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.