Moved Homes

Dear friend,

I've moved here. See you. :-)

Regards
Me

Sayonara The End

Dear friend,

I am discontinuing this blog. This will be my final post here. I feel compelled to do so for a few reasons.

It's time for a fresh start. They say you change your set of friends every 5 years, give or take a few years. I think what really happens is that your situation in life changes. You move up, or down in your work, you move in, out or away from home, you hook up, break up or end up with someone, you get drawn to new people and drift away from others. Constance seems to be a rarity in life.

Whenever I try to write something here, I find myself stopping. The things I want to write about are no longer the same.(I feel) with the rest of the post on this blog. I have found this to be a clear indication that a change is due.

When i was in college i wrote a lot about my family, specifically my mother. I remember a few people sending me teary emails encouraging me on as i struggled with my mothers mental illness. In many ways, it was me - at the brink of adulthood - but a minor none the less, struggling with the after effects of a broken home and more.

I started this blog after that, writing a lot about love and life in general. It was me, a young adult, struggling with the transition into adulthood, talking a lot about love, thinking a lot about meaning,purpose and direction. I also wrote about marriage, and how I finally tied the knot.

I also started a third secret blog (as if this one wasn't secret enough). You could say it was there that I wrote more openly (and vulgarly) about 'adult' things. When I say 'adult', I basically just mean sex of course. I wouldn't say it was an alter ego, rather a side of me that just needed to be let out. I wrote about sex, sexuality and my own struggles with temptation and dancing with fire.

Amazingly, I've ended up meeting or befriending at least 1 person from every blog that I've started. This considering the fact that I write anonymously and without any effort of promoting it to people. Some i became acquaintances with, others have remained friends and I'd dare say I've even fallen in love (or at least become infatuated) with certain people.

Anyway, I digress.

I find myself in a very different stage in my life now as I said. I'm 27 this year. Married. I own an apartment. I have a mortgage, I have rent to pay, bills upon bills with my name on it and 3 to 4 additional mouths to feed other than my own. I am not who I used to be barely 5 years ago. And the things I will write about from now on will probably not interest whoever it is who first started reading my blog. See what I'm getting at?

I will of course post the link to my new blog (when its finally set up) for those who are bothered to continuing reading this oh-so-obscure little blog.

But I want to thank you, dear reader, for your readership. I'd name you, but I dont know who you are, and those that I do, frankly I dont know if you are still there! Haha... But I do hope you continue following me and sending me all those comments or emails. You have no idea how amazing it feels for a writer to receive kind words from a reader, no matter how simple or short. A persons writing only comes full circle when it is written, then read and then responded to. It is the fuel that keeps the hand on the pen, or in this case, on the keyboard.

Take care my dear friend. See you elsewhere. Sayonara!

Warmest regards
Me

Friday Evenings

Friday evening and I find myself sitting alone in a Starbucks yet again. Not by misfortune. Rather by choice. I had turned down 2 social invitations to go for dinner and made some sort of excuse for the Mrs. to go ahead with her friends for dinner.

 I left work just at sunset and walked to the nearby lake to watch the sun go down as kids start returning to their homes for dinner. Then I drove around, rather aimlessly – trying to figure out just why the hell I turned down all those social invitations when I really didn’t have anything to do, nor anyone to meet really.

But it’s just one of those days when all I want – is to be alone. I’ve not met (or at least know of) many people who do what I do – making it a point to just be alone sometimes.

 I parked at a small shopping mall nearby my place and just started walking around, looking at the shops, watching people go by. I sat down at a diner and ate alone. Listening to the family behind me debating rather amusingly about whether they should order bolognaise or carbonara. The place is not busy, but the waiters are all over the place. They notice that my drink isn’t served. One girl quickly gets it. I see the tag on her apron that says “Smile”, so I did. And she smiled back.

 I pass by the supermarket and watch people line up to pay for their groceries. It’s interesting to look at their expression. People who line up for their groceries seem to all take on this same expression – a blank face that is just void of any kind of emotion. Kind of like the look on your face when you brush your teeth or do your laundry. It’s so utterly un-stimulating.

Strangely enough, it’s soothing for me in some ways – this time of solitude. Of course, one of the reasons I wanted to be alone was so that I can write this very post. But I didn’t really have anything to write about actually. I thought I wanted to write about my father. I just picked him up from the airport yesterday. I had not seen or spoken to him in the last 6 months. He lost quite a bit of weight and is a lot darker now. The sun and the people there haven’t been very kind to him. I also wanted to talk about the thousand dollars I had just lent to someone today. My mixed feelings of apprehension about lending money to people I aren’t entirely sure will return it, and my obligation to dispense grace in the same way I have received it in my own life. The last time I lent someone a thousand dollars, I never got it back. I also wanted to talk about children – or my lack of it. It’s been 2 years since I’ve been married (how time flies) and still no baby in sight. The parents are getting impatient, the Mrs is getting anxious, and I’m not sure how I really feel. But in the end, I don’t really feel compelled to write any more about these things that I already have.

 Perhaps my lust for writing has waned. Or perhaps it is merely the impulse to talk about these things which has waned.

Many of us feel like the problems and emotions we are feeling are somehow unique to us. And understandably so – we are all different, our backgrounds are different, our way of thinking is different, our world view is different – surely the complex emotions we experience are unique to us. And true enough, there are things I feel that I’m just so sure no one can ever understand or feel.

 And yet, unique they are not. We find other people who feel the same way we do. We find other people speaking the very words hidden deep in our hearts. We read or hear them and it feels as if someone extracted words right out of our own hearts and put it on their lips. We feel an instant kinship with them. As if you share some sort of common emotional ancestry with them. A long lost brother or sister of the soul. Have you ever encountered a person like that? They capture your heart and mind in a way that is hard to describe – you find yourself having them in mind, long after they have gone, or in some cases, even before you ever meet them. Perhaps it sounds cheesy – all this heart, mind, soul, touchy, feely thing. But I do believe that there is something special happens when two hearts made of the same stuff meet, even when their minds do not.

I guess that’s all I have to say for now.

Good night my dear friend. If you read this, as silent as I have remained, I am here thinking of you and wishing you well.

Village of Contentment

 TOPIC : Contentment

Have you ever been to some rural town in the middle of nowhere and observed how people there live their lives? Have you ever noticed how time seems to move proportionally slower the further you travel out of the city? Have you ever noticed people in these rural villages, hanging around seemingly doing nothing and wonder "Don't these people have anything to do? Isn't it a weekday?" 

A while ago, I spent  4 days sitting in a small town 2 hours drive out of Bangkok, and these are the questions I have been asking myself. 

It's always an eye opener for a city dweller like me, to go to rural places and observe how other people live life. It's not like I an unaware of them, or how they live. It's more that I am seeing it first hand how things are. While most times, we mentally note how rural life is, being there forces you to experience it in the flesh. And I must say, it makes a big impression on me. 

On of the things I always observe is this - rural foll are just as, if not more happy than people who live in the city. This despite the fact that you do not get Wifi coverage, 7 Eleven, Starbucks or shopping mall every few hundred meters like we do in the city. All the things that we think make life in the city such a great thing really don't count for much when you look at it closely. People in the village have simple road side huts instead of Starbucks.They ride motorbikes instead of fancy cars. They use payphones instead of iPhones. But they couldn't care less. It doesn't bother them the way it bothers us. 

They don't get swallowed into the pursuit of money, power, success or status the way we do. They seem so much more content in accepting their lot in life, doing the simple things they are in charge of - like working in the grocery store, or being the security guard or operating a simple road side hawker stall. The rest of us in the city often concern ourselves with the kind of house we live in, the car we drive, our career progression and most of all, we feel this need to be different from everybody else. We feel that we owe it to ourselves to make a difference in something, anything.

City folk live in state a of deficit. We feel the need to make up for loss ground, keep on par with others or simple excel in something before we pat ourselves in the back. We want to earn the merits, because we feel a person with no distinguishable merits is not worthy of praise. A person of value is a person with merits. 

The city is often the forefront of human civilization. New or old, all our knowledge of science, all our ideas of philosophy were born out of a city. We in the city are so focused on breaking new ground and exploring new frontiers that somewhere along the line, we have forgotten to be content with what we have right now.

To me, it's a simple lesson about contentment.

Something I think those of us living in the city would do well learning 

Christmas, or so it seemed

I was browsing through the library of music on my laptop. It's been ages since I last listened to music on my computer.

A particular folder caught my eye. I clicked on it and a list of 45 songs appear. I play them all. A strange combination of emotions surge through me as I listen to them. Mixed feeling of happiness and regret. Memories of things that were sweet and those that were painful, moments that felt like fireworks on a clear summer night - magical, moments that felt like a man running in front of a moving train - utter foolishness.

Looking at the folder again, I remembered something. I had changed the name of the folder to 'Christmas' even though it had absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. At the time, even looking at its original name pained me. I had done stupid things, and I was trying to run away from my own feelings. Silly me huh? 

The name of the folder? 

Crystal.

Thoughts on a Stranger

I thought we had something special. I thought we understood one another. I thought that it would just go on and on, the way it did in the past.

But it didn't.

It all stopped.

What happened?

Something must have happened for sure. But i don't know what.

Are you not well? Are you busy? Have you lost interest in this heart of mine? Are you deliberately keeping silent? Or are you not around anymore?

I try to imagine just what is it that is transpiring at your side of this life. But it is a blank image. I cannot imagine anything beyond the picture of you, and the streets of the city you live in. You said we were not really strangers anymore. I guess in some sense, that is true. A stranger is a person you know nothing about. And i know many things about you.

But all this silence has reminded me again, that in truth, knowing many things about you isn't the same as knowing YOU.

There is a massive void that stands between us. A void only two strangers would know.

So, what are we anyway, my dear not-so-stranger of a friend? What are we?

Atomic Breakups

Breakups are a lot like an atomic bomb in a way.

In an instant, the explosion of atomic bomb creates a massive crater, miles in diameter. In the blink of an eye, your world literally shatters into pieces. If you survive the explosion, you are still left in a state of disbelief because not too long ago, like was still as you knew it - intact. It is a devastating event

Doesn't heart break feel a lot like that?

But even then, the initial explosion isn't the most fearsome part of an atomic bomb. It is the invisible radioactive mess - that slowly and painfully kills off whatever that's left behind - that does the most damage. A blast may kill hundreds of thousands of people in an instant. But millions more die due to radioactive exposure over the next few years.

Breakups don't (usually) kill anyone, but the after effects last long after the incident don't they? After the pain of it tearing apart, your heart is then left with open wounds, taking days,weeks and months to heal. And it is those long, sustained sense of gloom and dread that eats away at your energies.

"Tell me how to move on... Tell me how to get rid of this pain... Why? Why does this have to happen to me? How can he do this to me? Is this my payback for all the past things I've done? "

I couldn't offer any answer. At least, not one she was ready to hear yet.

Most people offered this answer as ab attempt to comfort her - He doesn't deserve you. You are better off without him. But i can see, she doesnt want to hear any of those things. She still loved him. And given even an inch of hope, she would go on with him but i guess she knew it was game over. As much as she loved him, she couldn't be with a man that loved his pride more than his woman.

And i guess THAT was the big A Bomb she was trying to deal with.

Lately...

Dear friend,

I am fine. Thank you for asking. I am sorry for not writing for so long. Things have kind of swept me by, and I've never really had the time to have these monologues with you as much as I used to anymore.

Life has been good. I am a married man now. The ring around my finger no longer feels strange. It fact, it feels strange when its not there. Women don't seem to be as eager to talk to me anymore. I'm pretty sure its because of the ring. But that's okay. Because every evening I return home to a beautiful woman that never fails to make me laugh or smile. I tell everyone she's my secret girlfriend, but actually she's my wife.

From the emails I've been receiving, my father is doing alright in the Philippines. Life there moves at a turtle pace he said. He said he misses my brother and I, and that he loves us. Distance does funny things to relationships. It amplifies what's in your heart. When my father was around, he never said he loved us, or missed us. But now that he is away, and precious emails are all that bind us together, words of love and affection seem to flow much easily. In the same way, when there is disillusionment and frustration, distance amplifies that effect. I wrote an emotional reply to him. I told my father I loved him too. I told him how much I used to admire him as a child, and how I still do now, as an adult. Father day never seemed a big deal in the past. Now that he's away, it is.

My brother isn't doing so well. He's obese and starting to develop health complications. Doctor said he has a degenerative spine disk. Something he got from falling down a few years back I think. But his weight is so much that it is putting too much strain on his spine. Doctor told him to loose weight fast before something bad happens. I've always fear that something will happen to him. When we were kids, my parents told us to always stick with one another because one day when they are gone, we would only have each other. And since he's my only brother, if I loose him, I will have no one in the future.

My thoughts have been on a certain friend. She had just gone through some near death experience and survived after 2 surgeries. She sent me a happy email telling me she was recovering. I was relieved. I've never been good at dealing with issues of death. It moves me deeply every time I think about it. Though death will always be a part of life, it doesn't make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. And I guess the most bitter part of it is saying goodbye. One of the first thoughts that went through when I learn about my friend was "What if I never get to say goodbye?" The pain of death isn't in the dying. It is in the separation. The unique thing about this particular friendship is this; I've never met this friend. We are what you would in days long past called 'pen pals'. We write to each other, sharing our thoughts, dreams, hopes and fears. But we are perfect strangers. And in some funny way, there is a certain beauty in that.

Anyway, I will stop here dear friend. I do now want to risk writing too much and making this too much of a bore. There are many more things I would love to share, but let us leave it for another day. Take care, and God bless you.

With warmest regards
Me

Questions

How do you mend a broken heart?
How do you start a new life, a second time?
How do you break free from the monotony
How to view life,from the brink of death?
How to keep hope, when you see no light?
How to care, but not hold too tightly?
How to love, but not possess?
How to trust, but not be taken a fool?
How to reminiscent, without longing?

These are some of the questions of our lives.

If only the answers came easier.

Bersih 3.0

So much has been said all over the news and social media about the Bersih 3.0 rally.

To be honest, I've had mixed feelings about it.

On one hand, I find it quite inspiring. That Malaysians are finally getting more vocal about public issues. All this struggles about freedom of speech, free and fair elections and transparency is a sure sign that the people of Malaysia are maturing as a democracy. The people are learning how to express themselves. And the government is learning how to listen. I say learning because by the look of how things turned out, I think both sides haven't got it quite right yet.

I think many of the marchers were quite sincere and single minded in their intentions. They just wanted to support a worthy cause for their country; clean and fair election. We all want to know our vote counts. It's the fundamental of democracy. Them wearing yellow shirts and making a march was their way of reminding the Government of that. Win or lose in the next elections should be by pure vote count. Not shady manipulation. A noble and just cause indeed, one the government would do well to take note of.

But frankly speaking, I've never quite warmed up to Bersih, be 2.0, 3.0 or whatever versions to come. In Bersih 2.0, I had my reasons, which still stand today. See here. But this time, there are also other sentiments.

For one, it is my impression that quite a few of these marchers are simply Government haters. I see some people who went to the march simply because they see it as a move against the government. These are people whom, as far as I know, do not follow politics actively, don’t take a genuine interest in national issues, nor take a critical look at government policy or decisions. They are simply people who heard a few opinions over coffee from other people, and for the lack of having their own opinion, decided to adopt the only one they heard. And since wearing yellow T-shirts, posting yellow profile pictures, and posting that you got tear gas-ed on Saturday in the name of freedom and democracy is all rage these days, that’s what they do.

Sometimes, when I try talking objectively to these friends, they turn around and accuse me of being blinded by pro-government propaganda. They say I'm simply regurgitating what the mainstream media is talking. They tell me the only reliable source of information these days is the alternative media. But how can is it fair of your so quickly adopt an opinion without first hearing both sides of the tail? It's naive to believe that only the mainstream media has its agenda. Everyone who writes an article has their own agenda or opinion. You should read as much of the mainstream as you do the alternative media. Being alternative media doesn’t make your opinions any 'truer' that it is being main stream. Your job as a concerned citizen is to keep a critical mind, analyze the facts and judge accordingly. You shouldn’t jump on the bandwagon and criticize away just because that’s what the prevailing popular opinion is. You have a right to have an opinion. But if you are going to have an opinion, you have to responsibility to make sure it is sound well developed.

Don’t get me wrong; a lot of them who went for this rally are people I know; people with good conscience, pure intentions and very sound judgment. I find it hard to doubt their sincerity or their motives even if I can't agree with their opinions.

But I do doubt the sincerity and motive of those who organize it.

The call for freedom, transparency and fairness is something that should resonate among all parties, regardless of Opposition or Government. If there is a movement for it, then it should be above and beyond politics. That is the claim of the Bersih organizers. Yet, the past 2 rallies have been fully hijacked (or manipulated) by members of the Opposition for their own political mileage. When the organizing chairperson is seen marching for free elections but stands alongside none other than the Opposition leader, you can’t blame people for having feelings of distrust. Not when that Opposition leader only ever advocated reform when he got booted out of the ruling party and no longer had a share of the pie. Not when his own party is filled with problems of unresolved cronyism and nepotism. That the Opposition has completely dominated the Bersih rallies brings into question either the sincerity or the competency of the organizers. It’s my personal opinion, but if you want me in a yellow shirt marching around Dataran Merdeka next time, make sure there are absolutely no politicians around (from either side), or make sure they are ALL there together, handcuffed to each other, jointly advocating free elections. If one gets arrested, so does the other. If one gets tear gas, so does the other. Only then is your cause above politics.

Speaking of tear gas, a lot of people are pissed off at the police, for alleged high handedness and brutality. They say the police attacked the crowd without provocation, launching tear gas into restaurants and train stations where innocent people were just trying to leave, even when none of the original offenders who broke the barriers to Dataran Merdeka were in sight. Fingers are still flying around on who’s to blame. But on this matter, I feel sorry for the police, not the crowd.

If you went as a Bersih supporter, knowing fully well that there will be 30,000 or more people gathering in one small area in a highly charged political event, you need to realize what kind of risk you are taking. As proven last week, it only takes a few bad apples to spoil the whole basket. And when that bad apple wears the same yellow shirt that you do, please do not expect the police to be able to tell you apart. It is the job of the police to maintain order. When a crowd gets rowdy, or breaks the law, it’s their job to disperse that crowd quick and fast, in whatever ways allowed to them by the law, be it with a poster of Justin Bieber or tear gas. Just take it on the chin and accept that this is the part of the risk you took when you donned that yellow shirt. Don’t cry foul just because you feel a bit roughed up. If you can’t do that, don’t go.

The police themselves donned their uniform and committed themselves to maintaining and upholding the order of the law. Yet, it is also the duty of the police to protect the public. You can imagine how delicate a position it is for the police, when it is the people that they serve to protect who are the ones who are posing the threat. Perhaps the police did a few blunders here and there. But so did the organizers, who failed to disperse the crowd quickly after the rally was over and allowed politicians to rile up the crowd and taint the whole event.

The rest of us are watching, even if we didn’t go for the rallies. We see the mistakes of the police and the paranoia of the government. But we also see the hidden agendas and the political motives of those on the other side. For those of us who prefer a position closer to the center, the silent majority that is, these things add up. We will remember the Opposition as much for their manipulation as much as we will the Government for patronizing the people too much. Perhaps you can’t see or hear us now, since we don’t wear coloured shirts, nor organize mega rallies. But you will, the day we line up at the polling stations.

In the meantime, to the Bersih organizers, please refrain from organizing your rallies around weekends of major box office releases okay… Trying to watch The Avengers last weekend was quite a nightmare.

Onward Singapore!

I just learnt a rather surprising fact recently about the inhabitants of Singapore.

It turns out; the majority of them cannot speak Malay.

Perhaps that’s not much of an eye brow raiser. But consider this; Malay is one of their official languages. Furthermore, their national anthem ‘Majulah Singapura’ is written in Malay and only be sung in Malay.

The term ‘Majulah Singapura’ is seen on a lot of the official buildings, crest or what have you around the country. It was a term that really made an impression on me when I first came to Singapore.  As a Malaysian, Singapore had always been the more modern, more developed neighbor we all so loved to envy and make fun of, a bit like Belgians with the French, or Canadians with the US. We didn’t like them for the way prosperity had made them, but we still respected that they achieved what they did, which was so much, with what they had, which was so little.

So when I first learnt of the term ‘Majulah Singapura’, I was impressed. Literally it meant ‘Onward Singapore’. I remember thinking that this was just about the most appropriate motto you could ever attach to Singapore. It is a country all about progress, development and becoming a global, world class city... moving forward in short. You feel it the moment your feet touches the ground here. ‘Kiasu Singapura’ would probably fit the bill too.. but I’ll stay away from jibes for now. Credit should be given to where it is due, and Singapore truly lived up to its motto. I mean the first one of course.

So I guess as a national anthem, Singaporeans would have every reason to feel proud singing it. If only they understood the words that is.

My surprise about Singaporeans not being able to speak Malay wasn’t so much about the ability itself, but rather that they were singing their own national anthem in words they themselves didn’t understand. Kind of like how a lot of Muslims in Malaysia learn how to read the Quran and Arabic words without really knowing the meaning of any of those words.

Of course, it was explained to me that Singaporeans (who aren’t Malay) would be thought the meaning of the anthem in the other official languages i.e. English, Mandarin and Tamil… so overall, they did understand what they were singing…… but still…. It doesn’t feel quite right to me that a citizen of a country would need a translation of his national anthem before he could understand it. It just isn’t right. Perhaps there was a historical reason why Malay was kept, I wouldn’t know. But it doesn’t seem like Singaporeans themselves know either. It becomes especially ironic when I, a Malaysian, could read or listen to it the very first time and understood perfectly what it said. It’s like your neighbor being able to read the sign board in your house that you yourself cannot read.

I don’t mean this as a jibe, nor any disrespect to Singaporeans. It is a country that continues to have my respect and admiration. Singaporeans and Malaysians have such common roots that sometimes when I’m here, I forget that I’m really overseas. Everything here feels just like home, but better in many ways.

But you really got to do something about your national anthem. 

Old @ Heart

Some fast facts:

- I'm starting to consider gardening a pretty fun hobby.
- Pruning Petunias is the most exciting thing I've done recently.
- I listen to Lite Fm
- I listen to Business Fm
- I consider Double Espresso a hardcore drink
- I'm getting paranoid about health stuff
- I no longer read comics.
- I dont watch TV.
- I somewhat dislike Facebook.
- I don't know most of the latest music, movies or online sensations.
- I know the lyrics to more oldies that pop songs
- i stubbornly think everything from the 90s were superior.
- l still think i'm as hip as any other 20 year old, if not more....

Man..... I'm getting old.

Good Friday, No Holiday?

Why isn't Good Friday a public holiday? 

Many people know Christmas is an important day for Christians. But did you know that Christmas is important BECAUSE there was Good Friday and subsequently Easter? If you take Good Friday and Easter away, no Christian would bother celebrating Christmas. Christmas is meaningful because of Easter. Easter is meaningful because of Good Friday. Did you know that? Ask any Christian, he/she will tell you why. 

You don’t get catchy carols, presents or holiday treats on this weekend of Good Friday and Easter. It’s a lot less glamorous, and a lot less noticed here in Malaysia, but I assure you, it is a lot more important.

So if Christmas is a holiday, why isn’t Good Friday one too?

When Malaysia won the (not so) prestigious Suzuki cup a few years ago, a public holiday was declared.

When the Sultan of Kedah entered the Malaysian Book of Records for being elected the Agong for the second time, a public holiday was declared. 

So, when Jesus Christ died on the cross this very day two thousand years ago, paying for everyone’s sins, why isn’t a public holiday declared?

You may say “Well, that’s a religious thing… and I’m not a Christian. We are not a Christian nation. Ini negara Islam…Why SHOULD it be a holiday?”

The same reason Aidifitri, Aidiladha, Awal Muharram, Prophet Muhammad’s Birthday, Christmas, Deepavali, Wesak, Thaipusam, Agong’s Birthday, Sultans Birthday, Federal Territory day, Labour Day, Chinese New Year, Malaysia Day and all the other days gazette as a public holiday;

That people should be allowed to celebrate the things that are important to them.

And that others that may or may not find those things as important, are still allowed to be happy for their neighbour and celebrate with them.

Isn’t that supposed to be the whole ‘muhibbah’ 1Malaysia thing that’s supposed to make us Malaysian?

Good Friday and Happy Easter guys. 

Freedom from self

Isnt it funny... That we think the ability to go along with our impulses, our desires, our cravings, our longings without inhibition is what freedom is all about..

When in truth, walking down that path often brings the opposite.

We become the prisoners of our own desires, hostage of our own hearts, victims of our own lust.

A Coveting Heart...

Do you ever find yourself wanting the things you shouldn’t be wanting?

Do you ever find yourself coveting other people’s things? Their car, their house, their phone, their shoes, their cloths…. How about their wives? Or maybe it’s not their wife…. It’s their husband,  their girlfriend, or boy friend. Whatever you call it, it’s basically not yours. But you want it anyway. And deep in the safe dark corners of your mind, you allow yourself to wonder and imagine, just how, if and when you will one day reach out your hand to taste that piece of forbidden fruit; how thrilling it would be; how rewarding; how sweet it would be.

What is initially pure admiration; looking at something good and appreciating its beauty, quickly becomes coveting; looking at something good and appreciating its beauty, then wanting to make it yours.

Have you ever felt that way? Wanting the things you know you shouldn’t want?

If you say no, then you are lying. Either to me, or to yourself.

At some point or another, we’ve all wanted what other people have.

At its most innocent form, you sit down for dinner at a restaurant and as you do, you see and smell what the table next door is having. Your mouth waters, your stomach growls, and you decide in your mind “I want that.... whatever that guys having, I want that.”

Then you settle into your seat and save for the waiter. In doing so, you spot a beautiful sexy woman; your eyes follow down the lines of her plunging neckline and rest upon the beautiful curves that rest beneath her silky dress. Your mouth waters, your loins tingle, and you wish in your mind “I want that… whoever that guys bedding, I want her.”  

You could say these are two very different things; that the first things is innocent while the second is immoral.

But I beg to differ.

The object of desire is different. But they are the same thing. You are wanting what belongs to someone else.

Either way, I have done both.

I have made greedy looks, many times, at many things.

and lustful glances, many times, at many women.

Some days, when I am at my best, I flee. I move far far away from the source of that temptation.

Other days, when I am at my weakest, no amount of running seems to help. The body runs, but the mind guides it right back to when you started. Like a person running a full circle.. only to come back to the point he first started. Ten I realize it’s my own heart I need to escape from.

Have you ever felt that way?

At The End of The Day

One of the most annoying phrases I've come across when talking to people is:

 

"At the end of the day….. "

 

Have you ever heard that phrase? It usually comes when you're (pretending) to have some sort of intellectual conversation about some weighty issue such the meaning of life, politics or why French fries go soggy after 5 minutes. There comes a point when someone… after having decided he's finally grasp the gist of it all, decides to wrap it up with some mind blowing statement.. and goes

 

"At the end of the day…. ..(insert wise day here) "

 

My problem is that AFTER they've used said phrase above… the conversation DOESN'T END. It goes on and one.. and we find ourselves discussing the points all over again. Then the dreaded "At the end of the day…" phrase gets used again, in another vain attempt to try and summarize it all.

 

It bugs the hell out of me.

 

I think in any one given conversation, "At the end of the day" should be allowed ONCE, when you are truly wrapping up. Simply because the day only ends ONE TIME A DAY. The sun sets ONCE. It doesn't set, then backtracks, then set, then backtrack, then set…  If it did, I'm sure cowboys the world over will be pretty pissed… and so would I.

 

So… please people…. as surely as a day has one sunrise and one sunset, lets keep it so with the conversations!

The Best Lies

Random thought:

The best lies are the ones told few and far in between, dont you think?

In in fact, the best lies are the ones never told.

Wait, no.

Thats a lie.

Last Days with Dad

I'll be spending the whole day with my father today. We will be travelling down first to Melaka, and then further down south to Muar where my father was born.  my brother will be there too.

We've been talking about doing this trip for years, but never got around to it till now. Its going to be the first time the three of us went on a trip together. I have a feeling it might also be one of the last.

My father is leaving in ten days for the Philippines. He's moving there to start a new life. He doesnt plant to come back anytime soon. The story in my last post is in a nutshell, the story of my father's life.

While i respect and support him unconditionally, i feel sad that he is leaving. I cannot understand why he would choose to distance himself and chose to go down a road none of us can follow. Perhaps its for the sake of the love of the new woman he has found for himself for the forth time. But is not the love of his children and family also something worth putting weight to? If you would move for the love of one woman you've only recently known, why will you not stay for the love of two the of your sons you fathered?

Perhaps i should ask him all these things. But i think i wont. Its more important today that he simply knows this:

We love you.

of Starting Life Anew

Grew up in a small town down south of Peninsular. People called me Ah Beng. Rather stereotypical you'd think, but actually its my name. I had a normal childhood. My father was a policeman, my mother was a home maker and I had six other siblings. 

Like many of other people at the time, I left to KL after I finished secondary school. I worked for a while as a clerk in a bank. It was in KL that I became a Christian and first started attending church. I found myself fitting in quite naturally there. I enjoyed mixing with people, loved to talked and loved to play the guitar. Before I knew it, I was a fully serving member of the church. It was in church that I met what would be my future wife. She was a fair, beautiful and woman. Unlike me, she spoke very little and was rather shy. But I was taken in by her sweet demeanor. She seemed a bit too quite and sad sometimes. But at the time, i didn't think it was anything to worry about. We courted for a while and  got married after 2 years of dating.

Around that time, due to my zealousness for church ministry, I was offered a partial scholarship to do my Bachelors in Theology in New Zealand. I was slated to be one of the future pastors of the church it would seem. I took up the offer and flew to New Zealand with my wife, making it our home for the next for years. Over there we had our first son, we named him Samuel - meaning God with us. 

But soon, life, I discovered, wasn't always going to be so smooth sailing. 

My wife whom I loved and married, wasn't well. She suffered from mental illness; first depression then schizophrenia. What I had earlier thought to be just one off bouts of sadness turned out to be a recurring, long term state of depression. She lived with her relatives. I eventually learned that her own mother suffered some sort of mental illness, but died early at the age of 38. Her father married again and had other children. She was sent to live with relatives. There she function a lot more like a housekeeper than a member of the household. When she was 12, she witnessed the untimely death of her cousin in a road accident right in front of their house. According to her, that cousin was her only true confidant at the time. My wife did well in her studies, and went on to study nursing, specializing in psychiatry; she said she wanted to help those who had to live with a family history of mental illness just like hers. It was cruel irony to her later that as a trained psychiatric care nurse, she would end up needing psychiatric care. 

After four years of studying in New Zealand, I graduated with my Bachelors. My wife, who was meant to complete to same course of study, dropped out. Partially because we had a baby to care for, but also because of her depression. we left New Zealand came back to KL and back home, we received our second son. We named him John - meaning God is generous. I resumed my duties back at Church while my wife stayed at home, looking after the kids. But after the second birth, my wife seemed to get only worse. Over time, she became more and more aggressive. Her swings between absolute despair to uncontrollable rage became more and more pronounced. But she refused to see any psychiatrist, many of which were her former colleagues. When she did see a psychiatrist, she would not comply to medication. This would be how things were for the next 20 years of her life. 

When things started to go from back to worse at home, the church I was serving started to take notice. It was their reasoning that a person meant to lead the church, must first put his home in order. A man that cannot keep his house in order cannot be the right person to put the church in order. Eventually, when my personal circumstance at home did not improve, I asked to vacate my position. Bitter and disappointed, I left the church. I felt betrayed and abandoned when what I needed was love and support. It would become one of my most bitter memories and one of the biggest reasons I have refused to return to any church. 

Feeling disgraced, with the help of some friends, I moved my family up north, hundreds of miles away. I got a new job in the corporate world and started life anew.

But things at home did not change. My children was now in school, but my wife was not getting any better. We fought almost every night over silly issues like sweeping the floor, or the arrangement of things. She refused to take medication because medication made her numb and want to sleep all day. But without medication, she was always uptight and hostile in everything. In an attempt to keep the peace, and my sanity, I changed jobs and worked away from home, some 50 miles away. I come home only on weekends, if anything just to see the children. I loved my wife, but I simply could not stand her anymore. 

Then I met this woman at work. She was young, energetic and sweet. I fell for her. At home, all I got was hostility. I only came home because of the children. With her, I felt like a man again. I felt wanted, needed, welcomed. Perhaps it was because I felt so lonely and needed to feel the love of a woman again. We had an affair and despite it being wrong, it was the first time I started feeling loved again, in a long long time. Eventually, I just moved further and further away from home, down south, back to KL again. I had given my wife repeated ultimatums to comply to medication otherwise I'd move out, but she would not yield. The only good thing was that despite all her illnesses, she was a very protective mother. She always made sure the children were properly fed and clothed and went to school. It was when I heard that she had brought the children to sleep on the streets that I took them away from her, putting them at my sisters house in KL and leaving their mother up north. 

I eventually married the other woman. To do so I also converted to Islam. By doing so, I had also divorced my first wife by default. But I paid a hefty price for it. I was branded a black sheep for firstly abandoning my first wife and secondly, leaving the Christian faith. My siblings refused to have any further contact with me and many of my old friends turn their backs on me as well. To them, my fall from grace was now complete, from preacher to white collar, now to Muslim. There was no way anyone could understand that I was only human. There was only so much I could take. I had only so much strength. I had tried for almost ten years to live and bare with my first wife and her illness. But I wasn't strong enough. Even I have my limits, and surely, even I had a right to the pursuit of happiness right? 

I bared with the name calling and ostracizing. Despite all the nasty things said about me, I was starting life anew..... again. Life was finally alright for a while. I brought my children in to stay with me. They didn't accept my new wife, but after a few years, they too learned to live and accept her as a step mother. My second wife also did not immediately warm up to my children. There was the cultural difference, and there was also a strong notion with my children that she was the STEP mother, and step mothers were always to be treated with some doubt. But after we found out that she could not bare children of her own, she slowly changed her attitude towards my children; perhaps she decided that having step children was better than having none at all.  I left my ex-wife on her own. She seemed resourceful enough to live on her own. She was still hostile, perhaps more so now than ever before since I left her. I allowed and even encouraged my children to take an interest in the well being of their mother. Deep down I still loved her, but I just couldn't bare living that kind of life again. The one thing I could do was to ensure she got access to her children. Eventually, even my family came to terms with my decision and started talking to me again. For a good few years, life was alright. Good almost. 

If only my story ended there. 

Some years later, I started being close to another woman. She was totally unlike any other person I had ever known. She was the opposite of who I was. A single mother, quite but strong and willful. There was something enigmatic and mysterious about her, and I found myself intrigued by her. Before I had realized it, I was fully involved with this woman. I'm not sure why I did it. It wasn't like I wasn't happy with my current wife. And it wasn't like I was seduced either. Maybe it was the thrill of the chase. Maybe I just couldn't help myself. After a while, I reveal the truth to my current wife. She grudgingly gave her approval. We flew to Thailand and got married there. I was now a husband of two women. 

In hindsight, perhaps that was the biggest single mistake I have made in my life. But at the time, I could never imagine that it would turn out that way. The world went into recession just about that time, and overnight I had lost my job. To make ends meet, I decided to go into business with my second wife. We started a food business together, selling food to factory canteens. It was far different from the office work that I had been doing now for almost 10 years, but it paid the bills, and there was a certain amount of freedom in it. It wasn't all that smooth. Some months I had a surplus of cash, then there would be months where we couldn't break even. My new wife, the second one also turned out to be a lot more than I could handle. While my first wife was gentler and more accommodating, my second wife was overbearing and domineering. She control all the finances. All proceeds from our business went straight to her. She would give me money where she saw fit. In theory, I was equal partner in the business, but I on the ground, I was the one doing a lot of the work, and being paid an undefined salary. Whenever we had fights or arguments, she would simple stop giving me money. She would demand time from me, even when I was spending time with my first wife. My own family and siblings, learning that I had taken on a second (or third) wife, alienated and condemned me even more. To them, I was stupid and foolish. They said if I had a troubled life at home, it was because I was asking for it. I had no way of defending myself, because in many ways, they were right. I felt the fool, but I was a fool in love. I didn't know how to explain to them that obvious a screw up as it was, I genuinely loved both of them. I didn't wish for things to turn out this way.

In the end, it was my second wife who had enough. She gave me an ultimatum; pick me or her, but not both. If you don't leave her, then I am walking out. That night, I sat in the car with both my sons, now almost fully grown up. And for the first time in my life, I found myself expressing these inner feelings I had, and my side of the story for all that had happened for the last ten years. Somehow, I hoped that by explaining it to them, they would see their father in better light. That I am flawed, yes very flawed. But I wasn't a bad man, as they were told by others when growing up. I decided that I couldn't leave my second wife, and my first wife walked away. She moved out, started court proceedings and some months later, I no longer was a husband of two anymore. 

Later I learned that my first wife had met someone new and was ready to start a new life. She gave me a call and told me she was changing her number. She didn't want me or anyone related to me to ever contact her again. Her husband to be knew nothing of her past and she was determined to keep it that way. A fresh start. I respected her request and never contacted her since. That idea of a fresh new start was something I would eventually embrace myself. But for now, I kept with my decision to be with my second wife. By hook or by crook I was going to make it work. By now, I was in an openly lop sided relationship. If there was love before, there was none now. She treated me worse than she did the workers. She openly humiliated me and gave me no respect in front of my step children. Soon, even her children, barely 10 years of age started treating me badly. When my EPF money was due to be taken out, they pounced on it like it was their money. They wanted my money, but not me. I doubt they even cared that that money was meant for my old age. They were parasites determined to suck the life out of me. I labelled her demon lady, for the way she seemed to curve all the people who come in contact with her. Years of domestic unrest, fighting, shouting, cold wars and sarcasm had made me emotionally tired. My self confidence slowly but surely eroded over time. I felt like I was but a faint shadow of the man I used to be. It was a loveless life I live and I finally had enough of it. Eventually I walked out. 

I had no place to go, no property to call my own and not much of a career to fall back on. Both my sons were adults now, having just entered into working life. I supported them as much as I could during their college years. They took up loans from various people and corporations to fund their studies. I took up whatever job I could find, as  a security manager, as a teacher, anything decent paying jobs that would help me pay the bills. I moved in to live with my older son. They seemed more than willing to take me in and reintegrate me into the life they were slowly building for themselves. But I didn't want to be a burden. I was their father. It wasn't right if I depended on them. In most other families, it was the children whom always asked their parents for help, not the other way around. Furthermore, they were already taking care of their mother, my first wife, whom I abandoned and failed to care for in the years after. 

After finding a steady job that would pay the bills, I moved out. I lived on my own in an apartment 15 minutes away from my children. For a few years, I went wherever my job took me. I'd participate in my children's dinners and such over the weekends, but more and more I felt like they were moving on with their lives, and unless I carve something for myself, even at this late stage in my life, there would be nothing for me to wake up to every morning.

I don't know how it is that I dare say this again; but in the last 2 years, I befriended yet another woman, this time a foreigner. We started a normal friendship that slowly turned into some sort of relationship. She was a single mother in her forties, with children back in her home country of the Philippines. We talked about each others lives. I told her about my internal struggles and the mistakes I've made, she told me aboutthe poverty stricken life she and her family leads back home. Somewhere in between, with both of us being available, we started a relationship. We even started making plans for me to invest in some land and farms back in her hometown. I started giving her money to get started, with the ultimate aim that once everything was ready, I would move to the Philippines and start life there anew there. At my age, it'll probably be my last new start. 

My children are understandably apprehensive about the whole matter. Their are respectful of my decision, but remain untrusting of this woman whom I've started investing and money and time with. They don't like the idea that I'm moving to an unknown country, one that is in greater hardship than the one I'm leaving, that I have no legal status or protection while there, and I will be a the mercy of people that are neither related to me by blood. 

But that's exactly what I will be doing come end of this month. 

First timers luck didn't work out. 

Once bitten twice shy didn't turn out true for me. 

Third times the charm was a lie. 

What about the fourth? 

Perhaps it is madness trying my luck building my life with a fourth woman. But what have I got to lose? It's either I make life for myself (fourth time round) or die trying.    

A Birthday Gift For Mum...

It's my mother's birthday tomorrow.

I'm sending her to a real fancy spa for the day. One of those expensive ones.. with nice beautiful Balinese deco, scented candles, expensive massage oils, milk baths and drinks served to you right at the doorstep.

My other half gave me a funny gaze when I told her about my idea. It wasn't too long ago that she wanted to go to one of these spa's and asked me to sponsor her. I of course vehemently condemned the idea, going on and on about the evils of such wasteful indulgences and how women the world over were being cheated of their money. Actually, I just didn't want to pay. 

I still think its a waste of money and crazy expensive... and a complete indulgence.. but this time round, its the right thing to give my mother for her birthday. You may think I'm having double standards, saying no to my other half, but agreeing with it so freely when it's for my mother, but that's not really the case. 

To say my mother has had a hard life would be understating things. She's been through a lot. She's suffered depression, schizophrenia, being knocked and left to die on the road by a truck, walked the streets homeless and penniless, lived with no roof on her head for a good few months, been robbed and nearly raped, beaten up, physically abused, lived in a mental asylum and church benches and God knows what else. She has at some point or other in her life, begged for food, fought for even a penny of discount from stores on purchases and ate food laid out on streets, meant for idol worship. This was the mother I know who would lived off the charity of strangers and other people for days that stretched to months that finally stretched to years. The same mother that I discovered had a fair amount of savings sitting right in her bank account years later. When I asked her why she didn't spend some of that money to feed herself instead of begging for food, she told me that the money was meant for her old age, when she had to pay for her own medical bills, for when she wasn't strong enough to beg or fight for food on the table anymore. I remember nearly crying when I heard that. 

So ya, this is the same mother. And a big part of me feels like for all the hardship she's gone through in life, she deserves to experience a bit of indulgence and comfort at least once in her life. Life's not fair I know.. but wherever it is within my control, I'd like to see her know the experience of not only bitterness and hardship, but also of comfort and luxury.. however small or brief it may be. Then at least when she reaches the end of her life, she could look back and say that it wasn't all bad... I guess sending her to a spa is my own little way of trying to ensure that. 

Happy birthday ma.. 

life in a Nutshell

You know, after so many rounds of thinking, debating, writing, talking and wondering about it, life in a nutshell really just comes down to this few things;

someone to love;
something to do; and
something to hope for....

Hopefully we all get to have this three things together at least once in our lives...

of Winter & Springs

Life can seem so tragic and sad sometimes. 

Just the other day, I was talking to a close friend, and she told me her father said to her "I feel lonely." Her mother, his wife, had passed away some time ago. Even though quite some time had passed, he still felt lonely. I felt sad hearing that. It's a horrible feeling, having a void in your heart and having nothing to fill it with. That same friend also told me her grandmother just passed away a few week earlier. She had succumbed to old age. And though she lived to a ripe old age, a loss is still a loss. She tells me with all this death and sadness surrounding her, she just doesn't feel like there is much to look forward to in this life. Even her own desires to be married and settle down seem dimmed. 

On the same night, I learn that another close friend just went through a roller coaster month, having just broken up with a boyfriend, only to reconcile almost a week later. How turbulent her heart must be. I asked if everything is okay.. if everything is normal again. She says yes... but there never really is such things as normal when you go through something like that. I remember this same friend a few months back. She was flying down to Singapore every weekend to be with this Auntie.. who was on the verge of dying. I remember the look on her face when she spoke about this old lady. She was like a grandmother to her.. and I could tell that she loved her dearly. 

Again, at the beginning of the year, my other half was surfing Facebook when she came across a lot of post from other people on a particular persons wall. Apparently, her friend from primary school had passed away in a car accident. We loaded his facebook page and scrolled down the wall. There were countless tributes and words of sadness from everyone over his passing. You could read how sad everyone was about his sudden death. We scrolled further down... and you see post from a day before...many of his friends posting on his wall... asking him to Wake up, wake up, wake up!!! Saying how mad they would be if he didn't wake up and buy them that beer he promised. Asking him to stop sleeping already and wake up to for futsal this Sunday. He went into a coma after the accident. We scrolled even more to just 2 days before the accident, and you could still see his last post on Facebook. He posted a song he liked to share with everyone. He made a shout out to a friend for some event there were going to attend. I guess he can't make it anymore. 

My own grandmother passed away a few months back. It was the first funeral in my family for almost 2 decades. The last person to have died was my grandfather, her husband. And although I wasn't particularly close to my grandmother, watching my uncles and aunties and even my own father shed tears of sadness made me sad too. So many celebrities we know have died too; Whitney Houston died, Steve Jobs died, Michael Jackson died, Amy Winehouse died..... Their deaths are seldom related to us, yet we feel sad too. We somehow feel a loss simply because we know a life was lost.. and it could easily have been us.. or the ones we love. 

Death is grim. But it is surprisingly a good reminder of life. After being surrounded by death, you become acutely aware of how alive you are. Holding someone you love, you don't just feel their skin anymore. You feel the warmth of their palm and the blood that runs beneath it. Being aware of death, you suddenly realize how precious, how beautiful, how fleeting life can be. Every laughter and tear seems magnified. Every moment seems so precious. 

My other half was asking me the other day "How do you think all those vampires would feel.. in the movies.. if they could live forever.. how do you think they would feel?" 

I was surprised. She wasn't the kind that usually asked this sort of questions. 

I guess it would be a lot like the greek gods. Those who lived forever would feel bored and detached. Since everything is timeless, no amount of change seem to matter. Since there is no death, there is no renewal. Everything becomes stale. Life becomes stale. 

Ironically, death makes life beautiful. 

I've never quite understood people attraction to babies. I've always been awkward around them. But more and more, I'm starting to realize.. When people look at a baby, they aren't just looking at a cute, chubby little  miniature human.. they are looking at creation renewed. They are looking at life in its spring. Where hope blossoms and happiness flows. And I guess for many of us who are starting to see one too many winters, there can never be enough of spring... 

Have a good night everyone. 

The Hair Salon

Apparently, I have a small problem with going to hair salons.

For some reason, the few times that I have dared ventured into a hair salon to get my hair cut by a 'proper' hair styles, I have consistently shown signs of nervousness, stress and anxiety. I sort of freeze up, I can't speak like I normally do, and when the hair stylist ask me "So how would like your hair cut?", I look like I'm constipated. 

You see, I grew up going to Barber shops. In the barber shop, you sit down and read old Lao Fu Zi or Archie comics while waiting your turn. On the walls, there are usually pictures of famous Indian actors like Rajini Khan, Shah Rukh Khan or whatever Khan was the latest rage in Bollywood at the time. When your turn is up, the barber will usually be shaving away half the hair on your head before you even get to warm up the seat. You can are of course allowed to tell him how you would like your hair to be styled. Fringes, partings, slopes... specify to him whatever you want. The only catch is, no matter what you say, it will still come out exactly the same. They were kind of like the Henry Ford of the hair cutting industry. You can have any style you want, as long as its short and ugly. But for the fast and hassle free experience and the price you pay, people seldom make complains. It's not the sort of hair cut you'd go to your prom with, but it's not that ugly that you'd never return to the barber shop ever again. And since there are so many barber shops around, if you didn't like one, you could simply go to another till you find one that cuts your hair to your satisfaction. 

But hair salons are a different matter all together.

It's a barber shop, you get a fat (and sometimes smelly) guy with a very conservative hair himself tending to your needs. He cuts in an efficient and steady manner. Style and flair is secondary. In the hair salon, you have a young, funky man/woman, usually spotting some outlandish hairdo. He/She trims your hair literally like it's about to become their next masterpiece. Even before the stylist ever sees you, there is shampoo lady, who will wash your hair and dry it.. making sure its clean enough to be touched by the sacred hands of the holy hair stylist. And when the stylist finally shows up, he gives your hair a few flicks. And unless he did your last hair cut, he'd probably look at you as if Edward Scissorhands did your last hairdo. Then... there is the dreaded question... "How would you like your hair?"

And that's where I crumble like a cookie. Bare with me a bit here OK.

You see a hair stylist and pay more money instead of a barber because you want better hair. That implies that you acknowledge that the stylist is an expert at the subject matter; that he knows more about your hair that you do. That in turn implies that you should listen to their expert advice. So if I'm paying them for their counsel, why the f**k am I being asked how I like my hair? I want nice, neat and presentable hair. That's all I can say. Don't ask me what to do. You tell me!

Anyway, I understand that the stylist just cant start cutting your hair without first knowing what you have in mind.. or knowing your appetite for funky hairdos. So it's not totally unreasonable that they get some feedback before butchering my hair. So I go

Ahem.. well.. I want the sides to be.... short... and the top to be.... neat.. and erm... overall.. it should look...... well.... presentable-la... You know. The kind your mother wouldn't cringe at....the kind that makes you look opposite of what a Lala-boy would look like.

*lame look from the stylist*

And then they go "Oh you know.. your face is oval.. so your hair shouldn't be too short, otherwise, you look like an egg... OMG.. the rear of your skull is a bit odd... so again, short will expose it and make you look funny... and side partings are so last century... I really wouldn't recommend it. You shouldn't come downwards.. it should be spiky and upwards.. pointing to the sky because that's where heaven is...

WTF...

It seems like I've surrendered both my money and my hair to the next Mr. Vidal Saasoon to become his next masterpiece Guinea pig. Not only am I not going to get the hair I want. I'm going to have to pay I'm for it.

Ah.. then there's the money... the big game changer. Like I said, you pay the stylist substantially more (3 times more to be exact) than you do the barber. That means you both acknowledge that there is a higher value in this cut... be it tangible or intangible. So since they are charging you more, and you are paying more.. there's gotta be something that is different. I suspect that the stylist feels they feel obliged to make your money's worth by throwing outlandish and funky hairdo ideas to you and cut you hair as if your hair was their greatest creation to date. They won't let you get away with short, neat and presentable... because that's so beneath them... so..... barber-ish... And YOU... you can't walk away with merely short, neat, presentable  

hair especially when you are paying that kind of money for a freaking haircut! So you take all the crazy funky hair ideas from the glorified barber stylist .. because you think that's what you paid all that money for.... even if you don't really want anything funky at all..

You see my where I'm getting at?

Halfway through the haircut... when the stylist goes off to get some more contraptions to carve my head, my other half comes up to me and whispers "You know...you do realize that  if you're not happy with the way he's cutting you hair, you can always tell him to do it differently right?"

Well honey... that's what I thought with the barber too....

Have a good week everybody.

If you died today

If you died today, who will miss you most?

Would it be your boss? Would it be your colleagues? Would it be your friends? Would it be your family?

If you died today, who will find it hardest to move on?
Your telco company? Your bank? Your other half? Your family?

If you died today, what will you worry about the most after you are gone?
Your unfinished work in office? The state of politics in your country? Your family?

Every now and then, I lose perspective of what's important. It's sad that it often takes something dramatic to happen, like someone we personally know dying suddenly, before we are reminded again on what are the truly important things in life.

The Little Playground

There is a small park behind my house. I go there every other morning, before I go to work. It's a humble little park. In fact, its not even a park. It's just a playground, not unlike countless other playgrounds you'll see around suburban KL...I just call it a park because when you've lived in cities long enough, any patch of grass feels like a park. But for a small little park, I have found it to be amazing. There are children playing around the swings. There are young boys having a game of basketball. There is a trio of old men brisk walking together, catching up on the latest gossip. I hear birds chirping in the trees and I see the neighbourhood dog rolling happily over the grass. There is an old man that brings his granddaughter to the slides. He watches on with a proud smile as the little girl climbs up and down. It is an amazing little park. There is a lady there who, like me, comes every other morning. It's hard not to notice her because she's the only resident there who is white. She comes with her baby, barely a few months old. She looks eastern European to me, but it's only a guess. The kids like to stare at her. They find it extraordinary that there is a 'mat salleh' lady in such a place, far far away from where other expatriates usually live. But after a while, everyone accepts it. The first time I smiled at her, she was quite taken aback. Maybe it was too sudden, or maybe I should have combed my hair before gong in public. The second time, I ventured a simple Good Morning (with a smile of course). She nodded back in acknowledgement. I hope she doesnt think I'm a creep. It's amazing to behold in a snapshot, the full spectrum of life in such a simple place. To have people of all ages and background gather here like that is, to me, a beautiful thing. It makes the place feel full of life and intimate. You see the same faces coming and going and it becomes familiar. To the point where even if you don't really know these people, you somehow do anyway. There is a bus stop next to the park. Most people sit in bus stops facing the front,waiting for the bus. But at this bus stop, some of them prefer facing the back. Because that's where the park is. They see the same thing I see. Old men walking, young men exercising, small kids playing, mothers cradling, dogs rolling on the ground. I guess I'm not the only one who thinks this park is amazing. Oh wait, I mean playground. Oh, who cares anyway....

Another Day to Live

For about ten minutes, I seriously thought my time to die had come today.

It was when the lights went dim and the pilot announced "Flight attendants, please take your seats for landing.." But instead of descending, the plane swerved violently and started to make a sharp dive then a sharp climb. Everyone in the plane was started. I felt an intensity of the G-Force pushing down on me as the plane seemed to climb desperately. I spontaneously let out a low groan. It seemed everyone around me felt it too. I could feel the intensity of the wind. And sitting at the back rows of the plane, the feeling of being tossed around could only have been worse.

I had been on many flights before, and this was certainly not normal. Pilots don't suddenly decide to go all roller-coaster immediately after announcing a landing. Perhaps at the very last minute before touching down, the pilot had to abort the landing due to an unexpected wind. Whatever it was, it scared me. I switched off my MP3 player and started paying attention. The little boy next to me was terrified. And his mom was trying hard to reassure her. But I could feel her mothers nervous energy. To my left, the man sitting next to me had tightened his seat belt for the third time.

I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could do anyway. I thought of all those disaster movies, where the poor characters all are stuck on a place that's about to crash, and the hero comes up to the crowd and says "If you believe in God, now's a good time to start praying..." There was no hero in my plane, but I started praying anyway. I suddenly understood why some people were so terrified of flying. There was absolutely nothing you can do if something bad was about to happen. Your life literally depends on 3 parties; the pilot whose flying the plane, the engineer who built and maintains the plane, and most importantly, God himself who decides which wind blows your way. You just had to trust that they each would do what they promised to do; one to fly, the other to fix and the last one, to save.

So I closed my eyes and started praying. Or at least I tried to. It all came out in an incoherent mix of fear, hope and faith. What you have no time to think, the things most important to you, usually come out most naturally...

"Oh God... help us. Help us get through this safely. If its possible, not yet God, not yet. I can't die yet. My family needs me. They need me. Please God. But if I really die God.. if I really die.. then let them be OK... Please let them be OK...."

That Garth Brooks song started playing in my head.... "If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I loved her? Is the love I gave in the past, going to be enough to last, if tomorrow never comes?" I closed my eyes and started visualizing my own funeral... with my father, mother, brother, wife, friends all standing around sobbing. Would they ever know that my dying thoughts were on them? Will they be alright? Funny that my thoughts were more on those who would survive me rather than on my own death. I kind of knew that once I was dead, that was it. In the blackness of death, a day would be a thousand years. And a thousand years would be a day. But for those who lived on, it would be weeks, months, years and decades of sadness and lost.

Hours earlier, my wife hugged me closely and said to me "Come home safely OK dear.. I can't afford to lose you." I had always brushed talked like that aside. To me, I wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon, so there was no need for such talk. But right now, sitting in a plane being tossed by the winds so easily... her worries didn't seem so unfounded after all. After about 20 minutes of circling around, waiting for the weather to subside, the pilot announced that we will be making the 'final' approach to land. The most dangerous part of a flight is often the landing. I was still recovering from the earlier failed landing attempt.  I didn't like the 'final' part in his sentence. It was still raining heavily. I wondered if perhaps we should wait longer before trying again?

Needless to say, this isn't written from the great beyond, and I didn't die. The pilot landed us safely and we arrived in one piece. Although everyone did seem more eager than usual to get out of the plane. The little boy next to me was smiling again. And as for me... well, I kind of laugh at myself.. it felt as if I had gone overboard in my own thoughts (again). Perhaps I wasn't quite at the brink of death as I thought I was.

Sitting in the taxi heading to the hotel, I thought about it a bit more. It didn't really matter if I wasn't technically really going to die. Emotionally, it felt real. Emotionally, in that short ten minutes (that seemed to last an eternity), I had given the prospect of my immediate death very serious consideration. And as expected, the fear associated with it sprung out so great, I was hardly able to contain it. Had something else not sprung at the same time, I don't think I could have taken it so well. That something else was faith. While a big part of me is not ready to die, a big part of me also believes that all things are in the hands of God. If my time was indeed up, I had to trust that God knows what He's doing... and that He would take care of the ones I loved most... and that if I were meant to die today, in the grand scheme of things, it was never going to be without purpose or meaning.

So thank you God... for keeping me safe today. You answered my prayer, and you gave me one more day. I'm calling my family... to tell them I love them. Thank you for that.

2012

It’s 2012.

How time flies. Just like that, another year is gone. It seems the year passed with the blink of an eye doesn’t it? But then again, we say that every year don’t we? Every year seems to past by just as fast as the year before, and before you know it, it is the years that have flown by so fast.

It’s usually the time people reflect on the year that has just passed. It’s also the time people lay out their resolutions (and hopes) for the year to come. I’m tempted to start listing mine here, but I will spare you the agony of having to read them.

I’ve been rather silent in the past year. I don’t write as much as I used to. I can’t really explain why yet. A simple answer would be that I have nothing to write about. But that’s not always true. Many things have happened that I chose not to write about. I would say I don’t have the time, and this would be somewhat true. In between working in a demanding job and starting a new family, I have had very little time to simply sit down alone and have time to myself to write. But I think I have also changed. Sometimes I would jot them down somewhere. But when it comes down to it, I simple never bother to finish my post. I guess on an emotional level, you can say I have moved on to another phase. I no longer feel that need to pen down every emotion that I experience throughout the week. It just doesn’t seem like a big enough of a deal to be recorded in writing.

I also think it’s got a lot to do with the phase in life I am in right now. Once upon a time, I would write a lot about my mother and my ordeals in growing up in a broken and dysfunctional family. Then, I wrote a lot about my other half, about love and about life itself… many things I have come to experience as a young adult for the first time. But right now, to be honest, I am at a stage where there is no drama. There is no heart wrenching incident, there is no tear shedding moment. For this chapter of my life, God has granted me peace. A peace I am savoring every single day by not being in front of the computer, but instead, in front of the people I love. To me, this peace brings about a special kind of joy. A joy that - if I were to try to describe it - is neither loud nor always obvious, but present nonetheless. Like a smile rather than a laugh. Perhaps content is a better word. If I have written very little, it is because I have been busy being happy. And that is the priceless gift I have been given this past year, for which I am deeply grateful.

My greatest wish for 2012 would be just that; that I would again be too busy being happy.. Hopefully, the same would happen for you too.

Happy New Year dear friend. I hope all is well with you.

Warmest Regards
Me