a lovely cup of tea', turned to Denis and said, 'Aye, Denis son, but that's all you'll get when you come here. A cup of tea!'

After a game against Liverpool at Old Trafford in 1965, Shanks asked how I was coping with life. I was only nineteen at the time. I said things were fine with First Division football, but I was unsure about how to handle the constant media attention.

'Fame, son,' Shanks told me, 'is the price you pay for doing your job well.'

A few years later I was to understand the full implications of his words. It seemed every time I met Shanks he would come out with at least one piece of worldly wisdom or humour. When I was about to renegotiate a contract at Old Trafford and intimated that I would be looking for a considerable rise in basic pay, Shanks gave me a long hard look. 'George, son, some advice,' he said. 'Don't be too demanding, because it's a sad fact of life that genius is born and not paid.'

He went on to tell me the story of the Liverpool full back Gerry Byrne, who, having won a place in the England team, felt he was worth considerably more than his new contract was offering. However, the way Shanks saw it, Gerry was paid for what he did for Liverpool. The fact that he had made the England team had nothing to do with what he was paid at Anfield and therefore it did not merit a rise in his wages. Gerry argued that international status was proof he had become a better player with his club.

'I may be wrong on other points, boss,' Gerry said, pressing his point. 'But I am right on this one, aren't I?'

'So what if you are?' Shanks told him. 'Even a broken clock is right twice in a day.'

Following a game against Southampton at Anfield, a young reporter from the Southern Evening Echo collared Shanks to ask him what he thought about a young Southampton winger called Mick Channon. Shanks was polite and told the reporter he thought the young Channon was a very good winger indeed.

'Would you say he's as good a player as Stan Matthews?' the reporter asked.

'Oh, aye,' Shankly said earnestly. 'As a player he's definitely on par with Stan Matthews.'

The reporter thanked Shanks for his time and turned away, scribbling the quote into his notebook. Suddenly, Shanks reached out and caught the young man by the arm. 'This Channon is as good a player as Stan Matthews,' he said, 'but what you have to remember is that Stan is sixty-five now.'

-----------------------------
In 1967, we arrived at Anfield to play Liverpool and as I glanced out of the window of the coach I saw Bill Shankly standing at the main entrance. I was the first player to alight from the coach and when I reached the entrance Bill shook my hand warmly. 'Good to see you again, George,' he said. 'You're looking well, son.'

This was unusual for him, and knowing Shanks to be a wily old fox, I decided to hang around to try to find out what he was up to. As each of the United players entered Anfield, Shanks shook his hand, welcomed him and told him how good he looked. Eventually, Bobby Charlton, a born worrier, came up to Shanks.

'Bobby, son. Good to see you,' Shanks said, shaking his hand. 'But by God, if ever there was a man who looked ill, it's you, Bobby!'

Bobby's face went as colourless as an icicle. 'Ill? I look ill?' he repeated, running the fingers of his right hand over his forehead and down his right cheek. He was visibly shaken,

'Aye, Bobby, son. You look like you're sickening for something. If I were you I'd see a doctor as soon as you set foot back in Manchester.' Shanks patted Bobby on the back and took off down the corridor, leaving him trembling in the foyer.

In the dressing room, Bobby was conspicious by his absence and, ominously, there was a delay in announcing the team. We sat around kicking our heels, no one daring to get changed in case Matt Busby had a tactical plan which meant leaving one of us out. The thought of getting changed only to be told to put your clothes back on because you're not in the team is a player's nightmare.

Eventually Matt Busby entered the dressing room with Jimmy Murphy and told us they had reshuffled the team which had beaten West Ham the previous week. Bobby Charlton was unavailable. He'd suddenly been taken ill.
-----------------------------------------
The following season we were back at Anfield and Shanks was up to his old tricks. As the United party made their way down the corridor to the away changing room, he appeared from his office. 'Guess what, boys?' he said, brandishing a little orange ticket. 'I've had a go on the tickets that give the time when the away team will score. And it says here, in a fortnight!' With that, he disappeared back into his office.

We lost that encounter 2-0 and after the game I was chatting to Liverpool's Ray Clemence, who revealed to me another piece of Shankly kidology.

Prior to the game, Shankly had received the United team sheet and he incorporated it into his team talk. His intention was to run us down and, in so doing, boost the confidence of his own players. 'Alex Stepney,' Shanks began. 'A flapper of a goalkeeper. Hands like a Teflon frying pan - non-stick. Right back, Shay Brennan. Slow on the turn, give him a roasting. Left back is Tony Dunne. Even slower than Brennan. He goes on an overlap at twenty past three and doesn't come back until a quarter to four. Right half, Nobby Stiles. A dirty little -beep-. Kick him twice as hard as he kicks you and you'll have no trouble with him.'

'Bill Foulkes, a big, cumbersome centre half who can't direct his headers. He had a head like a sheriff's badge, so play on him. Paddy Crerand. Slower than steam rising off a dog turd. You'll bypass him easily.'

The Liverpool players felt as if they were growing in stature with his every word. 'David Sadler,' Shanks continued. 'Wouldn't get a place in our reserves. And finally, John Aston. A chicken, hit him once and you'll never hear from him again. As the manager finished his demolition job on United, Emlyn Hyghes raised his hand. 'That's all very well, boss,' he said, 'but you haven't mentioned George Best, Denis Law or Bobby Charlton.' Shanks turned on him. 'You mean to tell me we can't beat a team that has only three players in it?' he said, glowering.

Laughing at yourself

2009-11-12T09:05:00.002+08:00

One form of humour that I enjoy the most is self-depreciation ie. making fun of one ownself. We are all full of flaws that they can be made into currency for funny anecdotes and stories, especially if it is about something everybody could relate to it. One might like to make fun of their perceived lack of physical attributes or unnatural liking for things people normally don't or the mess they have gotten into.

To me self-depreciating humour is honest. It shows that the person who made it (or on the receiving end) accepted that some things are they are and aren't going to let it become a hindrance. When you are making a joke about yourself you are telling others that 'yes I am as human as you are', perhaps helping to put the others at ease as he or she is just as imperfect as they are.

People react to things they cannot change their own ways, either by complaining, ranting or crying about it. Others chose to shrug and let bygones be bygones, whilst some chose to laugh about it. In most cases it's a good source of amusing story to impress or entertain people with.

I can recall a time when a family friend was warning us to be careful about what they eat as part of his recollection of a recent trip to the Middle Kingdom - he had a bad stomach upset from the journey, having to squeeze cheese in the cold weather. The biggest laughter came when his wife put a hand on the shoulder asking if he's all right, in which he responded with "Don't touch me" - he reenacted the scene by putting both palms up and face deadpan. Everybody who listened were in tears.

Yes, we were laughing at his misfortune but a large part of humour comes from the fact that we have all been in that situation before some time in our lives. The fact that he could joke about it makes it all the funnier. The idea that you aren't the only one suffering from problems of such is 'comforting' or creates a level field that helps one from becoming overly defensive from such embarassment.

"I'm sorry ma'am but it's not a stomach ache that you're having".

I picked up this brand of humour mostly from British football forum of RAWK. The people in Britain seemed to revel in laughing at their own misfortunes, living proof of people who made lemonade when life handed them lemons. Some stories that they put in there were not only hillariously funny, told good-naturedly either as a rant or just story-telling.

The Kop End recently had a match versus archnemesis Manchester United following a defeat to a freak goal that had the goalkeeper diving to catch a beach ball that strayed onto the pitch instead of the actual match ball. Obviously it became the biggest news in English football for a while. The Manchester United supporters were already looking to do the same thing when they visit Anfield to taunt the opposition but had the beach balls confiscated. And guess what, The Kop inflated plenty of their own beach balls and threw it onto the pitch. This to me is a classic example of 'so what?', in the context of a setback - they aren't deflated by it and are undefeated as fans. All feedback (I've read) regarding the Kop raining beach balls onto the hallowed turf has been accepted positively.

There are caveats in telling such jokes though. It is always important to know the audience. People who don't appreciate it won't, regardless of how well you tell it. Some aren't very receptive of the idea of depreciating one self, considering it as a weakness by being so happy about it. I know it sounds narrow minded but there are merits to that kind of stance though it's a little extreme IMO.

And there's the important bit of flair to consider. Not everybody is a good storyteller and not everybody can tell something which would normally be unacceptable in a presentable way. Imagine if the family friend above happen to be lousy at story telling and ended up making the story sound like he has got no control over his bodily functions - the end result wouldn't be funny and probably stamp him with a weirdo mark on the forehead.

I've written a few pieces on a forum that I frequent that is close enough to what can be called a self-depreciating story just to entertain myself and those who bother to read. Those who did get the joke appreciated it whilst others wondered what was it all about.

Suffice to say there is a need for practice before I'm capable of telling so like those chaps at the British Isle but as they say, practice makes perfect.

--

The Plumber In Me
18 April 2006

Two days ago I discovered that the kitchen sink faucet knob was broken (Whatever you call it). Upon inspection, found out that the inside plastic mould was broken. It's still usable though, but the thing is wobbly every time you turn it and will eventually break anyway. So, the mission:

to replace the faulty faucet
to replace the fluoroscent lamp

The lamp had 'expired' for a long while, just didn't go and fix it because it wasn't really important.

Went to Giant Hypermarket immediately on my way back today, saw faucets, electrical goods etc all in one hypermarket.

It's a convenient life this.

Bought all the usual stuff - fluroscent tube lamp, a kitchen sink faucet and a towel.

Well, needed new towels anyway.

Got home and started about the first job and the 'hardest' one - the faucet. Needed to finish it all before I go to bath as I'd definitely end up sweaty.

Now, recalling my studies back in school in the subject of Living Skills, the first thing to do before doing any sort of plumbing is to turn of the main water valve.

"I know it's here somewhere, saw it a few times, turned it off before too", I muttered as I searched around the cabinets.

Found one. Funny, it doesn't twist fully as it used to but I was sure this was the one. Turned the thing to 'off'.

All right, the fun part - dismantling the faucet. The pointy-part-thing came out easily. The twisting of the whole pipe was hard, but with some force it began to turn. Got easier and easier until I noticed - water was leaking.

"Heck. I turned the valve off already".

The more I turned the more it leaked, so I went back to the valve and turned the thing clockwise until it can no longer move.

Still leaking.

Hmmm...

"Even if it leaks the pressure is likely to be quite low now, it'll flow down the sink", I thought as I made the final twist.

A few seconds later I found out the truth:

"WRONG VALVE!!!" I shouted. A strong jet of water sprayed fiercely into my face feeling like I was face to face with a garden hose. Tried to force the thing back in to get some thinking time but it was just too strong.

The only redeeming part was that I have yet to have my bath and I was naked except for towel covering my lower body.

Soaked.

The kitchen was getting wet and I must think fast and it was what I did - took a water hose, plugged the thing in and let it flow into the sink.

It worked.

Called my brother who onced did all the DIY in the house to ask about where the REAL valve is. He's in East Malaysia.

"Where's the main water valve?"

"Which one? You're breaking up".

"Valve, the water valve".

"Water what?"

"VALVE, WATER VALVE, MAIN VALVE!".

"Oh valve. Which one?".

"THE KITCHEN SINK!".

"Check the cabinet... should be under the sink. What's up?".

"Faucet broken. Needed to fix it".

"Broken? Isn't that metal?"

"No, plastic".

"I thought it was metal".

"No".

"So how's it there".

"About the same".

"Any mails for me?".

"Your SBL". He had a freelance contractor thing back then.

"How goes the place?".

"Tell you what, talk to you later. I'm wet here".

To be frank, I wasn't in the mood to talk then.

Found the valve, turned it off and there... the water finally stopped.

The rest was normal as I fixed the faucet in with slight problems. The metal connector from the wall was somewhat old, so some bit of the inside sorta cracked.

Great.

Took me four tries to get it to seal properly.

My housemate came back, "What happened back there?".

"The faucet was broken".

Knowing me well, she didn't ask anymore questions.

Five minutes later, all was good again.

Fixed the faucet and we have running water again.

Water all over the floor. Towel wet. Drenched kitchen mat. Some cuts to the hand from the window.

Water all over the floor.

I can now rest assure that brushing my teeth in the morning is now guaranteed for the rest of my days living in this house.

What Is Pain?

6 December 2005

The grammatical mistakes aside, perhaps it's good to look at things in perspective.

Ask ten people and you may get ten different answers to the question above. Each and everyone of us had felt pain throughout our lives, knowing full well the sensation that borders on both being uncomfortable and downright torture.

It doesn't happen too often though - sometimes it's physical, sometimes is mental, sometimes it's emotional. Everybody feels it once in a while, each of different magnitudes and causes.

For instance, imagine a drive home from work one evening. You've just had a good dinner at the nearby eatery to celebrate an occassion, maybe just to pamper oneself once in a while. Whatever the reason, you just know you wanna go home and sink into that soft and welcoming bed of yours.

The cruise was as normal as it can be as you enjoy the nice music from your favourite channel on the radio. One after another, you sang to your heart's desire, sometimes bordering on the scream just to let it all off. The quiet hum of the cool air-conditioner adds to the ambience.

You enter another highway from the busy intersection, paid the toll and continued on for the next 2 km of journey before you could call it a day at home. But for a short pause at the automated toll collection gate, it went well for a bit before you were stopped abruptly due to some congestion ahead.

"Well, this must be one of those stalled cars again". Your experience told you that it will be slow but you will at least be moving so you patiently sit through the jam, listening on to the lovely voice of the DJ you so hope to meet one day.

Half an hour passed and you have barely passed 1km. For some unknown reason, the jam was unusually bad along that stretch of highway. That stalled car you expected to see 15 minutes ago had yet to appear. It was stop for 30 seconds, move another 2 metres, then another 30 seconds of stop, then for another 2 more metres. Rinse, repeat.

Your left leg, placed firmly on the clutch began to hurt at the sole but that was something you live with, no problems. It's not everyday that the stretch of highway get unsually jammed like this.

It was that sensation in the bladder that worries you. For the past 15 minutes it had been slowly crawling towards [Empty Me] level and you know, unless a dramatic improvement in traffic flow happens, you may need to dramatically flow the urine, somewhere. Rather, forced to.

You kept your mind away from the heavy feeling the bladder as you inched towards the road ahead, wondering if this isn't about a stalled car - more of a congestion the part of the intersection ahead.

Two lanes of cars are trying to squeeze into one to go northwards, plus another two more from the direction of the south, both squeezing further into two lanes as it passes in front of the mall you pass by everyday to and fro the office. Constructions of ramps and elevated intersections are being done, so a reduction in traffic flow is expected but this one was TOO MUCH!

Your expression of listening to Destiny's Child became , graduating into before slowly going into and ending up as , and as the very uncomfortable feeling in your bladder, squeezed by the zipper and belt became, painful.

I repeat, painful.
Painful.

An hour had passed and you've just reached the last 800 metres before the turning into your housing estate and traffic was at last, beginning to flow, albeit ultra slowly. The only difference is that it moves, instead of stop, hop, stop, stop, crawl, stop stop stop, crawl, stop - it became, stop, hop, stop, crawl, crawl, stop, stop, stop, crawl, stop.

Talk about progress.

And as you turn into the four lane-shrunk-into-two-because-of-construction-work km, you saw what was, the true reason for the problem.

2 km worth of traffic jam from the City (traffic City and Satellite Township merge at the toll plaza) + 2 km of traffic from the new township westwards + all the traffic going out the Mines (mall) was caused, by, a stalled bus, at one of the two ONLY lanes heading that direction. Oh, add the unusual amount of queue-cutting people from four directions.

That highway, called SILK is the only one going directly to Cheras, a densely populated suburb of KL.

Imagine a bus, reducing that two lanes of road into one.

You breathed heavily and prayed hard as sweat streamed down your temple, trying hard to relax as the bladder cries out for release, the pain becoming more and more pronounced by the second, the closer you get to home.

The second you made it through, you drove like a maniac down the highway and made a quick left turn into the housing estate, still managing to practice much patience as you negotiate the turns to avoid possible problems of knocking down dogs, and worst, people.

You reached home and shouted "Hosanna to the highest!!" as you parked the car and made your way out to get into the house. You stood up and felt the whole lower abdomen protesting in pain from an hour worth of stretching and contracting to keep the urine in.

Walking like a cowboy who'd just rode for 6 hours non-stop, you made your way, still, to the room to change and prepare for shower, before limping towards the bathroom.

The first sensation of letting the water flow out from the bladder was... heavenly. Never before have you felt so grateful that God gave you strong muscles in that area. Some credits to the DJ for playing songs with lots of drums and rolling ocean sounds.

As it empties, you looked up and grinned to yourself, knowing how it could have been worst : carrying a great bag of urine AND a major stomachache.

You knew you were the winner that day.

So what is pain?

Lost in time

2009-11-10T20:51:00.003+08:00

Ever had one of those days when you're simply numb? You know you are there but you know you are not either. The experience is quite surreal to say the least. There are two extremes, one illustrated on the day that disappeared for me, vanishing down time as one of those days that I simply do not remember. Perhaps I had a lucid dream that stretched into the day, ending only when I went back to sleep again that night. I wasn't too bothered by that particular occurrence of being here and nowhere at the same time seeing that the day that followed was a Friday leading into the weekend, which was most welcomed.

Today was one of the opposite side of the spectrum, where I know I am there and yet I was away. In simple terms it's almost like chatting on MSN Live Messenger with the 'Away' status active, a prove that I am present yet it showed that I'm not.

I had Carragher's autobiography to entertain me on the way to work this morning, his story about the fans' shenanigans in Japan had me grinning, much to the amusement of some of the people sitting nearby (and hopefully getting them curious about Liverpool in the process). I have always liked to read whilst waiting for something, be it the local daily or a good book. Was in 'panic' about what to do after finishing my friend's Angels & Demons as I was picky about the quality of reading; imagine committing the time and money to a book only to find it deflating in the middle of the story - there are times when I had to soldier through just because it would be unfair to judge an entire book based on one half of it, possibly missing a rousing ending at the end. The only major disappointment I had was with James Clavell's Gai-jin which was pretty forgettable amongst the masterpieces of Shogun, Noble House and Tai-pan. Fortunately for me his thickest (and most expensive) book, Whirlwind was a lot more interesting than I thought.

Getting the 9.10 release codenamed Karmic Koala of Ubuntu Linux had me purring like cat for the last couple of weeks due to its stability and bugfix from the disappointing 9.04 Jaunty Jackalope to the point that the OS actually perform and look sexy. There were minor problems with all releases of software but were quickly fixed by the community or through workarounds that soon became part of the knowledge accumulating in this brain of mind.

Liverpool drawing 2-2 against Birmingham at home against the backdrop of an already dire start to the season didn't affect me much though it was somewhat disappointing that last season's momentum never sustained but that's life. I followed this club for twenty years now - being disappointed is a part of life I have learned to accept, especially for something of little importance (at least to me) like this.

Towards noon time after a rather heavy conversation of sorts with a friend was when I felt the day drifting away as if I arrived in the future before the mind did. Lunch wasn't much of a fanfare - how could you at LG1 of the office - though I had some of my favourites on the plate such as kangkung in belacan as well as fried chicken. I bit into the morsels of food and found that I didn't really mind the atmosphere that much - being a smoking area et al - or the noise and the people walking by queuing up to get their lunch. Had a joke with the manager though I realised that my (IMO) quick wit was slower than it usually is.

Perhaps I was sleepy although I was sure I slept before midnight and woke up with enough rest, and yet as I struggled through with the VMWare installation, my mind was already pretty much elsewhere.

vmware-config.pl
(compilation messages)
(EULA)
...

I was adrift.

For once it felt like I was separated from the body, watching my body obey as I told it what to do. The occasional walks out of the room for a toilet or support call were done as with no thoughts occuring in the mind, just the body doing what it should.

Readers of this blog know that I have plenty to talk and think about, the questions are deep in nature, bordering on the controversial considering how spiritual we are in this country. My ex-girlfriend often said the one thing that people can't see is my mood - she could never guess what was actually in my mind from the face alone and often times from interaction either.

I feel that I'm an honest person. I try to avoid using lies to the point of causing myself problems. I lie pretty badly - one could tell that I'm fibbing so I do it very rarely, even a white lie. I like to be frank with people though I have learned to be honest 'enough' - using logic and sequence to tell something correctly, whilst allowing the other to either be satisfied with what they can tell or being misled with their own impatient judgment of a matter. At the end of the day, I did not lie and I did not mislead anybody.

I interacted and joked with my colleagues today as we discussed matters, from the price of airline tickets to the assignment of appointments for different products the company were carrying. My supervisor was giving me a heads up on what I was going to be picking up as well as some other unrelated matters. While I listened and I understood what he said, it registered in my mind as it should be I wasn't sure if I was really listening. See the weird thing there? It was as if he was talking to my physical person and I was observing myself listening to him.

I have always pride myself to be able to compartmentalise things depending on how important they are and looking at things from many angles without emotional influence but this was one that was taken in an absolutely numb manner. I know I should either be happy that I'm taking up something new or shake my head against it but I was simply away. I accepted what was spoken like an automaton, responding in the most mechanical of manners about my vague knowledge about the product.

"No Joe, this is Laura. Who is this Michelle? Hello? Hello?!".

I continued reading Carra on my way back, line by line, his thoughts about the current ownership problem at Anfield by revealing some intimate details of the ongoings that was sports news for weeks in the UK and world football and yet, whilst I remembered most of the things written including the very text his Blue mate Seddo sent regarding the issue, I find that I was not as immersed in it as I was in the morning. I was more conscious about the empty seats next to me, the set of train that brought some of us away from Sentral, the attractive woman sitting across from me and the slamming of the moving door on the end of the coach I was in due to faulty lock, than I was of Carragher regarding Benitez. I read but I did not read.

I stepped off the train at almost exactly 7.00 pm to the grey clouds that promised rain for the evening, wondering if I actually lived through this day as who I am, thinking that the best thing to happen would be to go back for a good shower, a dinner, a short writing session (this) and then bed to let the mind rest and regroup tomorrow.

I told my friend this morning - never regret a decision taken. I seemed to have forgotten how it felt to be asked the same question.

Whoa!

2009-11-08T15:53:00.000+08:00

Was just listening to the radio on my way out for lunch and a song got my attention. The singer was lamenting about her lover who is always absent. The laid back and mellow mood of the song was so 'alien', standing out like a sore thumb amongst the rock & roll, emo music that saturates the airwaves that it would seem inappropriate at all.

Came home googling for 'Bitterheart' and surprise, surprise - she's one of our own! OMG! At first I thought someone at the radio station had a nostalgic moment and put on a 60s-styled song. I thought it was a master touch as it certainly got me listening, as well as curious. I've always liked the slow music of the olden days for the relaxing mood that they bring, especially from the somewhat muffled speakers of old radio.

Zee Avi - Bitterheart

Truth is relative

2009-11-05T00:07:00.003+08:00

We all believe in many things - we as humans are the only creature on earth with a belief system, ranging from religion to philosophy. I don't place science as a belief system simply because it does not assume something unless it can be proven though some atheist like to twist this most basic tenet to suit their anti-God beliefs (the irony). Atheism is simply the belief that there is no god(s) - it absolutely does not translate to science.

Anyway, we are told, taught, informed of many things throughout our lives. Our first most important influences are the family, followed by our friends (and their friends), then school teachers, onwards to other people throughout our lives.

There things that happens to be true because they are - if you have one apple and you took one away, that leaves no apple. It's a fact. The Earth revolves around a sun in approximately 365 days. Gravity make things fall downwards.

Natural Law of the Universe - it's just the truth.

Then comes things that we perceive as true, most of the time, because it normally is - if one eats, it's because he's hungry. Most of the time, if not always, it's true. If the sky is filled with dark clouds, it most probably means it would rain some time soon, if not later. A man will die if he gets shot in the head but we have stories of people defying that inevitability.

Rule of the Thumb - things that follow a pattern that are not necessarily correct but most of time, are.

And my favourite and pretty much everybody's too, things that we think is true but is inconclusive because there is no way of knowing unless one is there when it happened. Truth pieced together from evidence that could have many different intepretations depending on what one's background, bias, prejudice, knowledge, upbringing etc.

It is this third category of 'truth' that we debate voraciously about, sing songs to, go to war over or starve to death to defend - things that cannot be proven to be truth but taken as truth because one believes in it.

From a scientific angle, it's utterly illogical. Why would one abandon the concept of 'survival of the fittest' to help the weak and needy? If someone is dead, it's because they died, end of story.

If anything, the above pretty much sums up life for humanity - the journey to discover the meaning of life itself. When life no longer have any meaning, people die. Reason becomes nothing, so existence becomes irrelevant.

Why are we here? No one can seriously answer beyond how it happened. We turn to the teachings of prophets, wise men and even lunatics to establish the reason to why one exists - even in this we differ in intepretation to the point where there is no one version that is better than the other.

It never ceases to amuse me whenever I hear anybody who using the 'authority of God' to justify their actions, regardless of whether I share the same faith as that person or not.

This position of mine has its roots in the problem of a person's ability to tell relative truths. For instance, if a person is on trial to answer to the charges of having committed a crime, his answers will depend on what he believe is true - if he lied, he's going to hell (in some cases he's probably already halfway there due to the crime itself); maybe he thinks the court or authorities have no jurisdiction over him because God 'mandates' him to or even because he was taking justice into his own hands.

So many combination of variables shaped by so many different kinds of environmental influnences - if we were all born the same, brought up the same then we can follow one clear and simple rule then things would be many, many times easier.

However, the fact is, truth is subjective.

I simply do not believe in 'God said so'. To be honest, if God were that easy to dissect and completely described in just the Torah, New Testament and the Koran, then we're overestimating our abilities to the point of being utterly arrogant - the direct opposite of what these holy scriptures are teaching us.

Millons, if not billions, of people lived through the ages at different eras in relative to these holy texts and it is absolutely impossible for every single one of them to have learned the same thing and arrived at the same conclusion. I need only find one proof of this and the argument is made baseless.

If you were born into a Jewish family, you are more likely than not be brought up a Jew, believe in the Torah and proclaim it to be the absolute truth. What if he were born Hindu or Muslim? Would that mean the truth from the Torah is now false? Says who? And how do you prove that? 'Because God said so' is a lousy, if not ridiculous response. 'Because the holy texts said God said so'. Ok, so who wrote the books? '... it is inspired truth'. By? 'By God'. Says who? 'The holy texts'. And who transcribed them? 'People inspired by God'. Ah, so how did we know God inspired them? 'Because God said so, in the book'.

Ok.

I am in no way saying that the teachings in the holy books are false - rather I am questioning that the holy books are the only truth there is about the Universe, more so about God. When one fervently puts his own beliefs above others as the only truth, that is when I stop listening.

If anything I'm more spiritual than I am religious. Whilst being brought a Catholic, I am actually closer to that of a non-denominational now than I was in the past after being exposed to different type of cultures and people from different backgrounds. I still believe that abortion is wrong though and that the salvation of the human soul is not by faith alone, but I don't think that's the whole picture. I'm willing to bet that not a single one even the most fervent Catholics would be guaranteed a place in Heaven for following the New Testament to the letter. If there's a 'heaven' that is. If that is what 'heaven' actually is supposed to mean.

I don't argue there is no God though - I would argue that an omnipotent Creator exists because it is necessary. I could even argue this point using scientific methods but would ultimately be futile - the argument, not the idea that God exists - simply because there is no way to prove it. It's technically not possible because no one can quantify God like we can Creation, so there is no scope to measure God to. We can only do so through evidence of his existence in Creation. I am of the belief that this is true because I think it is true based on what I believe - via evidence - that God exists and is necessary for existence.

Politics is one other topic apart from belief system that fall into this category. Growing up during the Cold War would probably have some believing in the American propaganda of democracy crucifying communism as evil. Those who don't bother to actually learn about what communism stands would view the Soviet Union as a bunch of godless people who are waging war against the world to subdue humanity in a hegemony.

I'm not defending communism by the way. I certainly don't agree with the 'opiate for the masses' idea but there are times I do think that it applies perfectly to groups who believe that they were carrying out atrocities against their neighbours in the name of God.

"What good is democracy to an empty stomach?", a statesman once quoted. "War is not about who is right, but who is left", a play of words that signify that winning a war doesn't justify the victor's position. "History is written by the victors", is another oft-quoted line. "A government is ruled by those who are present", meaning that the composition of the authorities make up the government.

Churchill once commented that all forms of governance are crap, with democracy being the least lousiest of them all. Whilst it opens up the nation's administration to the representative - the people - it also allows some of the undesirable elements to take root; extremism, bigotry, intolerance. Not a single government in the world is immune to this. Even in dictatorships you have people below him or her whom would be more than happy to take over when the opportunity arises, be it in a legal or non-legal manner.

And politics being what it is - the art of public relationships and persuasion - can never be ascertained as absolutely true unless one is directly involved in it. One's bias will immediately push him or her towards one end of the spectrum with little room in the middle for compromise - that party is either the best there is or absolutely untrustworthy. Being the game played with the people's mind and hearts, rumours are without doubt one of the main medium of dissemination of truth, half-truths and outright lies - depending on how good the person who are responsible for this dissemination of information, one might not be able to tell the difference, so they rely on their prejudice and and set minds to do so, inevitably if not accidentally, bringing about the wrong conclusion in relative to the actual truth.

I have always loved to quote the following to illustrate the reason not to take everything you read, see or hear at face value:

If a lie is repeated enough, it will become true.
If a story is repeated enough, it might eventually end up different in the end.

So personally, I have been picking splinters off my backside from sitting on the fence and adopting a pretty useful method in dealing with things like these - I'll believe it when I see it.

So the next time somebody shrugs quietly in dismissing what is an opinion in contrary to their own beliefs, be it physically or meta-physically, think again. While it's not wrong to stand at the position of disagreement, it is wrong to consider oneself non-disagreeable.

Especially when you can't prove it.

What matters more?

2009-11-01T15:10:00.002+08:00

I often ask the question above from many angles, especially when it comes to discussing about something that is as important as in law & regulations.

First of all, be it the book of Genesis or not, humanity were created with this thing called 'freedom of choice'. A person can choose to do whatever he wants regardless of what others think for the reason that it is a personal choice. Whilst the atheists would consider this an anti-thesis of having an omnipotent Creator with control over the our lives, the fact remains that we are free to do whatever we want. God could've just stopped Adam from consuming the Forbidden Fruit and stop all the madness from unfurling since He knows what would happen yet Adam ate it anyway, for the reason that God gave him and honoured one of the most important gifts that defines humanity - freedom of will.

Without freewill, we will all be wearing the same clothes, eat the same things, say the same things, believe in the same things - a society of robots bereft of sentient AI will display this characteristic. Music will be a waste of time since they cause one to devote precious mental faculties to listening and admiring something intangible. Design of houses would be that of boxes bearing the colours of their material because beauty doesn't translate to function. Fashion doesn't exist - wasting precious fabric is unacceptable.

To me law & regulations were gazetted with the idea that they will keep society in order by encouraging goodwill amongst its citizens while deterring unwanted behaviour and at the same time ensure that everybody is treated with respect and fairness. They were created to ensure personal responsibility over the practice of free will in what is considered universally accepted norms of rights.

You are free to murder anybody you want. Just remember that the laws of the country that you commit this act might require you to die in exchange for this action. And do not forget about the lifelong grief and anger of the people important to the person you are murdering as well as the disappointment and the tears falling from those of your own as the executioner pulls the lever to open the trapdoor below you.

Are you willing to be responsible for the above? If you're not, don't do it.

Long story short, Beyonce's recently banned concert because some quarters thought she won't be able to stay within 'acceptable moral boundaries' when performing made me wonder which is more important - looking the part or doing the part?

'Pre-empting sin'. Beyonce's (rather well endowed) cleavage would cause the society to engage in sex between unmarried people, her suggestive dancing causing men to get lusty and rape women, her steamy songs causing women to go slutty.

I would like to know if the above aren't already happening without Beyonce herself stepping onto our shores. Why not ban the Internet since it's porn haven? How about imposing nation-wide curfews to make sure that nobody unmarried can meet and possibly have any chance of going to bed together?

I'm greatly insulted to branded as stupid to the point that I would become immoral from watching and listening to Beyonce (or any other musical artistes out there). Men would be fascinated with breasts as long as they exist, women would forever make love to men until the end of times, children will forever be produced regardless of whether a sexy artiste struts her stuff on the stage or not.

Boobs, the bane of humanity.

If I were to become immoral it would be because I chose to, not because somebody told me to.

Stepping through the door

2009-11-01T14:38:00.002+08:00

I will be the first to admit that I suck at giving advice in regards to making choices. Unless the options are far different from another in terms of pros and cons, I'm clueless on what to recommend. This only apply to things that are important though, especially decisions that can have life-changing consequences. Dilemma over what colour of a car to get or wearing what to the party next week will get quick, straight answers from me simply because they are that - subjective and not the very least, important.

A friend recently looked to change her job because of career reasons; she was simply not doing what she should be doing at this stage of life in relation to her profession, creating what she described as an atmosphere of dissatisfaction and in some aspects, job insecurity. When offered jobs at two different places, she asked me what I thought about them in comparison to the current work.

To be honest I must be as frustrating as hell to not be able to give clear answers for the reason that I believe this is one decision that she had to do herself. Personally I felt the urge to just get her to accept the new job and forget the past but common sense cautioned me on doing so for the reason that I would be stepping away from one thing that I have always told others not to do - predicting the future.

What if the new job turned out worst than what it is right now?
What if the current job took a turn for the better and went on from strength to strength?

There's always the calm before a storm.
Or the golden sky at the end of the storm.
Or a storm in a teacup.

Whilst I know I cannot be responsible for a decision taken by others, I know it can just as much be my fault for pushing the issue.

I was gloomed for a moment of time for the reason that being in knowledge of friends in such predicaments can sometimes be related to some that I myself have been through. I know how uncomfortable the feeling of being unsure about something so important can eat into one's mood. Whilst we should all be professional when it comes to discharging our duties, only those with hearts made of cold, lifeless steel can carry on without being affected in any way.

And not a single one of us were born with cold, lifeless steel hearts.

All the best at your new job, mon amie.

Can you hear me

2009-10-25T14:55:00.007+08:00

The other day my brother asked me about the MSN display picture I used - an Oriental-looking girl with brownish hair smiling into the camera, presumably curious about her identity and if this were the face of a 'family potential'. Akhem, suffice to say it ended as a disappointment as I explained that it were that of a pretty talented member of a popular Korean girl group called Girls Generation (SNSD).

I don't quite remember how I came to know SNSD except that it was through another group, the even more popular Wonder Girls. My ex-colleague and I were then looking at a bunch of Youtube videos whilst waiting for time to pass before our weekly ritual of mamak-football and came upon a group of traffic policemen doing the famous 'Tell Me' dance with a kid. SNSD were part of the guests to the show and via some snippets of their music and video, I got curious and began searching for other videos.

As with most Korean girl groups they sang standard fare bubblegum pop with occassional sprinkles of R&B stuff (with the exception of the very talented SeeYa) but one voice from the nine of the members caught my attention: it was slightly huskier but a lot more powerful, standing out as a big contrast to the rest of the softer sounding ones.

A quick research on Google Images and Wikipedia revealed her to be Kim Taeyeon 김태연, the group leader. Further listening to the rest their music confirmed my opinion of her as the brightest star in the group of nine. Perhaps she's not the best looking of them all but is no way average by comparison and the talent in singing simply blew the rest of the competition away with perhaps two others coming close whom can sing pretty well themselves - American-born Jessica 정수연 and SeoHyun 서주현.

What actually impressed me the most was when she did two solos songs, both for Korean dramas that I've never bothered to watch. The first was If (만약에 Mananghe) made for the drama Hong Gil Dong 쾌도 홍길동. Read the comments at Youtube to see how impressed everybody was with her solo debut.

Then came a polished effort from the drama that is currently being shown on 8TV Malaysia - Beethoven Virus - a song called Can You Hear Me (들리나요 Deullinayo).

(Funnily enough I heard this song playing whilst my cousin and his girlfriend were watching next door, with me in the toilet doing some log export business...)

Here's looking forward to more in the future.

Meow meow

2009-10-13T08:58:00.000+08:00

Like most residential neighbourhoods out there you have cats. They are either pets owned by the house owners or strays that roam the streets. You can identify some of them by how they look - those with full hair of fur or look generally healthy normally have the care of masters or mistresses, whilst the more 'war-wearied', especially those with stubs for tails might normally be strays or feral, having been in fights with other tomcats or even dogs.

There's a trio of kitties that usually hang around the vicinity of my area - a white Persian with blue eyes and an orange mackerel tabby, both belong to the house opposite mine. Both seem to like to hang around the pillar of the gate, looking intently at this large furless ape and getting ready to scoot at any sign of danger, even if this ape was opening the gate and walking away. The Persian had a bell on its neck with blue collar, similar to the one on Doraemon, enhancing the azure shade of its crystaline eyes. The orange one had nothing else on except its own fur which was just as lush and healthy as its white friend.

Before the owners lined the bottom half of the gate with chicken wire the tabby would normally use my sandal as its favourite sitting place during rainy days, resulting in a rather... wet, squishy and not to mention warm sensation when I step onto it. Yeah, it feels as bad as it sounds.

The other night the tabby sat outside its owner's house, mewing sadly whilst sitting with a slight hunch, glancing at me as I walked by and then back at the house again. I wondered if it was calling for its friend or at the house owner to let it in. I was tempted to go and give it a hand - I actually stood there looking at it for a good minute or so before thinking about how it might be real thirsty or hungry with the feeding saucer in the car porch just over the other side. Then again I resisted the temptation go pick up and deposit the pussycat over the gate.

(Strangely enough if it could climb its way out, surely the cat can climb its own way in? The next day it was inside the gates, looking back at with its eyes heavily lidded like the average cat)

There's that grey mackerel tabby that I gave the nickname of 'Tiger' for the reason that it was pretty imposing - the skull of the cat itself is probably 10% or so larger than that of an average cat and its torso proportionally larger. Unlike the other two, Tiger was fearless - it doesn't flinch when I walk by, walking imperiously at the side without even acknowledging me. At times it would sit below the car for warmth (or shade on hot days), movingly leisurely away only after I start the engine. It carries the brooding look that matches its stub of a tail, like the patriarch of the pride of kitties.

Which is my favourite?

The Persian is a little too trim and scaredy (...) to me. Sure it's beautiful, my housemate once dub it 'Snow White' for the pureness of the fur but I find that to be a problem seeing that it would probably be a waste to get it dirty. Furthermore, it runs away at the slightest hint of me coming close, making the problem of approaching it well difficult. Still, its nice to see from afar, especially when its blue eyes sparkle in the light.

Tiger is out of the question as it has the look of 'mess with me and you will die in your sleep', the non-chalance of the alley's boss cat. I could actually imagine its fangs embedded into my hands if I as much as touch its ears. Still, it might not be a pretty as the Persian but I admire its aura of strength. From a perspective it actually reminds me of myself - I happen to look like an arrogant bastard to everybody at first impression, and I don't get fussed easily by the simplest and common of things in life unless it happens to be important. I had my fair share of life's scars like everybody does and appreciates Tiger not running away at my presence like the other two. It definitely doesn't come to rub around your legs like other friendlier cats would which mirrors what I feel about being territorial.

Which brings us to the orange tabby - we shall call him (or her) Orange. Orange is a small balance of both - its fur is a flamboyant mix of bright orange and calm white. Whilst its still pretty jumpy, it would actually sit at the pillar without moving until I actually get too close, normally staying there (eyes trained on this big threat) if I walk away. There were times that I would just stand there at the gate, locking eyes with Orange, wondering what it was thinking.

I would love to have my own Orange but I wouldn't know if I can care for it as well as Orange's owner does - the last cat we had for pets were two black tuxedo cats that look like Sylvester (minus the yellow canary) and all they didn't really need any help (they scoot off for the day, returns for meals, disappears again) but I'm certain for it to grow healthy with a lush coat of fur would require more than just normal food - grooming, visits to the vet, pet food etc - all of which I'm not sure I'm capable of giving.

As for now all I can do is to look at Orange from over the gate, admiring and envying its owner for having a furball to dig their fingers in and stroke, hearing the sweet sound of purring as it lays down lazily on the couch watching soap opera (or whatever junk that's on the telly nowadays). Sure, a cat might not give you undivided attention like a dog does but that's how I like it - it goes and entertain itself, comes back occassionally to renew the master-pet relationship - never clingy.

Purrrrrrrr...

I can almost see Mom smirking and saying that it would be better to go focus my affection at homo sapien females instead of freaking fur on paws, but hey, you can't hurry lurve...

-

Sorry to hear about Mawi, Dik. You'll get a new pussycat soon enough.

Starry, starry night

2009-10-11T02:15:00.000+08:00

One of the things I like to do when I was a kid was to climb out of the room window onto the roof just to sit down and look at the stars. Back then the are outside the back of the house was secondary forest of which some bit of the area were cleared to plant stuff. My parents and the neighbours spent their free time planting vegetables and fruits, most notably banana trees and yam.

The lack of artificial lighting would mean that the whole area would be in darkness as there were no buildings within view except for the medical lab located long the road - the area were not as developed then as now. Whenever the moon is high up in the skies of a clear night the area would be bathed in serene bluish-white lunar radiance.

My favourite though, is when the curtain of night is punctured with countless stars, their faint celestial lights blinking from the heavens. Being on the roof gave me a sweeping view of the sky, vaguely lid into a shade of dark blue.

I often ponder about life then - me myself and I, and the Universe. The stars in the skies got me thinking about my place in this thing called Creation. I am such a small thing, so minute that by comparison to everything out there I'm such an insignificant speck. Line us all up and I wouldn't even be microscopic - I'd be invisible. Have me terminated and it won't look any different.

It's funny when you think that (existence of aliens non-withstanding), this little speck of fragile carbon-based life form is the most intelligent thing in the Universe, potentially (read that as many times as possible until you get my angle) the only living thing out there that is sentient. And if that much is true, then we're truly special indeed. I am special, you are special, he is special, she is special.

So special that sometimes one would gladly give up the world for the hope of achieving or to keep something as they were. The police put their lives in the line of fire to ensure that others don't have to. A mother would shield her children with her own back from the upcoming danger. A brother would gladly give up his food to feed a younger sister. A soldier would gladly run into the thick of battle in hope that what he does will keep his wife and family safe.

As I look up to ancient illuminations from globes of fire that might no longer be there anymore, there's a humbling feeling that as humans, we're not the mightiest - a single comet hurtling dirty ice to earth would annihilate most if not all of mankind - but we have the ability to try, because we can. A beaver would continue to build dams regardless of what CNN reports of incoming cataclysm, dung beetles would continue to do their part is breaking down compost, whales would continue to nurse their cow in the sea.

Pity I couldn't relive the habits of a childhood anymore of climbing out the window to the roof - an incident of burglary in our neighbour's house got everybody spooked that metal grills were installed to bar any kind of entrance (and exit) without keys.

Furthermore houses were now built in the are that used to be the secondary forest - so more lights now fill the night than before, making it all the harder to see anything so vague in the night sky.

"There was a complaint from next door about you standing on the roof".

Hmm...

2009-09-29T04:28:00.000+08:00

Jojo, you're probably right - all this 'being intellectual (duh)' thingy is probably not good in the long run - I'm up at 4.00 am typing that long winded entry that many probably won't bear to read beyond paragraph number three anyway, having to wake up at four hours later...

Had trouble staying awake at 10.30 pm I crashed on the oh-so-cool bed and dozed up until 1.00 am. There's really something about me and the night - I am most creative in the wee hours of the morning when it's just me, the keyboard, the hum of the table fan and the darkness outside the window...

Looking back in anger

2009-09-29T04:17:00.001+08:00

We like to sit back and look at things that happen and try to reason, most especially if it's something that mattered to us or something that is significant enough to warrant a reflection on the purpose of the event that occurred. Sometimes it's to justify something we did to comfort ourselves, or at times a reminder that we're probably not in total control of our destinies as we like to think.

I don't normally sit back to think in hindsight if something does have a significance in terms of meaning. There are times when something does actually make me wonder if it served as a warning about the danger of the direction that I'm going, most especially if it were something that affects the lives of people.

My second brother's passing in 1999 woke me up somewhat to the reality of life and my place in the family. Before then I took much for granted - whilst I did enjoy a good relationship with my parents, I never looked at them in the same light again after that tragedy. Whilst I still slack when it comes to calling home, I do feel happier to know my folks are enjoying themselves in retirement and were doing fine at home safe from the hustle bustle of the city.

Mom normally calls this hiao3 xiong3 in Hakka that meant empathy and knowing the consequences pf one's actions. On another perspective it meant maturing and understanding oneself being a part of a life bigger than your own. When you're capable of putting yourself in their shoes - labouring daily to feed the children, dealing with work, the joy of success and bitter taste of disappointment - you tend to appreciate them better for the patience the have for having to put up with the kind of inevitable idiocy that comes along with being a growing kid.

Was my brother's death a wake up call from God that I was walking down the wrong path et al? Did He take him away to spare my parents continuous anguish and hell of watching one of their beloved child suffer?

To be honest, nobody knows. We can only speculate and reflect but perhaps that is the reason. Maybe. It doesn't help with the fact the the Big Man upstairs doesn't give you straight answers like in an email or telegram.

The above examples would warrant time outs to think back on life and gather our ideas on what is going on, especially with the era of multitasking that inevitably multiplies the amount of things we need to think about and shaving away the important personal dialogue with ourselves that is the most brutally honest, if not enlightening. For an introvert like me, we tend to cherish off days like weekends a lot for the personal time that it gives us to catch our breaths.

On the other hand, many things are simply not worth looking back and wondering about considering that they have already happened and nothing short of divine intervention will allow one to change it and inevitably affect the current. 'What ifs' can be a bad thing if it overwhelms the person with regret, anchoring them to the past that the future cannot come.

I have many friends who like to look back at their past and sulk on it, thinking that things might have been better if they have taken the other path. Like everybody, we're all affected by things that define humanity - love & relationships, career, finance et al. Whilst we don't dwell on the petty things, I too wonder at times what it would've been like if I did things different then, decided on something else instead of what brought me here as I am right now.

However, that's where I draw the line. I stop many paces before regret simply for the reason that I believe there is not much of a benefit in regretting something. Sure, feel bad for that crappy decision you made that cost something important to slip away or a chance at good luck that came and went without being claimed - but I anchor myself back with the feeling that it would've happened the way it is even I made the other decision simply for the reason that there is no guarantee that something will happen the way you intend it to.

Life is an intricate fabric made of many threads that will affect one another - tug this part of the cloth and you will move more than just one of the interwoven strings. Similarly, tug too much and it might no longer return to the shape it used to be. What is within our hands is what coloured threads we would like to weave the fabric with and how long do we want that thread to run.

If there's anything certain about life is that we all make mistakes alongside the good regardless of how perfect one's life is (oh how boring it is to have a perfect life) and it would serve more purpose to learn from those errors in judgement and move on instead of stubbornly clinging to the point when those decisions were made because the choice had already been made.

What is lost is lost, there is no turning back the clock. Unless one is presented the second chance to make amends, we should pick ourselves up and walk on, worrying about the present being that it's the only thing we can influence right now and leave the past where it belongs - the past.

I suppose the other thing that is hard to do is to be honest with ourselves about the past. Accepting that we screwed up is something even the most realistic person about the world can't do easily - I myself have trouble accepting that the fault is mine especially the fault is shared by many - but I do accept that it's all mine if it clearly is mine alone. I mean, what's the point of fighting against all the incriminating evidence that points your way?

Reminiscing about the old times is not the same as looking back in anger - they are different in the context of one's mindset; one accepts the past as it is - the past, whilst the other refuses to do so. Sure, it hurts at times to look back and think of how differently it would've have been but that's the past.

Sometimes things just happen.
Simply because.
No reason.

It might sound like an excuse to say the above but realistically speaking unless you're absolutely sure of whatever the reason something happens, there really isn't any.

I'm not speaking about things such rain - it rained because of precipitation - that follows the Natural Law of the universe - science. There is reason for winds - hot air rises whilst cold air sinks, creating moving air.

Asking why do we see lightning before the roar of thunder is not the same as asking why some people die young or why some are born into poverty whilst other have silver spoons in their mouths.

"Forrest, you have to do your best what God has given you. Be brave Forrest, be brave in everything you do. Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you gonna get", said Mrs Gump to Forrest on her deathbed.

Very aptly put, Mrs Gump.

-

Well Forrest isn't as 'stupid as stupid does' either:

“I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze. But I think maybe it's both. Maybe both are happening at the same time".

Global citizen

2009-09-24T03:42:00.005+08:00

A friend and I once had a chat about our languages and it inevitably moved towards racist topics that will remain private between the both us. One of the thing she asked me in some degree of surprise was my lack of 'racism'.

"Are you not at least a little bit racist?".

One of the main triggers for this viewpoint is the appearance of a question that is repeated quite often in political alignment questionaires that I like to partake in that goes like this:

'It is foolish to be proud of your nationality as you cannot choose where you're born'.

The answer to that question is suitably one of a range of agree/disagreements between 1 to 5, 1 being th strongly agree and the other end strongly disagree. My answer to that was a 3 - neither agree nor disagree.

I like to apply that question to things such as race as well, which would make it sound like this:

'It is foolish to be proud of your racial ancestry as you cannot choose into what racial family you're born'.

I'm a firm 'Strongly Agree' for this one.

I'm a 3rd generation Malaysian Chinese - great grandfather was from China, his son born here and my dad after him. I was brought up in Chinese values and could speak 4 Chinese dialects including Mandarin.

That is where it ends.

I see no reason to have any kind of affinity to the country of my ancestry, China. I feel no support for China when they have their representatives in international tournaments. I don't feel the need to applaud the Chinese for sending a taikonaut into space and neither do I think they're amazing for being the most populous nation in the world. I have pretty much no reaction to local chinese who kept harping about China becoming the biggest economy on Earth or the military might of its army.

Big deal.

It would be an actual big deal if I were a businessman or the economic policy maker of the country as the market of China is so big, it would be foolish to ignore the potential. In this sense we're already talking business and economics, not race.

Furthermore what benefit is there for me to be proud of 'motherland' China anyway? The CCP have no idea I even exist, I don't receive any kind of perk for being born into a family sharing the same cultural values as those there, neither would it make any difference to my life now if they won the Thomas Cup. Who freaking cares if Vietnamese were descended of the Chinese.

Big deal.

I enjoy Chinese New Year for the chance to go home and meet the family annually. The family matters to me, not the festival itself. The celebrations allow gives everybody the reason to get together for a yearly reunion, an agreed period of holiday so that we can all spend some time catching up with one another. What is Chinese New Year without the family - I learned this the hard way twice away from my hometown - so I make it a point to confirm my tickets early for that eagerly anticipated flight home - to meet the family.

So when it comes to racial discussions - being of chinese ancestry et al - I find it pretty cringeworthy when people start to put down others different from them just because they were 'fortunate' enough to be born in a family that traced its ancestry to the great emperors of the Middle Kingdom.

What if the positions were reversed?
How is he or she going to defend that?

I love the 'what ifs'.

Throughout my association with people from all sorts of background I learn the truth about judging a person - their actions. This is where the playing field is level (or pretty much) - we can choose to do something or don't.

To me Guy A who worked hard to build his life with honest work is always better than the Guy B who bums around.

There is no such thing as a superior or inferior race. There are only individuals and what they do is the thing of which they should be judged upon, not societal stereotypes made up by people who probably don't spend much time knowing others but their own kind anyway. You know, rumours are sexier than truth most of the time and even 'truth' can differ from one person to another.

Besides, there are many ugly things from the perspective of China's history that seems to automatically disappear as if it never happened, some times glossed over as a 'requirement' or 'greater good' in hindsight.

Yea, it's also because history is written by the victors.

I prefer to become a global citizen and enjoy Korean music, read the excerpts of Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat, joke around with Scousers of Liverpool, debate about the Middle East with a Jew, watch Hanamichi Sakuragi go 'tensai reboundo king!' in the Slam Dunk! anime, leaf through James Clavell's Asian Saga, discuss Subway with an American, eat tandoori chicken from the local mamak etc.

It would be downright boring to be 'just Chinese'.

My choice

2009-09-24T02:52:00.000+08:00

The world would be a very boring place if we have to conform to certain 'standards' for things that are by all means subjective, nein?

I mean, wouldn't it be boring if everybody:

wore the same clothes
sport the same hairdo
look the same
talk the same way
like the same things
believe in the same things
do the same things

I don't drink, that much is true. The most I'd do is rice wine in cooking and no more than Anglia Shandy for leisure drinking for many reasons, one being that I have very low alcohol tolerance and most importantly, I didn't like it. It's not I like I've never tried and tested them - bit of Martell, Heineken, Carlsberg, wine, chocolate liquor - none of which I liked at all. Even if I can 'train' myself to take more alcohol, it still wouldn't help that I simply don't like it.

My friends look at me like I just said something in Arabic when they offer me a drink, asking in the most frank of manner of 'why?' I don't drink, as if something is greatly wrong for refusing. I know how nice it is to drink - you feel all warm and fuzzy, feel good and are light headed - I suppose the question is why would I not like something that is so good like this.

I have no problems with others drinking - imbibe all you want baby - but I do have problems if they end up getting alcohol intoxication or drink to the point of swimming in their own vomit. Is it worth paying so much for glasses and glasses of beer only to have it come out of your mouth at the end? I find it criminal waste when it could be put to better use, for example the month's phone bill. And even if one is filthy rich, that's still no reason to do something just because 'everybody does it'.

I have always find no issues to reject or dislike something that appeals to most people - it's not like I feel great to be different, just that I feel it's better to be true to myself than to become what people expect of in the sense of things as subjective as personal preferences. Respect what I like/dislike and I'll do the same for you.

In short, I don't have to follow what you do. I don't have to.

The same goes for things such as faith - I have no qualms about people professing a different religion - even discuss it with me, I'm open. Just don't force your dogma on me, then we'll have a great time exchanging ideas. Ridicule what I believe when you can't substantiate your own is when I start to get a bit nasty. In fact I even like to engage atheists in their 'there is no God' evangelism (the irony...) as long as it is academic - not an avenue to rubbish me for being on the opposite side of the spectrum.

The next time I say no to a drink, I did so because I didn't want to.

My own choice.

Fate, destiny or fate?

2009-09-06T15:48:00.006+08:00

Is there such a thing as destiny?

A topic as old as humanity, we all like to leave everything to fate. The only problem is that nobody apart from God himself knows what will happen. Really, we know what can happen but what will happen?

A colleague asked me the other about my opinion regarding this thing called 'fate'. My pedantic brain was on full alert then, stating that fate and destiny are not the same thing although many people like to interchange them. If you mean 'fate' as in the perspective of the future, then they are the same thing. If you mean 'fate' as something that has happened, they are very different things altogether.

I suppose she was asking me from the aspect of the past, my answer was simply: "There is no such as fate".

They were stunned for a moment knowing that I profess the faith of one of the people of the holy books but would give such an answer than contradicts it.

Or seems to contradict it.

My explanation was that what is called 'fate' in the past tense is actually 'hindsight' ie. understanding the nature of an event after it has happened. As humans we don't know if something will happen until it happens. There are signs of things happening in the logical sense if the conditions are met but will not have happened until it actually happened. Was it fate that the Lehmann Brothers were to collapse in one of the biggest financial meltdown at Wall Street in the years? If it were so why even bother setting up the business eh?

Similarly, she gave me her own opinion which was fully agreeable IMO : she would get married and give birth to three children, that in the sense that was fate from the her viewpoint looking back in time.

A younger lady whom was part of the discussion spoke about 'fate' in the future tense that the cogs of destiny are already turning in place and will come to be as stated in the Book of Life, with God as the chief architect.

I replied that in God's perspective, yes there is a 'fate'. But from our own perspective, there isn't, for the reason that we exist only in the present and tomorrow only exists when it happens, whilst the past is already past. If anything the past is the only thing that we know is true.

Was it 'fate' that I had nasi kandar for lunch today? In hindsight, yes because I did have nasi kandar for lunch. But if I actually went for economy rice instead, wouldn't that fate be absolutely wrong then? If so, doesn't it mean fate doesn't exist since it doesn't happen until it happens? Oh, then the argument is rewritten that it was fate that I had economy rice for lunch, all of which can't be down to fate simply for the reason that I could also have had a laksa for lunch.

With so many branches of choice, surely I'm not fixed to having {food item here} until I know what I actually consumed for lunch? Heck I might even puasa out of sheer laziness on a Sunday afternoon...

השם האל

2009-09-06T15:41:00.005+08:00

Every time I hear or read the words "it's God's will", I get someone annoyed.

This might raise eyebrows of people who knows me as I'm known to believe in the existence of a personal omnipresent, omnipotent God from which all of Creation began. I even spend time arguing His existence through logic - yes, it is very possible if not mandatory - with a bunch of atheists on an Internet forum. I truly believe in the existence of a Creator.

It probably sounded like blasphemy to get annoyed with "God's will" but that would be twisting the actual issues I had with that seemingly proper word of acceptance of a greater Power's control over the universe.

The main problem I had with the simple three words of submission to God's will is the abuse of it.

How many times have you heard of people who sat back and did nothing whilst watching something they could prevent from happening, muttering "it's God's will"? I shook my head whilst reading about a little girl in US who died from illness because her parents decided to rely solely on God's will, praying religiously that she will miraculously be healed because of their unshakable faith. Instead finding her medical help, they prayed and prayed. And she died.

This reminded me of the popular acronym amongst evangelists: P.U.S.H. - "pray until something happens". Until everything is out of your hands, it's bollocks. I am not preaching that the faithful should defy the will of God and abandon faith.

What I'm saying is that it becomes your will that something happens when it is still within your powers to influence it. It is only "God's will" when you have done all you can and it still failed.

That, is actual God's will.

The above turns from sad to terrifying once you mate "God's will" with self-righteousness. Religious extremists like to quote "it's God's will" at everything that they do to justify the act, be it good or absolutely ludicrous. "Doing God's work" is just as popular, especially when it comes to forcing their own interpretation of faith in God upon others.

It is God's will that almost 3000 people died on September 11th, 2001 when two planes crashed into the World Trade Centre?

The hell it is. It is the will of madmen and the hijackers who flew the plane into the towers, committing mass murder of not just people but the souls of the loved one who died that day. It was the will of God to those who fought back on the planes though as documented from phone conversations moments before the jets crashed into the symbol of world capitalism - they tried to prevent it, they failed. It is definitely not the "will of God" to those who murdered the pilots and flew them all into oblivion.

What happened to the all-important freedom of will granted to Man? God could've stopped Adam from eating the Forbidden Fruit since He knew the outcome of it being Omnipresent et al, but He allowed it to happen anyway. Adam chose to eat the forbidden fruit. He could've said "no, thanks" to the Serpent but he did anyway.

God don't make knives to stab people; people make knives stab people.

It's never your fault, man

2009-09-06T14:32:00.002+08:00

Personal responsibility is outdated and unfashionable.

I mean why should you blame yourself for screwing up when there are other people to shoulder the blame, regardless of how shallow it is. It won't make you feel any better by being the 'hero' and to carry the burden of fault caused by yourself when you can make someone else suffer for your behalf.

When a man accidentally crashes into the divider whilst driving at breakneck speeds on the freeway, why blame it on himself? The car was obviously of poor build that it can't handle simple swerves at high speeds. Perhaps it's even the highway contractor's fault for putting that curve exactly right at that point to cause him to drive into it. At 165kmph. On a rainy night. After a drinking session out with friends. Hey, blame his friends too for 'forcing' him to drink.

When a student failed her exams at school, immediately the parents stood lke collossus over the principal and teacher, demanding explanation on why she didn't pass with flying colours as they expected. When explained that she does not pay attention to class, likes to skip classes to go to the mall with like-minded friends and copy homework instead of doing them herself, the parents goes into defensive mode by saying that its the quality of education that sucks causing her to not feel the motivation to learn. They should have spoonfed her with everything she needed to know to pass the exams so that she would have plenty of attention to dedicate to endless tuitions and piano class. Obviously it was the school's fault that she didn't score straight As compared to her hardworking other classmates. The school 'forced' her to accept mediocrity as something 'OK'.

Oh if your car gets scratched because you double-parked along a narrow and busy street, it's the other driver's fault too as it's your right to park wherever you want. Do not hesitate to stare at the eyes of the guy whose car (and his hot girlfriend) your were blocking from coming out from the parking bay for disturbing your leisure time of slow dining at an adjacent block. You were 'forced' to double-park because his car was there first.

And of course, do not even think about blaming yourself for being poor because the authorities won't give you the money to sit on your backside all day long, won't lift a finger to look for a job or take classes to improve your knowledge and put it to beneficial use - whilst money is filled into your bank account with no strings attached. You were 'forced' to be poor because money won't rain from the sky, hence it's God's fault as well. Oh and God owes you all the RM10 you spend every week at the lottery syndicate, forcing you to skip meals because you weren't winning anything. Screw the gods and spirits you petitioned at the shaman whom you wasted money on for the winning number of the week.

Blaming others is the in thing now, don't become outmoded!

Whoever finds this

2009-09-02T09:02:00.001+08:00

Whoever Finds This, I Love You!
Mac Davis, 1970

On a quiet street in the city a little old man walks along.
Shuffling through the Autumn afternoon.
And the Autumn leaves reminded him another summer's come and gone.
He had a long, lonely night ahead waitin' for June.
Then among the leaves near an orphan's home a piece of paper caught his eye,
And he stooped to pick it up with trembling hands.
And as he read the childish writing, the old man began to cry,
'Cause the words burned inside him like a flame.

CHORUS

"Whoever finds this, I love you!"
"Whoever finds this, I need you!"
"I ain't even got no one to talk to!"
"So, Whoever finds this, I love you!"

The old man's eyes searched the orphan's home,
And came to rest upon a child with her nose pressed up against the window pane.
And the old man knew he'd found a friend, at last,
So he waved at her and smiled.
And they both knew they'd spend the winter laughing at the rain.

And they did spend the summer laughing at the rain, talking through the fence, exchanging little gifts they'd made for each other. The old man would carve toys for the little girl, and she would draw pictures for him of beautiful ladies surrounded by green trees and sunshine, and they laughed alot. But then on the first day of June, the little girl ran to the fence to show the man a picture she had drawn, BUT HE WASN'T THERE! And somehow, the little girl knew he wasn't coming back. So she went back to her little room, took out a crayola and a piece of paper, and wrote:

"Whoever finds this, I love you!"
"Whoever finds this, I need you!"
"I don't even have no one to talk to."
"So, whoever finds this, I love you!"

---

Another of my favourite songs, the lyrics are simply poignant yet beautiful. The verses described it all like a story book.

Whilst the original was by Mac Davis, I actually prefer Chyi's version because IMO it sounded better sang with a feminine voice. Perhaps it's also because it's the first version I have ever heard until I found out about Mac Davis.

Intellectual my arse

2009-09-02T08:53:00.001+08:00

Here it comes again - the writer's block. After a prodigious number of entry last month I'm suddenly dry again on what to write about. I suppose Jojo was right in the sense that I like to try to sound clever by writing about topics that not many would talk about in a casual conversation but I don't really think they're that deep if you look at it anyway. I mean I write about what I think and feel about things just like everybody else in their blogs - ok, I might use more big words and like to obscure direct sentences with flourishes, but that doesn't make it any more 'intellectual' on par with say, the Tolkien Society.

Still, a good friend from a sister company called this 'intellectual intercourse', something along the lines of sex, but non-physical, involving only the mind. I read once about the mind being the sexiest part of the person, seeing that with sufficient imagination the mind becomes the entire person rather than a face, two hands and feet.

What are we when removed of our body? What is the person if not the mind? When we are attracted to somebody, our biological needs (read: reproduction) will be the first to ascertain if that person is physically attractive. Can't help it, we're all programmed this way - if you aren't then either you hormones haven't kicked into overdrive or you are simply not human.

Yet, rather than follow the law of natural selection - the prettiest, the strongest, the fastest etc - humanity would ofttimes defy this unwritten rule. We choose people whom won't be called hot or strong in common standards (which are pretty subjective anyway) for the other that is less good looking but attractive.

That is simply wrong, isn't it? Darwin's theory of evolution of the strongest doesn't quite explain it when it comes to humans due to the fact that unlike animals we get to choose against natural selection, if we want to. Normally we won't but we do. Sometimes the reasons aren't even rational. Soldiers die to protect the people they love, when they were supposed to be the one to carry on. We have health care for people whom are physically challenged when in law of the jungle, they perish leaving the strong to becomes stronger.

The one thing that makes everybody common however, is the existence of this thing called the mind. Without it we are no different to the ants that march the floor to the sugarcube you missed, the mosquito that gravitate towards the warm mammal body or even the panther stalking the kudu in the shadow of the tree. Whilst you can argue that chimpanzees (whom we share 97% of genes) show some sentience traits like using simple tools to get what they want, but they will still follow what the law of natural selection mandates of them - the strongest male will mate with the female. Rarely will you see a female chimp or bonobos choose the non-dominant male if it could, if ever.

The concept of who a person is depends greatly on his or her mind, compared to the idea of what a person is that depend on the eyes and perception of beauty. John Doe chose Jane Doe because she's Jane Doe, not Jessica Doe. He might choose Jessica Doe, yes, because Jessica Doe is Jessica Doe, not Jane Doe. And for whatever reason that he chose Jane Doe rather than the more amazing Jessica Doe for example, only John Doe will know. Did he prefer the interesting conversations he had with plain Jane to the more physically attractive Jessica whom he find to be too quiet?

He's committing a foul in the game of survival, worthy of a red card and expulsion.

The most interesting part though is that he doesn't care.

Heh, I'd be lying if I were to say that I wouldn't prefer a Jessica Doe - we all do, unless you're a straight female - but will Jessica Doe remain Jessica Doe forever? Whilst the body withers with time, the mind ages like wine - the older it is the more the flavour. If there is anything that is forever - notwithstanding diamonds (even this is not true) - it's the mind. People are still amazed when they step into the Sistine Chapel and looked at the fresco of The Last Supper - the physical manifestation of Leonardo da Vinci's mind.

Perhaps Jojo's statements are echoed the most when you at it from the perspective of tragic artists with beautiful minds - the most famous of them all Vincent van Gogh. Don McLean's famous song immortalised van Gogh as a misunderstood person:

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they did not know how

He died from the fatal wounds of shooting himself with a revolver, then deep in depression.

I won't go to the point of being a 'misunderstood genius' if any of you actually read what was written before, how simple they are about what I feel and think. The 'big words' used are nowhere near amazing if compared to what other literary masterpieces are out there, but perhaps the audience is too weary to be burdened with more deep thoughts after a long day, preferring something that doesn't require mental aerobics.

Still, my entries are all about what I want to say anyway - sod it if nobody cares. I don't carry this attitude in real life though (as in relationship with others) but it's a pity that we all choose to believe that being simple equals being happy, thus are happy to just remain simple.

I don't begrudge people like that though, far from it. 'Whatever rocks your boat', I'd often say. But I do feel as if it's such a waste to dismiss how rich the many things that make the world the more beautiful just because it sounds or look 'intellectual'.

Damn, I'm beginning to sound like that song...

In this dark cold hotel room

2009-08-25T22:29:00.001+08:00

I love the city skyline at night.

It was fortunate to be given the room on the 18th floor of the hotel in JB during this trip where the view is a magnificent one with an obstructed view of the city all the way towards Singapore across the straits. Dots of light puncture the darkeness like the sky on a starry night, mostly still whilst others moving in a line that never cease, others blink and shone in a myriad of colours, the hum of the room aircond the only thing audible. I could just sit back into the sofa with the light's off and just stare out into what I'd consider one of the most magnificent man-made 'incidental beauties'.

It's a pity that the camera on the 5800XM couldn't quite capture the nightscape very well, the end result being something greatly unspectacular compared to what I can see with my own eyes.

Angel

2009-08-23T01:28:00.001+08:00

ANGEL
Sarah McLachlan
"Surfacing", 1997

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There�s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it�s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I�'ll find some peace tonight

***In the arms of an/the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You�re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There�s vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don�t make no difference
Escaping one last time
It�s easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

***

I simply adore this song.

I first heard of Ms McLachlan when we first had Channel [V] - anybody remember Nonie Tao, Nadya Hutagalung, Sonia Couling? - through excess broadcast signal from neighbouring Brunei, her MV of Sweet Surrender. The first thing that came to mind was how utterly enchanting that voice is - soft yet powerful, firm yet poignant. She could sound like pleading yet never to the point of whining, the voice so clear, forcing you to listen to the lyrics.

It wasn't until Angel that I considered her to be one of the best female singers out there, the song made famous by being the soundtrack to the movie City of Angels starring Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage. By then it comfortably dethroned Vanessa William's Colours of the Wind as my all time favourite song.

I never watched the movie though - thought it was all too soppy for my tastes but I'll probably do so the next time I could after learning to appreciate the deeper meanings to movies rather than just explosions and the US saves the world elements to most screenings nowadays.

The meaning to the song differs from person to another though. Whilst the mainstream idea is about balm in times of trouble or comfort in the passing of a loved one, one interpretation was about heroin.

Ms McLachlan wrote this song as a tribute to her friend, the drummer of Smashing Pumpkins who died from heroin overdose. The lyrics could be an allusion to the 'weightlessness' as carried by angels and the feeling of release from the sufferings of the day. Ms McLachlan explained, "there's nothing constant when you are on the road; everything becomes the same".

I'm not sure what that meant, though it didn't quite endorse the idea that she sang about heroin as the angel of comfort. Yet it didn't stop people from using it as the theme song during tragedies - New York 9/11, Columbine High School Massacre - or funerals.

As for me, I'm don't have to be listening to the song for comfort but it does actually afford a moment or so of solace, like the sound of crushing waves on a beachside after a long day or a kitten's mew when you were bored out of your skull. Time would often stood still when I have it on, as if transported to an auditorium where the only thing visible were Ms McLachlan and a microphone stand, illuminated by a spotlight shrouded by total darkness.

Unbelievable.

Liposuction fat and soap

2009-08-20T22:48:00.005+08:00

It's coming to a full week of my sleeping problem tonight as I still find it difficult to fall into deep slumber for more than the usual 6 - 8 hours. I was very sleepy by 8.30 pm this evening and decided to sleep the evening off till the morning like I normally would at such situations, only to wake up just a little over an hour later. After a short trip to the toilet to relieve myself, I tossed and turned in bed for the next half hour until which I gave up and came here.

I'm not sure why but it would sound pretty silly to suggest that I have trouble going to sleep. Ask anybody who knows me and they'll tell you that I'm one of those who could pig out for hours and more if in the mood or if the weather is just too nice to doze to.

It does seem as if sleeping pattern had been screwed up by the weekend as usual - I tend to stay up till the wee hours of the morning of Sunday, being the nocturnal creature that I am - but nothing a couple of days of the new weekday and even badminton night couldn't fix. Perhaps I would try to change the habit a little by going to bed by 2.00 am instead of the usual six in the morning but not even that would stop me from napping the afternoon off either.

I'm bothered by something. What is it?

I'd not venture into the paranormal as that happens to be a favourite subject of mine as long as I'm not involved, though it could be said surely enough that I don't have those kinds of problems, thank God. This is the seventh month on the Chinese lunar calendar and I have heard of enough stories of strange things happening to dismiss it outright as balderdash. I am Christian yes, however we also believe of the existence of creatures of spirit, good and evil, so I don't go and tempt the devil by being an arrogant little fool.

Work is work, nothing new there. Doing all right, not bad, nothing crazy, fine. I even passed my certification exam today with a respectable score though a review of the result showed that I got some of the tough questions right and the easy ones wrong. I'm not nervous about going to JB for a project next week either as the difference is just the location of the site - with careful preparations made which are within my power to do so, things should be fine. Apart from that, in good terms with my work mates, no quarrels, plenty of laughs to go around.

The weekend is all mine, the money I earn is all mine (ok, some percentages belong to the banks I owe money to in hire purchase and study loans, small amount to the government as part of the tax structure as well as provident funds), all the free time is mine to play with. I have savings for purchases of personal satisfaction as well as some for future investments, including life insurance plans etc.

My health is all right, though it could be better if I lose more weight and exercise more. I enjoy food of all sorts from around the country, plenty of vegetable, proper portions of meat and kept egg yolks to a minimum. Proper amount of seafood, mostly in the form of sardines, anchovies and fish if I can get it, occasionally prawns. Enough varieties in what I eat not let it go boring.

I have just described a guy content with a life almost sorted (a house is a next investment), better than many are doing at this economic climate, better than some who are born into the cycle of poverty, better than some who remain as they are. Not as great as those who made it big, not as good as those who had an extra dash of luck, not as fortunate as those with endless supplies of inherited luxury.

I am grateful of course - make no mistake about it - whilst at the same time thankful that my efforts and gambles had not gone to waste or at least, minimal. Nothing to worry much either.

At least I know I haven't been stealing liposuction fat and making soap...

Alas, perhaps I'm just bored out of my skull.

The gift of thought

2009-08-19T23:55:00.005+08:00

I was well surprised to discover that I had regular readers of this blog, ranging from my Internet contacts to ex-colleagues and friends. Never thought the entries would be of much interest to anybody out there except the ultra-bored people who ran out of ideas on what to do.

Been on a writing streak of late, thanks to one of my favourite authors, the late James Clavell, the master writer who wrote the Asian Saga that were made up of classics such as Shogun and Noble House. Currently reading through King Rat and his style of narration sort of got me interested to put some entries here of my own, trying my hand in amateur autobiography of sorts.

The conversation with Little Me was something I picked up from school days, especially during language classes, be it BM or English. Open-ended essays had always been a favourite of mine as it gave me full license to write in whatever style I like to do. For some reason I just love to do them differently to what I perceive would be the common flow of student essays, especially those taught in classes. My essays are often picked as one of the several examples of how to or how not to do them - they're either brilliant or simply ridiculous, rarely something in between.

Narrations are my favourite styles of writing as it allows you to create a world through descriptive language, similar to that of painting a picture. The best part is that the brush is in your hands and it is up to you to decide what to show the audience. When done right, the audience is transported right into the very setting of your story, like a fly on the wall.

The Storyteller, a nickname given to me by some buddies, of the fictional kind but the type without malice as I would make it clear about how unrelated it is to real life. I learned from my association with the Scousers on RAWK of how making fun of yourself can often be amusing, especially if it is done in the honest yet ironic manner. I had Little Me making fun of the present me because of envy for his care and worry-free life as manner to tell what I am thinking then and also as a different method of presenting that thought.

I mean how many KTM stories can one conjure up (and stomach) anyway.

Sometimes I do wonder why I blog anyway - do I actually want people to read them? In short, I do, as a way to share my opinion about the world we all live in from my point of view, however insignificant I am as one of the three million inhabitants of this city. Perhaps I wanted to leave a legacy of my life for those in the future, I don't know.

Or maybe it's just what I enjoy doing.

Like a fisherman sitting at the jetty of a lake all day, waiting patiently for a bite that would or would not come, he wasn't merely fishing - he was conversing with nature and found solace in the gentle waves breaking the mirrored surface of the water, ducks floating leisurely amongst glittering diamonds of reflected morning sun.

It is presently 1:03 am I could only wonder about how awesome this thing called imagination is.

Each to their own, to theirs to shape, to theirs to create.

The gift of thought.

So much like my own

2009-08-18T21:09:00.003+08:00

"Haven't had this for some time now. Not even the last time I was back".

I sat at the round table of our house which would be about 20-years old this year, its top covered with mom's usual collection of tablecloths made of plastic that were durable, looked good and cheap to replace. I leaned sideways to the cool tiled kitchen wall of white under which my late grandmother's portrait photo hung. My brothers and I used to 'ask' her to join us at the table during Reunion Dinners, more to the cultivation of respect to elders rather than actually believing that she was looking down on us from that piece of that enlarged sepia-toned photo. The round table was placed adjacent to the wall to conserve space as the three of us brothers and two parents need not so much room. Unseated square stools made of wood circled the base of the foldable legs, supporting so many buttocks for so many years.

Little Me looked up but kept working at the bowl of fried kuey teow flooded with tasty gravy, venturing no replies as I munched on my own.

"You haven't been home much", he said, pausing a while to chew, the words clear from his full mouth.

"It's not like I could at a whim", I said. The lightly smell of pickled szechuan cabbage simmering in the pot of pork hind bones wafted around the kitchen.

"Of course not. That would be well costly. Not even Mom would think it wise to come home every few months as the tickets, whilst cheap, are still not cheap enough to be bought on a regular basis".

"I know. Though I do miss the comfort of home - who wouldn't - I cherish it more the lesser I return. Like once a year for the New Year's Eve dinner. We always sat down together at least once a year for that meal and I do mean it, it's special when you don't do it every month, what more every week".

"You could at least call more often you know. We might not get to see you hear but at least Mom & Dad knows you're fine, being so far from home all that. You might be in the thirtieth year of your life, bro, but you're always their son and Big Bro's brother".

"Since when did you turn from a little scoundrel to a wise guru?".

"I have always been a little scoundrel or a wise guru. You should hear me detail to Dad the brilliant plan about making money from trading Panini Thundercat stickers with my friends at school".

"Indeed, except that all the capital would from him, not you so that is hardly 'brilliant' ".

He stuck out his tongue and continued with the kueyteow in the bowl, half finished.

I was certain he had no trouble showing me the finger, that little rascal, but perhaps his mood was good that morning. Good thing I outgrew that habit and relied on quick wit instead. Not only do you insult people, done well it even make them laugh. Mom's words about my temper is still fresh in the head as if it was told just yesterday, "Your temper will lose you more than you get".

"Cousin Ringo is coming today", he said, hardly able to keep the excitement hidden. I could see what they would be up to that afternoon now, play acting as ninjas and warriors in the room, trashing it around like little maniacs until it was time to bath and had dinner. Then it would trashing around and playacting again, with breathers in between for reading Gila-Gila. We'd be up all night watching television and talking until the wee hours of the morning. That and Maggie or Indomie in between to satisfy our monstrous appetite. Day after day.

"Have fun", I said benignly.

"You've been smiling more nowadays", he said, belching whilst pouring the remnant of the gravy into his mouth.

"I did?".

"I'm not blind you know and not deaf either. An angel told me you'd look better if you can just curl your lips upwards instead of keeping it in a straight line".

He got off the stool and had the bowl washed before returning to the table with glasses of cold soya bean milk mom made the night before. Cubes of ice clinked as the glasses were raised and set down, melting away in the wholesome drink heated just an hour ago. Mom had always liked to have it all prepared by herself for the family, from soya bean milk, to santan to curry paste. None of that mass produced stuff at the grocer's shelf if she can help it.

"What else did this celestial creature tell you?" I said with a mocking smile.

"She also told me you brightened perceptibly of late. I can say though, it's as if years had fallen off you somewhat".

"Yeah, you're right. Even the mood is better. Haven't been doing it much during in the past many years that I felt like Cloud. You know, the music 'Cloud Smiles' from the Advent Children soundtrack?".

"Come to think of it, why the sudden change? What's so funny or happy about anyway?", he said, gulping the glass of white beverage. A quarter of it disappeared down his gastroinstestinal tract.

"Just something I decided to try to do more. Smiles are cheap you know - they only cost several ATPs to move the face muscles. Far easier to smile than to frown. And it does make me feel somewhat better, marginally or not. Whether it makes me look better is not up to me to say though".

"Won't you look like an idiot grinning for no apparent reason?".

"I'm not really grinning or putting on a hearty smile. It's more of a putting on a more cheerful face rather than one that looked as if being pulled over by the police. It was somewhat weird at a start, but after a while it becomes a lot more natural. Even when I take the train to work my lips are slightly curled upwards, eyes opened a little bigger".

"You still look like an idiot".

"A happier idiot", I corrected him.

A blue plastic bird slid out of its wooden house and cuckooed nine times before disappearing with a slam of its little door. I'm still somewhat fascinated by that beautifully constructed clock with a swinging cone as the pendulum. It has been with us for as long as we moved in.

"You wash these!", said Little Me who rushed to the living room. A short moment later the television came to life with the famous voice of Peter Cullen, "... Voltron, Defender of the Universe... " accompanied by the heroic music that heralded the second of the four-hour marathon of great television shows on a Saturday morning.

"Enjoy yourself, you little brat", I said.

He shouted back impatiently for being disturbed, "I will!".

I walked towards the stairs to go up after doing the dishes and took a glance at him. He took his eyes off the old Sony Trinitron television with dial knobs for tuning and looked back.

"Yeah, you improved your face somewhat. Good effort but can be better", he said, half looking at me half at the Ding Dang commercial on the TV.

"Oh shut up already and go watch Princess Aurora in her tight pink suit".

For a moment we just looked at one another.

A little grin blossomed on his lips that were so much like my own.

His footsteps

2009-08-17T20:12:00.011+08:00

I met Little Me the other day.

We were walking along the peaceful pond hidden by the shade of the trees adjacent to the wide open field that seemed to sway like tides of an ocean when it breezed. The air was cool and crisp, the sun sending shafts of light through the clouds of the young morning.

"What are you up so early for, Brother", asked Little Me as we sat at the side of the slow flowing brook adjacent to the sea of green grass blades.

"Haven't been sleeping well, brother", I said, looking at him skip some stones over the surface of the mirror-like water.

"What's bothering you?", he asked without looking up.

"I don't know. Nothing is. At least nothing much is. I am doing all right at work, not financially in any straits. Friends are all boss, life is not at all sour", I said a-matter-factly.

"Then how could you have sleepless nights like this?".

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm jaded. Been thinking of a short vacation for a while".

"You think that's enough?".

"Why not?".

"What will you do during that vacation? Sleep your head away and slave the hours away to the morning on the computer?".

"That's the plan. At least the sleep my head away part. Just wanted some time alone to myself of my own".

"Don't you get that every weekend?".

"Yeah, but two days never seem to be enough. They just zoom by like that", I said, snapping my fingers.

"And you end up feeling as if the weekend never happened?"

"I wouldn't say so, no. Perhaps that life in the city - things just fly by, even the quiet times to your self".

"Perhaps you've had too much 'quiet time' with yourself".

A frog jumped into the water, creating a ripple from the edge that spread throughout the surface of the water until they met criss-crossed one another.

"What do you mean by that?".

"Isn't it obvious - you work your days, sleep the nights but you never seem to achieve anything that meant much to you, no?".

I looked at him.

"Have you ever had anything else but 'quiet time', brother?".

A bird called from one of the branches of the trees lining the surroundings of the pond.

"I don't know", I said.

"Time-consumerism at its best, I'd imagine. Day in and day out worth of things to do by yourself, none of which you remember when you wake up next Thursday. None of which are worth remembering".

I yawned, taken by the serenity of the atmosphere around the still pool of dark water. An insect skipped its way across riding only on surface tension.

"Some are", I told him, watching the sun peer through the trees like glitters of diamond when they sway to the breeze, causing minor waves to crest and disappear on the pond.

"Not enough".

I turned to look at him. "I know".

He stood up and brushed the dirt and grass of his shorts, a little guy a bit taller than half of me, the haircut that of a bowl and clad in a the old Superman t-shirt with its cape cut off. He told me Mom did it so that he won't think myself Clark Kent's alter ego and jump down the verandah and into the hospital.

"Time for breakfast, bro. I'm hungry. Mom's making the fried rice again, my favourite!".

"Enjoy yourself", I said, in envy of the carefree way he carried himself with, the swagger of a king without the worries of the world.

"Don't forget to call home more often. Mom & Dad will appreciate it".

I nodded as he paced down the meadows and out of sight.

I stopped to look at the flowers that swayed to the gentle breeze of the morning, at the gathering clouds that cast a huge shadow over the rolling hills, at the rainbow that arched over the horizon and at the footsteps that the little feet of Little Me on the ground that disappeared onto the grass.

He's right - his footsteps had not been mine, enough.

We all dream

2009-08-17T09:17:00.005+08:00

The Fremen were supreme in that quality the ancients called "spannungsbogen" -- which is the self-imposed delay between desire for a thing and the act of reaching out to grasp that thing. from "The Wisdom of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan.
-- (Dune, Frank Herbert)

It's true that ability to stop and think before doing something requires great discipline, especially if the end result would normally be something that is irreversible and a thing that you would need to live with. To those who 'live and let live' the above probably don't matter as life is one to paint and a painting to look back at, good or bad. At least one get to lived his life the way he wanted it.

For most people however, the need to do decide on whether a venture is worth the risk is often a dilemma of great proportions especially if it meant something very costly or one that would change how you live for a long time, if not forever. Take for instance the decision to buy a house - choose the wrong location or pricing and you'll end up financing a long term loan that will eat up your life's worth of worries. Abandoning it to make amends will eat up all that has been invested practically rendering it a waste.

Even a thing as natural as having children is not a bed of roses (though the process of making them are often decided in seconds... that's for another story) - the whole process of investing half of your life to make sure that this new bundle of life get to grow in a decent environment with the proper upbringing is not as simple as say, adding cheese to make a cheese cake. Unlike programs, the older they are they less they tell you and whether they end up like what you hoped to be will ultimately be out of your hands simply because they have free will.

'Without hope a man is but an animal', says the Koran and I agree.

A deer is happy enough to prance around the woods, eat berries and soft leaves off shrubs for the rest of its life without knowing if its defaecating will bring a richer growth in the future. They don't stop to feel the rain and think of all the greenery that will result from the downpour of heaven's waters, or the newer sweeter fruit that grew along the stream.

We all dream of better things in the future for without it there is no will to live.

There was an article I read many years ago regarding the causes of death amongst people on earth. It said 'one of the biggest killers of people are retirement'. When they stop working, they don't know what to do with the rest of their lives. The reason to wake up in the morning to get to work, to fix that pipe, to write the purchase order, to operate that forklift, to draw the design diagram - disappears.

Of course as morbid as it sounds, hope can be about many things. My dad is a retired civil servant whom had served his country loyally for 35 years. He has nothing much to do nowadays except to tend to his little garden at the extended porch of the house and the backyard. I hope to God that he lives a long and healthy life with my mother, I'd imagine he's hoping to see my brother and I establish a family of our own like when he did over four decades ago, to help guide us through the difficult learning curves of becoming the head of your own family.

That is his hope.

What about mine?

You'd think?

2009-08-02T14:19:00.007+08:00

To August 01 ISA Protestors/Supporters, hereon referred to collectively as 'You'.

Please take into consideration this response from somebody who needed to let out how he and his fellow friends felt regarding your march in protest or support. Whilst this represent simply mine and my friend's view on what you did yesterday, do keep in mind that it is likely to be the same for many others out there who just wanted to get on with their Saturday.

Whilst you might look smart to have it scheduled during a PC Fair for 'maximum impact', please bear in mind that your actions had caused the following:

1. Traffic congestion due to road closures
The car that my friend and I were travelling in down towards KLCC were caught in a jam as early at 10.30 am from as far back as Sheraton PJ, making it a hell of a crawl for one hour just to get to Brickfieds. I will not accept the excuse that it was the police who caused this congestion as it was necessary to ensure that any riot or untoward incidents to be contained within a controllable sphere under police control. Imagine people driving by and into a skirmish between the riot squad and demonstrators - there will be men and women, children, old people etc whom would have absolutely no interest in getting into this chaotic situation for your benefit.

2. Public transport disruptions
People going to and fro Masjid Jamek were stranded by 2.00 pm as a precaution by RapidKL. Again I will accept no excuse of the police being the cause - read point 1. above.

As a Joe Public who just wanted to enjoy the weekend looking for bargains and other *akhem* interesting things at the PC Fair, I put this blame solely on you. If you did not carry out a demonstration that was illegal to begin with, then the police wouldn't have to carry out such unpopular work. And from then onwards, the people (yes, read that again and again) will not have to suffer from your 'smart' actions.

It doesn't matter to the lorry drivers who were delivering things, nor the couples going out for breakfast & shopping, the hordes of people making their way to the KL Convention Centre, the bus drivers who were ferrying people around the city or the shopkeepers who had to pull down their shutters to protect their premises - about what you are trying to do. Sure, 'justice' this, 'the people' that etc etc.

But explain to me how does 'justice' work to help those who had to huddle in fear of looting from demonstrations gone wrong or 'the people' to those who couldn't make their way to Masjid Jamek vicinity due to the imminent danger of riots.

Do you really believe that what you were doing was 'for the sake of the rakyat' ?

Being one of the people of this country, here's a rakyat's verdict at your actions:

Stop being selfish.
Your action will benefit only yourself.
Stop using the words 'the people' or 'the rakyat' for political mileage.
Whilst there are merits at the cause but the method is simply irresponsible.

What good is a demo if the rakyat cannot get to work, cannot get to do their daily chores?

And don't talk to me about 'peaceful demonstrations' - there will always be those who are waiting for the chance to show how cool they are in going against the police and becoming the 'martyrs'.

For 'the rakyat'?
Yeah, right.

Sincerely,

The Ali, Ah Kau & Rama who were greatly inconvenienced by the Saturday demo.

Translation Mistranslations

2009-07-29T19:48:00.001+08:00

Colleagues and I had some fun during lunctime to joke about a certain Lat inspired strip about mistranslation of foreign languages to BM that were not done in equivalent terms ie. without taking into consideration the context of the words. We weren't making fun of BM, rather having a good time mimicking poor transfer of information due to the lack of care when it comes to bridging two languages,

Suffice to say we had a good laugh to help rattle the food down our overused gastrointestinal tracts.

Note:

Anybody who is offended need to have their head examined; this post shows how not to do it
Certain parts were deliberately left grammatically wrong to make it sound even more inappropiate

Call of Duty 4 : Modern Warfare
Panggilan Perkhidmatan 4 : Perang Moden

Far Cry 2
Jauh Nangis 2

F.E.A.R.
K.E.T.A.K.U.T.A.N.

Doom
Mampus

The Day The Earth Stood Still
Hari Bumi Berdiri Tegak

Die Another Day
Mati Hari Lain

A field commander shouting orders to the soldiers lined in front of him:
"FIRE!"
"API!"
(You have Dato' Lat to thank for this one)

Last but not least, the grand daddy of (double mis)translations, I present to you Backstroke of the West.

"My friend's cousin's sister's boss' auntie's friend said..."

2009-07-28T08:56:00.002+08:00

The Internet is a fantastic tool of rumour - it's free to send as many emails as you want and the impact can be big, especially if a chunk the population believe in rumour more than they do of actual fact. In our society it makes even more sense to believe in something however fantastical if it makes or saves you money, more so if it is something close to home. All you need is the ability to keep a straight face (it's not easy to do, trust me) when telling the story to someone you know and start the chain reaction.

Plausible story? Check.
Photoshop skills? Check.
People who are bored? Check.
People who will believe anything? Check.
People who will forward whatever they receive? Check.

After all, rumours are sexy compared to the drab news on economic stimulus and unending peace-fire-peace-fire-peace-fire news of the Middle East.

I know I'll end up insulting the intelligence of some on here by suggesting that they are that gullible to believe in everything they hear but it's a common fact that:

i. If you repeat a rumour often enough, it will end up 'true'.
ii. If you repeat a true story enough, it will end up different from the original at the end.

Here is what I do when I get those viral emails (those that survive the Delete button) with topics that I might find interesting:

1. Throw partiality out the window
Fail this part and you might as well just skip (2) and (3), believe whatever you want.

I listed this as the very first step for the reason of it being the toughest to do. Growing up in different backgrounds we will unfortunately have prejudices, be it regional, racial or religious - often the last two. Prejudices will shape what we choose (yes, choose) to believe and not to believe.

Here are a few questions for you:
- What if you were born religion A and not religion B?
- What if you were born of race A and not of race B?
- What makes you think your race is superior to race A?
- What makes you think your religion is superior to religion A?
- Are you the one who made that spectacular history of your race?
- How does the spectacular past of your ancestors makes you great now?
- Does your allegiance to the country of your ancestors benefit you in anything?
- Does the country of your ancestors even know you exist?
- Can you prove the above without any doubts? Scientifically even?

Before you accuse me of racism and religious bigotry, let me make it clear that I apply the same questions to me myself all the time.

2. Check your facts.
Still with me? Congratulations!

It's good to question the validity of a story if it happens to be provable by science or common sense. For example I received an email regarding the use of crushed papaya leaf juices to cure dengue fever from a friend off a forum. This is a pretty well known 'remedy' of sorts - even my mother prescribed this to me when I was struck down by a mild bout dengue fever that lasted a week.

Papaya leaf juice is used as a vermifuge ie. a substance to help purge intestinal worms, so it would make a good deworming remedy due to the property of the compound papain that, while is not as good as commercial prescriptions, contains tannin that helps to protect the intestinal tract by making it harder for worms to attach. It also happens to be a cancer fighting enzyme in clinical research. In short it's a good remedy for indigestion.

What papaya leaf juice helps though is by helping to cool the body. Dengue as with other viral fevers causes the body to overheat in trying to disrupt the replication of the germs, similar to the cooling effect of coconut water.

Hence it is simply irresponsible to spread the story that papaya leaf cures dengue fever. Those who think they can get away with avoiding the visit to the doctor might end up playing dice with the devil in a gamble on drinking papaya leaf juice and end up endangering their lives. It is no substitute to a qualified check by the doctor and professional medical care.

What about the severe dehydration, septic shock and drop in platelet count that comes together as part of the package? Or the fact that dengue is caused by a virus, not parasites like malaria (hence quinine being an effective agent to purge the germ).

Sure, there are stories of this being succesful - one of my distant relatives were bedridden and was already losing his faculties from dengue fever until a house maid from Indonesia ground papaya leaf juice and gave it to him, and voila, miraculously cured.

Anybody care finding out the statistics of people who actually died from taking the same remedy? I know I'm one the many who recovered after being admitted to the hospital and be put on saline drip to combat the severe dehydration.

My colleague has a very fitting comment about this in Hokkien 'khiang du ho, mai keh khiang' which literally means good to be smart but don't try to be smarter than you are.

3. Check for validity of story
Receiving many of these emails daily, I can't help but notice that they always begin as a story by a friend of a friend of a friend (substitute the three friends with your choice of people - father, cousin, sister, uncle, auntie, mamak etc) and never directly from the originator of the story itself. And very often we are the 6th, 7th, 8th or more hand recipient of the email, hence making it either very hard to prove or to disprove, making it 'credible'. Pretty often the stories warn of dangers, hence nobody would be stupid enough to invite problems by proving it (I might be stretching it by saying 'nobody' but let's make peace).

Let me give you an example - many years ago I received an email regarding the consumption of human foetuses in a certain province in China, with a picture as proof of such horrible practices. It shows of a man chewing on a blackened torso of a child with its head visible.

Terrible and inhuman! The UN should be onto this crime against humanity and the authorities to be put to the fire for allowing this to happen.

However...

By the way, Snopes is a great website to check the validity of stories as such, they will never put something down as fact until they can prove it as fact or fiction.

4. Make up your own damn mind.
In the end it's really up to what you want to believe as freedom of thought is something that truly is your own. My common stance is to sit on the fence for unproven stories that might sound plausible (until it is proven or disproven), dismiss outright those that are nothing but sensationalism and keep a level head when it comes to matters that cannot be proven in certainty (read: politics).

RIP Michael Jackson 1959-2009

2009-07-10T11:38:00.000+08:00

Took me a while to get to this. For some reason it felt as if I can't believe Michael's gone. Grew listening to him as a kid. BAD was the first cassette from MJ that I ever had (bested in terms of first cassette I ever had by Lionel Richie) together with the single special of Leave Me Alone. Ashamedly I admit to putting on socks and doing the Moonwalk and tried to do the gravity-defying lean, thankfully without causing the need for plastic nose surgery in those attempts.

With so many good songs to choose from, it was tough to omit some but here is the list of my ten favourite MJ songs.

1. Billie Jean
2. Smooth Criminal
3. The Way You Make Me Feel
4. Man In The Mirror
5. Liberian Girl
6. Leave Me Alone
7. Human Nature
8. Rock With You

I decided not to write a single thing about his screwed up childhood, child molestation allegations, weird lifestyle habits and most of all about the circumstances leading to his death - many of which are speculations from the media in their last effort to milk him of his fame for their own selfish benefits.

Instead, I will remember MJ as the King of Pop.

"I don't want to die, I want to live forever".

Michael's body is dead but his music and legacy is immortal.

There is no other like him.

Subang Celebrates Earth Hour!

2009-03-25T09:07:00.003+08:00

Yes, you heard that right - it was early. Literally. Specifically, 24 March 2009 beginning from 1am in the morning.

I went to sleep around 12:45am after I was done with RAWK and in around 10 minutes later, the fan above me stopped spinning, its propellers (?) slowing to a halt right in front of my eyes.

It was hot, sticky and a feastday for mosquitoes around the area but we soldiered on, knowing how much this is just a small inconvenience for less than an hour or so worth of zero power consumption. If it was hard enough for me, think of the folks who are enclosed in chilled air-conditioned air all the time at home, it would simply be torture for them.

Went downstairs and opened the door to allow cool air from outside the house to breeze in (it was a rather still morning) and lay down on the cool marble floor that felt like heaven after over an hour worth of sweat-filled futile attempts at slumber. Heard the uncle from next door mumble about how hot it was, the clearest which were "... they better get this fixed in the next half hour, damn it".

At almost 4am, electricity returned (simultaneously shot bolts of light into our eyes with dilated pupils from the darkness) and signalled a 3 hour vigil to Earth Hour Part 1.

I was thinking, since that we have done 3 hours worth of our dues THREE FOLDS in this Earth Hour thing, how about if we skip Saturday's?