Forthnights

Mommy's boy

After that 30 minute arguement with my brother, i asked my mother if i was really wrong in not calling my father now and then. Being rather against my father, my mother said that if i didnt call him enough, it was his own fault. But my brother had a point, i hardly, if ever call my father. I honestly told my brother that i do not feel the need or the urge to call my father up and share. Even since secondary school, when my father was trying to juggle having 2 wives at the same time, one week being here, one week there, i never called him when he was not around, and if i did, it was because i had something important to tell him. Why was it never an issue then, why is it suddenly an issue now. Suddenly i am guilty of alienating my family and not sharing my life with them. The only person i share with is my girlfriend. She did agree that i didnt share much with my family, her included, but she said she understood since i was busy. But that was not it. She said something else that i never considered before. She said that its understandable, since i am more attached to her than to my father. Her own reasoning was that as a baby, my mother breastfed me, and took care of me, hence our bond is stronger. My father on the other hand, didint have much to do with my upbringing as a kid. On the other hand, my father was highly involved when my brother was born, and he has recounted to use many times how he took care of my brother when my mother was ill....

I never considered it before, but somehow when she said it, something stirred in my heart, and i knew she was right. My mother has always had a special place in my heart. Just reading back at my own blog, seeing the number of post in which i have mentioned my mother, i cannot deny my own feelings. Going back into the room, i asked my girlfriend if she agreed that i was more attached to my mother and she said yes without missing a beat. She said of all of the rest of my family, whenever she and i had arguements, i was most defensive and protective over my mother. I know this because i told her myself that, it would mean the most to me if she got along well with my mother. It means more to me for her to get along with my mother more than with my father or brother.

Suddenly i felt a little embarassed. I didnt realise that i was such a mummy's boy. It really broke my heart when i realised that my mother and girlfriend couldnt get along. In fact, she cant get along with my entire family. I wondered how i was going to keep the 2 women in my life close to me and happy at the same time. Few weeks ago, in our talk of moving out, my mother confessed that she would rather stay where we were. I was really surprised when she said that, if i am away, she would be willing to stay at our present house with my girlfriend. I asked her how she was going to do that since she and her couldnt get along. But she just said that she was willing to, as long as my girlfriend contributed to the household. That really made me happy, because it showed to me that she now accepted her to a greater extent, even if it is just marginal.

I know that my father and brother arent too happy that i do not share with them. I openly told my brother that it was awkward for me. More with my father than with him. I said that i could detect more goodwill in him, so i am more willing to tell him things. But in my father, i detect little good will. He doesnt seem genuinly interested in getting to know my problem or what is important to me. My girlfriend is important to me, and if you want to share my life, get to know her, this person who has such a big portion of my heart. Everytime i speak to him, he's more busy trying to give out advice on how to live our lives; advice that contradict the values he thought us as children. Now that he has divorced his wife and moved into my brothers place, i am sure ill be seeing much more of him again. But as i said, he isnt the same man as he used to be. I dont know if i'll be able to bring myself to give him calls regularly and create conversation like my brother does so naturally. Perhaps I am lacking in that department. But from my mothers statement, i at least know why i am not as attached to my father as they expect me to be. Similarly, i now realise just how come whatever happens with my mother; her well being, her illnesses, her nagging, her complaining, her laughther, her touch and her hug all affect me so much. When i talk to my father, it is formal and to a certain extent, void of emotions. I naturally refrain from exhibiting any strong emotions and remain friendly in a very business like fashion. But with my mother, i do not talk like that. To my embarassment, she likes to cling on to me and hug me whenever we go out, but it feels more natural and warm. I talk to her and seldom attempt to hide how i am feeling. I show to her, plain to see how i feel about matters, something i seldom if ever do with my father. With him its all diplomatic and calm. Thats why the outburst the other day was such a surprise to me. I did not expect myself to react to him that way.

I guess in conclusion, i feel more for my mother than my father. I symphatize and emphasize less with my father, because in a way, i feel that he is responsible for his own actions. He chose to leave my mother, he chose to marry 2 malay wives and convert to Islam. He chose to divorce them. He chose, he chose, he chose. All that he is suffering and going through now is a direct consequence of his actions, of his infidelity, of his itch for other women. Though i do pity him, i also feel that all these problem were brought about by is own actions. Yes, he had no idea it would turn out this way, but he did it all despite strong objections, despite being rejected by his family and children.

With my mother, i remember having countless sleepless nights, thinking of her and how she was doing alone back up north. What did she do wrong? What sin did she commit that she now deserved to be alone in an empty house with no money, no children and no friends? Her only sin was that she was ill. And that 'sin' was enough for her husband to leave her along, for her children to be taken from her and left to stand on her own two feet, after giving up her career to be a home maker, and the stigma of mental illness to battle alone. My self guilt stemmed from the fact that my mother had done nothing wrong but was made to suffer more than any of us who stand by and watch injustice done in front of our own eyes. Even when she went out to the streets begging for food and taking mother from strangers, i could never bring myself to blame her. I felt ashamed, i felt angry, i felt devestated, but it was never directed to her, though i never realised it at the time. It was direct at myself for letting it happen. She had done nothing wrong. SHe had done the best she can, with what she had.

At 52, both my parents have gone through so much, and have little of the pass to show for, except countless countless bitter memories. But the difference is, my father had a hand to play in his own misery, my mother did not. In so many ways, my father is a victim of his own actions, my mother a victim of her circumstances. So tell me now, have i been wrong in not feeling more for my father?

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 11:26 pm Comments: 1

Just when you think things will settle down…

For the pass few weeks, I have been at my wits end trying to recover my stolen motorbike from the police, with no success. Other than that, semester just started and the assignments are starting to pile already! Also, since I’m in my final year, I have my thesis to do, due end of the month, which I am horribly behind schedule. And I somehow got involve in my college Career Fair, where 72 companies from in and out of Malaysia will be setting up booths in our College Hall. So, as you can see, it’s quite a handful.

As if that’s not enough, I got into an argument with my father in the afternoon; the first time he and I actually had one actually, and about 6 hours later, I get a call from my brother telling him my father just divorced his wife and he will be moving into my brothers place that night itself. I’d be shock beyond reason if it were not for the fact that this would be the second time, the first incidentally almost exactly a year ago. Still, it is big news.

As for argument with him, well, I guess it was more like an accumulation of discontent between the 2 of us over the pass few weeks. He had been calling here and there asking me about my motorbike. When I told him that I was still trying to get hold of it with no success, he accuses me of procrastination, and not putting priority on the matter. He said that I would always have something else to do if I did not make it my priority. Being my father, I let him have his say, after all, it was not without its merits. But chase the matter I did, despite knowing that I would be taken on a wild goose chase by the police. But then he says my lack of success was because I was not assertive enough over the police, and that I was being too nice with them about it. To quote him “You must show them that you are not a person to be messed with.” But I didn’t think showing the police whose boss would be effective in achieving my cause. Still, his accusing tone did make me unhappy. I didn’t like the fact that he chose to criticize me instead of lending me some support. Our argument came about from a letter; specifically, a letter sent by our lawyer concerning the sale of our house up north. I received the letter, requiring the signatures of my parents, and at the same time, I received a message from my father, telling me to get the letter signed and given to him. So, after receiving the letter, I waited for him to come collect it. But he didn’t, and called to ask about it. When I told him the letter was already here, he asked my why I didn’t tell him about it. I said that I assumed he knew about it, since by his own admission, he had been in regular contact with the lawyer.

Again, he goes on to tell me that I have not had my priorities straight, and that I did not put enough importance on the matter. “Tell me, is that right or not?” He asked. I replied him saying “I have nothing to say. Its pointless of me to say other wise since you have already made up you mind on what you think my priorities are.” I told him I honestly thought he would be well aware of the letter arriving. He expected me to call him when it did, and I expected him to know that it did arrive. After all, he informed me about the letter, not I him. We ended our conversation quickly and an hour later he sent me a message and I quote “Son, remember: in society you are judged by your results, not by your efforts.” For the next few hours, I could do nothing else but to think of my rebuttal to that statement, but stayed my hand from replying him.
All sorts of thoughts came to me, and I constructed a speech in my head to reply him.

So you say that we are judged by our results, not by our efforts. If that were true, and results were all that mattered, what would that make of you? What have you to show for after months and months of trying to raise a decent income? If results were all that matters, then I have to say that you are a failure yourself; for you have not been able to provide any significant income for our family let along yourself. For more than half a year now, I have been surviving on money I have earned doing part time jobs, tuition, money from my brother and a shame to admit, my girlfriend. What money have you given? What have you provided? Is it then fair to judge that you have failed your duties as a father and breadwinner for us? Despite your efforts, you have nothing to show for. Should I now judge you based on that? The verdict would be failure with a capital F. But I refuse. I refuse to believe that my father is a failure; I refuse to believe that efforts are insignificant. I have never once pointed a blaming finger on you for not giving me enough money. I try making my own way, doing jobs here and there, even if I didn’t want to in the first place. I do this because I trust that you are doing your best. After all that was what you though me when I was growing up. Long ago, as a 7 year old student giving my report card to you, you told me it matter not what place I got in class, but that i studied hard and did to the best of my abilities. I grew up believing in that, and suddenly you tell me something opposite. What happened to the father I know? Has all your troubles embittered you so much that you have let go of the values you held and passed down to your sons? All that seems to be left is a bitter, distrusting, calculative and cold shadow of what you used to be. If results were all that mattered, we would all take the shortcut road to success, to use whatever Machiavellian means available to us, and any notion of principles an integrity thrown out the window. Forgive me if I don’t subscribe to your new belief, but I still hold on to what my father though me as a kid.


But of course, I never did reply him, and all that you read here never reached his ear, nor will they ever. It was just rhetoric in a moment of anger and frustration, and I let it go.

Having had quite enough of emotional turmoil for the day, I cast all thoughts aside, and concentrated on spending time with my mother and girlfriend on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Interestingly, I never had that teenage rebellion thing going when I was growing, and never once fought with my dad, and only now at 21 do we suddenly seem to not get along.

Half way through dinner, happily devouring the KFC that I bought as a treat for myself, mother and girlfriend, I receive a call from my brother. My father had told him about our argument, and he called to mediate things and give me some advice. We went into a half hour discussing/debate about how things are. He said that my father wasn’t happy that I didn’t put family as a priority. According to him, I go out of my way for my girlfriend, sending her to and from college, but don’t even bother to call my father once in a while. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I never did feel the need or the urge to call my father and ask how he was. “That’s the point. You don’t want to wait until he dies before you regret not building a relationship with him. Come on , he’s your father.” I didn’t have anything to reply to that. Its not like I deliberately avoid calling him or talking to him. I don’t. I just find it awkward just calling him without any reason ‘just to say hi”. Yes, he is my father, but our relationship (at this point) is more formal. I talk to him about all the necessary things, but we hardly say much personal things, or rather, I don’t tell him my personal things; my feelings etc. It may be because he never asked, or I never shared. I don’t know which, but unlike my brother, I do not feel comfortable just calling him up and sharing with him; a part of me just feels that he would not understand. For that, my brother says I have not been putting enough initiative.

He told me my father confided that he finds it hard to communicate with me, that I do not share what’s going on in my life. I guess it comes as not surprise. Long ago, I took a personality test and the result really hit a chord with me. It said that I was a person, generally friendly and warm, but I tend to built invisible walls around me, thus preventing people from getting to know me ‘entirely’. In the end, my brother told me that I harbour a lot of negative feelings towards my father. “He chose to walk out of this house and return to that woman, not me. You and I both warned him against going back. Now, after leaving us, he still wants to be kept in the loop about what’s going on in our lives, and he expects us to report to him. IF you want to be around, BE AROUND, not expect me to ‘keep you in the loop.” It was just being defensive I know, but to a certain extent, that was how I felt about the matter.

The more I thought about the matter (KFC now laid uneaten), the more I had to come to terms with my own feelings. I did harbour a lot of negativity towards my own father, and I didn’t even realize it until my brother said so. When he left again to be with that woman, my brother was the strongest to react. He refused to talk to my father for a few weeks, and he made his feeling clear about it. I on the other hand tried to stay neutral about the matter. Yes, I was upset too, but I tried to stay positive. After all, why should he give their marriage another chance? I guess on some subconscious level, that feelings stayed dormant, very possibly, manifested itself through a cold shoulder towards my father. I stopped taking an interest in his life, stopped finding out. He went back there, so let him be there. We advice against it and offered him support, but he chose to go back. I respect your choice, which is to be there, not here. And that speaks more than any of your pleas for us to keep in touch more often. To say I don’t bother to keep up our relationship seems so hypocritical, since you chose to stay with a woman who tortures you rather than your sons, who received you with open arms.

Lastly, my brother told me that my father divorced (verbally) that woman and was moving out of the house. “It’s about time.” I thought. Ever since going back there, his life has only become worse, and that haggard look on his face that slowly disappeared while staying with us quickly made a return. Soon, he was back to that depressed, defeated, bitter self again. I never understand what he could possibly see in going back. He went back to be humiliated, criticized and be called useless, yet he took it all and stayed. Meeting him just now, i saw that he was tired, both emotionally and physically. He looked worn out and defeated exactly how he looked when he moved out last year, only worse. I forgot all the anger I had earlier, and felt nothing but pity for this man I called father. He used to be a shining star; he used to be a cheerful person, someone who believed in the good of people, who dedicated his life to ministry and spreading the gospel to those around him. Now, he is a middle aged man, with 3 failed marriages and while other men his age are reaping the rewards of their life’s work, my father is stuck with the prospects of unemployment. I felt sorry for him. How far you have fallen from grace. But just like I told him a year ago, I believe that in leaving that woman, the only way you can go is up. That the only direction to go after rock bottom.

I have not come to terms with just how I feel about he whole matter now. I sense that things will change again. Despite my brothers dream for the four of us to be reunited, the prospect of putting my father and mother together again is not something I welcome. I told my brother that my mother gets stressed our around my father, especially since he tends to order her around. Echoing my own concerns, my mother said she is afraid of going into a relapse if she were to stay with my father again. I have warned my brother of this, and with the coming change, I hope we will all be able to weather it. I really don’t want to see my mother in another relapse again, since we all know what that is like. But even in hoping for the best, I become weary. It sometimes seems the more you hope, the more you become disappointed.

Imagine a set of people all living in the same building. Half of them think it is a hotel, the other half think it’s a prison. Those who think it a hotel might regard it as quite intolerable, and those who thought it was a prison might decide that it was really surprisingly comfortable. So that what seems the ugly doctrine is one that comforts and strengthens you in the end. The people who try to hold an optimistic view of this world would become pessimistic: the people who hold a pretty stern view if it become optimistic

C.S. Lewis
God in the Dock


Think about it for a second

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 10:54 pm Comments: 0

Lips of An Angel-Hinder

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 10:20 pm Comments: 0

Mind your language!

Once again it’s festive season here in Malaysia. We Malaysians truly are a laid back lot. How not to be when every other month, there is just something to celebrate, and another excuse for a discount sale all around. There’s always Hary Raya Aidiflitri, Deepavali, Chinese New year, Christmas, Thaipusan, Christmas, Wesak Day, Esther, the new year, independence day, Agung’s birthday, Sultans birthday, Labour day, and that’s not even counting the festivities in east Malaysia. Packing all of that into a year, and you see why we are just such a laid back lot. We celebrate everything, from Hari Raya to Deepavali…Well, we may not actually celebrate it per se, but we do get an off day for it.

We are a lucky lot. We don’t have earth quakes, we don’t have volcanoes, tornadoes or Cyclons. We have water all year round (or at least we are supposed to) and the only flash floods and haze we ever get are all man made. So lucky and relaxed are we that we often take to squabbling about all sorts of petty matters. Well, petty to some at least. So, let’s dive into some petty politics here for the first time.

When our new federal capital Putrajaya was built, all the road names were in English. There was this precinct, that precinct, this avenue, that boulevard. When I visited Putrajaya a few years ago, I thought it was a nice touch. To give it English names sort of made the place feel more international, open to people from all lands. But some time last year, someone (or some committee) decided to change all the names to Malay names. Now they are all called Persiaran perdana this, jalan that… This sparked off a debate within the country about why the roads where renamed. Those doing the renaming said it was to strengthen the use of our national language. I guess they figured if the French could do it, so could they. But I bet the French speak better English than we do anyway! Till now, I’m not even sure if it is an issue worth debating about. Some would say a rose is a rose by any other name. But others beg to differ. To them, a name carries a lot of significance; hence the language used to name it is significant. Just ask any Chinese, and you’ll know just how much though was put into their Chinese name. Every word means something. So they want all our street names in Malay.. fair enough.. it’s a moot point anyway, of little consequence, except to torture foreign tourist visiting our country.

To emphasize our national language is nothing wrong. But the move came at time when our government is trying to encourage and improve our usage of English. Even our SPM examinations have incorporated the use of English. Is this not an obvious move to foster the use of English? To those unacquainted, our state of English literacy was not always this pathetic (yes, pathetic). Back in the 1960’s (though I wasn’t even born then), many people could speak English. My parents both went to English type schools. Government offices used English, all thanks to being colonized by the British for so many years. But there was a drive back then to foster the use of our national language. Slowly but surely, our usage of English lessened, and we used more and more ‘Bahasa Malaysia’. The purpose was to foster unity among the races. To give us some common platform through our national language. To an extent, it worked. Most Malaysians today can read, write and speak Malay, regardless of ethnicity. But it all came at the cost of our English.

The English we use today is so full of ‘lah’ and ‘lor’s which are quite charming and funny at times, especially when just talking among Malaysians. But sadly, our English fails us whenever we are face with the intimidating task of speaking to westerners or ‘ang mor’ as we call them. Realizing that this language problem could hinder our national progress, the government has taken steps to try to reverse this trend. But you cant help but wonder if another change is possible; many Malays not comfortable with English refuse to reply or speak the language. I once saw a cashier continue speaking in Malay even though the poor foreigner couldn’t understand a word she was saying. The lady had to turn to the person behind her to ask for assistance. That person kindly translated what the cashier said and the foreigner paid up, but leaving the place exasperated. It is this kind of stubborn attitude that will be hard to change. Worse of all, they now have a solid reason to not change, that we should be proud of our national language. To be fair, this problem exists regardless of ethnicity. Everyone refuses change, especially from thing they are not familiar with. But there are also more enlightened people who take their own initiatives to improve. I have 2 friends who asked me to speak to them only in English no matter how much they suffer.

In some ways, our society is also divided into those who speak English and those who don’t. Those who speak English think they are a class above the rest. They think because they speak English, they are somehow better than the rest non speakers. Then there are those who don’t speak who feel that the speakers are an arrogant bunch of S.O.Bs.. *ahem.. mind my language, im just quoting a friend.* I know because I was once called an arrogant guy for only speaking in English. The Malays will say we should use or national language, the Chinese would say “You are a Chinese but you cant speak your own language? You should be ashamed.” The Indians… well… actually, many Indians are fluent in English, and can speak their native tongues too. There are also some that just become awed by you the minute they know you speak English. Since when did merely speaking English become something to be awed at? Has our English become THAT bad?

The fact is, we don’t use English enough. The national language of Singapore is also Malay, but everyone uses English or Mandarin. Here, I strongly suspect the only times we use English is during English class. What more, our people don’t read. We read like 2 pages per year on average, and the only English we are exposed to is the one on TV, and we all know just how good that is. But the real tell-tale sign of what a conundrum we face is when our English teachers can’t speak proper English. And trust me, it has happened. How do you expect us to walk the right path when those lighting our way have lost theirs? I strongly believe that our language, manner of speaking and choice of words reflect on what we honestly are. You cant pretend to be something else, because your language will always betray you. Anyone who has watched “My Fair Lady” with Audrey Hepburn will know what I mean. That being said, the choice of language for our signboards is a small matter. But let no one use the seemingly noble gesture of national pride to hide their own self denial, ignorance or worse, arrogance. Or else, next time the issue crops up again, we might use Malay not by choice but because we don’t know any other language well enough.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 8:41 pm Comments: 1

Pics for your viewing enjoyment

All pics taken in SIngapore... Sentosa Island


Thunder tea rice.. bleuurrghh... green soup

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 7:01 pm Comments: 1

My holiday

So i know i said Wednesday, but here it is, my account of my little trip. So take a deep breath, take a sit and take your time in reading. Ill try to upload the pics after this

Just so you know, it wasnt easy planning this trip. One, we didnt have much money. Two, it was hard to find a time where all of us were free at the same time, especially since my girlfriend is a student nurse. We left on Thursday night on the 12th October and was back by16th October morning. So it was really a short trip

Off to Pontian

Nothing much to say here; We just went to Puduraya (local bus station), took the earliest but to Pontian and slept all the way there. Well, at least I did. My girlfriend couldn’t since she isn’t accustomed to it. I on the other hand have been traveling long distances since primary school, so needless to say, I slept like a log. Arrived there at 11pm.. and my friends parents brought us on a mini tour around their little township and supper. The town is located right beside the ocean, which is really nice, but unfortunately, there’s no beach. Its all just mud, mud and mud. Its more fishing village than beach resort. I have heard countless times from friends out of town that the food in KL sucks, it comes no where near the ones in theirs smaller but beloved towns. I used to brush it off, thinking its some sort of small town people mentality to defend their town pride against the might and sophistication of a metropolitan, but I found on soon enough through my early supper that they were right all along after all. Yes, it took a lot longer to prepare, but maybe that’s why it taste better. The people there had no great rush or million dollar business to make, so they took time and the pains to do whatever they were doing properly. In KL, as long as the food doesn’t kill you, its fine, even if it looks like prison food. To quote a friend “The food in KL requires little ‘Kung Fu’ to make it big. Bring the same food here (small town) and they wont last a week doing business.” So, when my friend told me that the food in Singapore is worse than anything else I will eat in Pontian, I just had to give her the benefit of the doubt.


Early sunrise, dogs on water and puffer fishes

We were planning to leave to the fishing village (destination for the morning) only at 7am. But since we were on holiday, I was totally not myself. I had this strong urge to start clicking away with my friends digital camera at everything. Top of my list was to see a sunrise by the ocean! What could be more beautiful? Big red sun rising on the blue horizon, lighting up the sky; making it look like the sky was on fire, silhouettes of birds in the sky… I just had to see one this holiday. So I pitched the idea to everyone and agreed to wake up at 5.30am instead of 7.00am to reach the sea side before the sun rises. Did I mention I was out of character? See what I mean? Me? 5.30am? Only on a holiday my friend. Arriving at the seaside, after walking deep into the fishing village, I was ready for that magic moment to be immortalized in my mind. *Sigh* No such luck… Firstly, there was no beach (expected), but mud everywhere. The sun was rising, but we couldn’t see it. Why? Well, thanks to our beloved neighbours in Indonesia, almost the entire country has been covered in haze due to their open burning. We were hoping the haze would lift, but it was worse than ever, and all we say was just fog, for and more fog. But I wasn’t going to let that spoil it all. Instead of birds in the sky, we did other more unexpected things. There were mud skippers ….well.. skipping in the mud…duh… so that was a rare sight for city dwellers, and also dogs…. But these dogs were in the middle of the sea. Let me explain. The place was a fishing village. So, they rear fish in this floating platform by the shore. According to our tour guide (friends father), the dogs were kept on the platform as a companion and a warning alarm at night. It seems there are pirates/looters who steal machinery, fish and anything valuable from these hard working fishermen whenever they can.

He told us how as a kid, he would jump into these waters (or more precisely mud) and play the entire day catching crabs and mud skippers, despite being forbidden by his late mother. That was how they had fun in the old days; tree climbing, swimming in the..ahem.. mud… and cycling on hours end around town. That was living life he said.. Not sitting in front of a computer screen getting virtual experience and virtual fun.. He had a point there.. and for the record, I did climb trees as a kid, but not jump into the mud. After that, we went for breakfast and went on a boat tour around the village and to a mangrove reserve nearby. Again for the record, I ate what I suspect is the worlds-largest-pau during breakfast (see pic to believe)

Boarded the small boat, just the 3 of us, and we were off. Feeling the ocean breeze on my face as the boat moved, I couldn’t have been happier (or sleepier) in coming this early. I took a deep breath and smelt the ocean and..well.. fish (not that romantic huh?). The boat guide showed us around the village, and we even stopped on one of those platforms with the dogs on it. The guide fished out (mind the pun) all sorts of crustaceans and marine life from the nets. Archer fish, puffer fish, small sharks, sting rays, star fish, oysters, sea urchins, we saw them all. The puffer fish was cute, since you could literally hear him puffing to inflate itself when caught. But our tour guide kept on deflating it by squeezing its mouth, only for it to puff all over again. Next, we went the mangrove forest/island, and managed to spot a wild boar and an abandoned ship.. The captain must have been drunk to get the boat up there. (see pic).

After seeing the forest (just trees, trees and oh ya.. mud. Hey, it is a mangrove forest!), we headed back to my friends home, ready to go to Singapore! If course, not before buying the mandatory souvenirs for those at home. Not a bad visit really. We got to see how these fishermen actually live their lives. The seafood there are probably so fresh, you have to kill the fish yourself. Anyway, as a boy used to city life, it was refreshing (and shocking) to see how people live in the village. No shopping mall, no parks, no lrt, buses come once an hour, but plenty of chicken farms, coffee shops and oh yes.. fish!

Singapore, here we come!

So on the bus we went again to meet my friends other relative in Johor Bahru, which is right beside the causeway. After about 1 and a half hours of riding on the bus we met her relative, and that was when I sat a Lexus for the first time in my life… Ill risk sounding like a ‘village’ boy here by saying I was a little excited about it since I have always and ever admired this automotive beauties, albeit from afar. This was my first chance to be inside one of them. With the engine purring down the highway, we arrive at the immigration checkpoint at the border within minutes. We waited for about 30 minutes for 5pm to arrive. Most of the Malaysian cars were doing so since Singapore charges a $20 dollar fee per car entry before 5pm. It was also there that I had my first demonstration of Singaporean efficiency and uptightness and of course the total lack of in our Malaysian counterpart. There is always a great big jam when entering and leaving Singapore by land. But the bottle neck is always at the Singapore side, never on the Malaysian side. You might be forgiven in thinking that our Malaysian immigration officers are so much more efficient. But the reality is, the opposite is much closer to the truth. Crossing the Malaysian immigration, the officer didn’t even bother to look at our faces, he just quickly waved us off without so much as a glance and the whole check took no more than a minute. But across the bridge half a mile away, you see something very different. First thing that caught my eye were rangers wearing great big hats walking around with assault rifles at the ready. They seem to be just watching everything, anticipating something to happen, looking for some suspicious things. You don’t see any “WELCOME TO SINGAPORE!” signs anywhere. The message is clear; no monkey business when in Singapore, or else.

According to my friend, the Singaporeans were much stricter about immigration. They checked every passport, every face, and every car boot tirelessly and diligently. If they even sniff something remotely funny, a strip search will ensue. True to their reputation, the officer was quick at his work, but skipped nothing, carefully matching each passport to each passenger in our car. I guess it comes with being a tiny dot for a country. Ironically, Singapore is so many times richer than Malaysia, with just a fraction of our population, yet their people are so much more insecure about themselves. But to be fair to them, the threat of terrorist attacks is always there, and all the scrutiny convinced me that at least Singapore IS a safer place to live, compared to Malaysia. Our immigration officers couldn’t care less about who goes in and out of the country. He didn’t even look at my face! I could like Osama for all he knew. I guess it shows how laid back we are.

The first welcome message I did get from Singapore was surprisingly from my phone. Suddenly, STARHUB (Singaporean telco) was on my screen and a message of “Welcome to Singapore” was sent to me. So there we were in the car, speeding down the Singaporean highway. 3 things I noticed. The highway is smooth, without pot holes everywhere. In Malaysia, driving feels more live going through London after the Blitz with all the holes and uneven roads. The taxies are so nice and clean! All the taxies in Singapore were Toyota Crowns. The only other kind of taxi I saw was a Mercedes C-Class, but who could possibly afford that? No black smoke, no crazy driving, and no rude nose picking driver. To top it all off, every driver had an LCD screen panel to their right! Why would taxi drivers need an LCD screen? Beats me, but it certainly gave me a good impression. Sensing my preoccupation with the local taxies, my friend informed me that all taxi drivers were require to attend and pass basic hospitality courses to properly treat guest coming to their country; Impressive and very thoughtful. Strangely, everyone warned me against driving into Singapore if you are here for the first time. They said the roads are very confusing, but I found the road signs and directions quite obvious. (Of course, I speak relative to our KL roads, which deliberately mislead you instead of pointing you to the right place) Lastly, being a motorbike rider, I immediately noticed the bikes. There were no Honda EX5s to be seen, no ‘kapchai’ little bikes around like mine. Harleys here, Aprillia’s there. All the bikes were big, beautiful, and very cool. Till the end of my trip, I still didn’t arrive at the answer as to why so many Singaporeans go for such big bikes. The petrol there cost twice to us, and they have no roads to speed on! But I know many of them cross the causeway to travel on our long highways on their giant beast for the weekend.

So I hear that Singapore is squeaky clean. No doubt the city is much much cleaner than KL, but that’s not to say there was not a single piece of rubbish on the floor. There was, and I took photos to prove it. (Man, what’s got into me?) The first place we went was Shin Yu (or was it something else) and Bugis Street. It was a 3 level walkway, entirely covered, so you get the feel of walking outdoors and indoors at the same time. I must say I enjoyed walking around, looking at the shops, since the variety was so much more than what we usually get in KL. I took lots of photos of the place, but was sadly (and accidentally) deleted by my friend. The Bugis street right opposite was a lot like our Petaling Street, with the same concept; Lots of cheap stuff to buy (great souvenirs place) and lots of things to see and eat. Only difference you would expect (being in Singapore after all) was that everything was much more organized, cleaner and price tags were displayed for everything. I bought 4 shirts for Sg$10 dollars. Cheap, even with the exchange rate.

For dinner, we just went back to the shopping mall to eat at the food court. As we went, something dawned on me. There seemed to be many good looking people in Singapore. Many of them were very well dressed, and the women dressed more sexily (again relative to Malaysia) and openly. Not bad if you are trying to ‘cuci mata’ (wash your eyes) with some beautiful sight. But I don’t know if its just me, the people there aren’t that friendly. I’m not talking about the staff at Sentosa Island resort or other tourist spots. I mean the everyday people. They seem to have a slight frown on their face, and a hint of.. is it pride?.. is it arrogance? … I don’t know.. just a hint of snobbishness. I have been told before by my father, and friends who have been to Singapore that the people there aren’t that much of a cheerful lot, but to their credit, their real work horses. By the time I sat down for dinner, my impression of them were pretty much cemented by the lady at the counter who served me my food; ruthlessly efficient, but don’t expect a smile, unless they are charging you for it. Another interesting thing was the toilets. Yes the toilets. To those who have never been in Malaysia, be warned. The toilets here are horrifying. In many places, you have to pay to use the toilet, but don’t expect much. Just get in, do what you need (small business only) and get out before you suffocate. For bigger business, just hold it till you get home. In Singapore, you pay for everything, except toilets. That’s clean, and it’s free!

Back to more serious stuff, after dinner, we stayed at my friend’s relatives place. But of course, being guest there, and being Chinese custom, our host just had to bring us out for a meal. Food has always been the preoccupation of the Chinese. When 2 of them meet, they inevitably ask “Have you eaten?” So, for the second time that day, I sat on (another) Lexus, this time belonging to a different brother (how rich are these people anyway?), and he brought us to Geylang, the red light district of Singapore. Now, I have read a lot about the place, and I was kind of excited to see it. Singapore is a land of contrast, I tell you. There’s the rich who can afford cars and semi-d’s (which are really very expensive there) and the rest of the folk who live in the thousands of apartments and take public transport). Prostitution is legal (to my surprise) but no soliciting. Oral and anal sex is illegal, even among husband and wife. So, being in Singapore for about 8 hours by then, I had my expectations of Geylang street, and it all turned out to be true (boringly predictable), vibrant, clean, no hanky panky. You wouldn’t think you were in a red-light district. Neon lights, busy streets and an entire street full of restaurants. I did spot some scantily clad women, but there was no way of telling who is and not a ‘hostess’. Our host brought us to a Beijing restaurant, and we were served ‘Chinese’ food (meaning from China, which IS different from ours) by mostly ‘Chinese’ waiters. Isn’t that ironic? You travel to Singapore to eat food from China. Despite being in a red light district, everything was kind of ‘upper-class’ and the food amounted to over Sg$200 dollars. Plus, the waiter took our order using a PDA. What happened to pen and paper? Why would a waiter need a PDA? Are you going to Bluetooth the order to the Chef on his PDA to Bluetooth his assistant to start cutting the onions? So after dinner, we retired back to our accommodation and I slept my first and last night in Singapore. We were leaving the next night (it was a short holiday)

Pulau Sentosa, land of synthetic beaches and everything else

So the next day, we went to Harbour Front, ready to cross to Sentosa Island. Sentosa Island is the resort island of Singapore, where all the people go for a weekend of relaxing. We dropped by Vivo city, the newest shopping mall in Singapore, and went for a walk. They had these weird characters walking around in their funny helmet and whistle, urging us to shop. On seeing a camera, they were only too happy to whip out all sorts of poses. They were also these guys going around in the Segway machine, saying good morning to everyone. Nice, something we could really learn from in Malaysia

We initially wanted to take the cable car over to the Island, but it was $15 dollars. Being on a budget, we took the less romantic, but more affordable bus for $1! In Sentosa Island, things are (again) very efficient, and the staff are all super helpful and friendly. (I think it was because we were paying for it!) As expected, every attraction on Sentosa required an additional ticket purchase. Being the cheapskate I was (hey, I’m not rich you know), we went to all the ‘free’ stuff, with the exception of the Underwater World, which was $20 dollars, but we just had to go, since I have been hearing about it since I was a kid. Visited the ‘fake’ Merlion. (according to my friend, the real one is somewhere else), the Underwater World, the beach and the water fountain show. To me, the best part of it was still the beach. My girlfriend has been badgering me for months and months to bring her to a beach. And one of her prerequisites during this holiday was to go to a beach, any beach. So, I finally fulfilled her wish, and we both dipped our toes into the waters of the beach together. Now, Singapore has no natural beach. If you want clear blue waters, with corals, sandy beaches, snorkeling, come to Malaysia; go to Redang, Or Pangkor, or the Islands off Sabah. It’s one of the best in the world. But if you want 7-eleven to your left, and a synthetic beach to your right, come to Singapore. The sand is uniform, all of the same size (which is kind of strange) so its different from walking on a real beach. There’s no crabs, there’s no random rock here and there…. Just a uniform, strategically planned out beach, convenience, just another walk away. Which speaks volume s of their society.

Synthetic or not, I walked and walked with my girlfriend along the beach, savouring the moment together. I’m not the romantic type, but I was glad that we had that moment together. At the end of the trip, I told my girlfriend “If after traveling all the way to Singapore, and spending the money we have, all we did was walk on that beach, I would still consider the trip worthwhile.” I never fancy shopping malls, and the thing I enjoyed the most was still something simple and free, a walk on a beach with the one I love. That is invaluable, more than diamonds or pearls, more than anything else in the world. To end our trip to Sentosa, we went to the Water fountain show. Packed to the max, it was a laser show with water fountains catching the lights. Battling through the loads of tourist all around, we rushed to the bus stand to catch the bus back to the ‘mainland’, to in turn rush to Johor to in turn rush back to KL! I seriously thought that we weren’t going to make it since the line was sooOo long! But my worries proved unfounded. Typical of them, the buses came one after another in quick succession, and what would have been a 4 hour wait in Malaysia took about 10 minutes to clear. I guess they predicted the lines too.

But as efficient as they were, I still couldn’t shake off my impression of Singaporeans. Not too courteous people. I saw little smiles from them, notorious for being kiasu and materialistic. Did you know that their divorce rate is something like 30%? Many of their women don’t get married even into their 30’s. Some say its because they want a career. Others say its because they have high requirements of their husband, and being so successful themselves, there are little Singaporean men who can live up to their standards. The men on the other hand have taken to marrying Malaysian women, or even Vietnamese women; more feminine, less materialistic and more down to earth, cited as the main reasons. (That’s right Malaysian ladies, you show them how to behave!) As for the Vietnamese, they actually get married through marriage agencies, who supply young, willing, virgin brides from Vietnam from $20,000 to be married to lonely Singaporean men who just ‘don’t have time’ to find a wife, or can’t match their demands. Back on the bus, I could help but notice it was every man for himself when it comes to sitting. The younger men and women just sat glued to their seats, despite an elderly man standing so obviously in front of them. No doubt, they had the right to keep their seats and not give it up, but it does not make them right in doing it.

Home sweet home!

Uneventfully, we crossed the Johor causeway, passing through the Singaporean and Malaysian immigration. Same scenario as entering, so there’s no need to elaborate. As I turned back and watch Singapore Island getting smaller and smaller, I told myself “Well, that’s my first holiday, but it won’t be my last. I’ll be back.” We boarded the bus in Johor at 1a.m. and arrived early in the morning to home sweet KL. Not a bad place to live in really, especially if you have money. Everything is so modern and nice, Singapore. Despite all that I have said, it is a lot like Malaysia, only one step better in everything; at least, everything material. Their people are hard workers, maybe a little too hard. Ours on the other hand don’t work had enough. We laugh at their kiasu’ness and materialism, they laugh at our laziness and laid back attitude. We envy their facilities and wealth. They envy our warmth and friendliness.

Overall, it was a memorable holiday for me. One with all sorts of contrast, from the rural fishing village in Pontian, where people (can afford to) wait for hours for a bus to ultra modern Singapore, were everyone’ in a hurry, too busy to smile or get married; from the mangrove forest of Kukup to the not-so-seedy red light district of Geylang. Its great to be able to see these different walks of life. Interestingly, by seeing more of others and how they live, we actually understand ourselves better, more aware of how we live and how we want to in the future, whether its in a rural village or giant metropolitan. In the mean time, I was glad to be back in KL. Despite all its inadequacies, it is still a place I grew up in, a place I love, and a place I call home.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 5:53 pm Comments: 0

Post Pending!

Last week, just before my semester started, i went to Johor (south of Malaysia) and Singapore. Im trying to write an account of my first ever holiday, as well as post some photos here. Since i dun want to leave anything out, im kind of trying to write out my thoughts on just about everything during my trip, so its kind of long!

Meahwhile, here are just some pictures while you wait! Since ill be staying over at my brothers place (with no internet connection) it will be at least Wednesday before i can post again..

**all photos were taken in Pontian, Johor.. Singapore pictures yet to be uploaded.



Largest Pau in the world!

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 12:23 pm Comments: 1

Just nostalgic

In a way, i am sad...

I am sad that this will be my final semester in this college. Though i accept that change is inevitable, the reluctance to let go of what seems to familiar lingers.

I never expected myself to be too attached to my life as a college student. Afterall, as i have expressed, its frustrating not earning your own money and being dependant on a not so dependanble father. In many ways, leaving college and starting my working adult like will be a step forward...

Yet i feel sad...

Sad knowing that i will no longer get to be as carefree... To know that this chapter in my life is coming to an end. To know that i will have to move on leaving behind friends from all walks, all pursuing their own life, others just starting their college life. They say that life as a student is the best. That once you go out to the corporate world, it would dull in comparison to your life on campus. Though i have never experienced it, i do not doubt it...

Above all, i am sad that i will not get the oppurtunity to get to know some people better. Friends who only appear late in my studies years. Friends who show so much promise. The kind of friendship u just know will bloom into something great, given the chance and the time...

But alas, the beauty of sunset only last a moment.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 1:33 am Comments: 0

Notice: Missing Motorbike

Well, i have tried and tried for the pass few days to reclaim my motorbike from our beloved men in blue, but with not success.

Its hard to believe that its been more than 2 months since i was told the wonderful news that my stolen motorbike has been found. But i guess all the high and euphoria has kind of deflated into one big dissapointment.

I was taken on a wild goose chase throughout the day. Initially, i just showed up, telling them that i wanted to reclaim my bike.. that was 1 month ago. But the officer-in-charge was not around, and instead, i was given a "Who-asked-you-to-come-without-calling-first?" So after that day, i made phone calls diligently for almost every other day, asking for the officer in charge, who strangely was never ever in office, and no one seemed no know where he was. Worse of all, they refused to give me his private number.

So after days and days of being accused procrastinating by my father, i finally got hold of the officer, and he told me he has transfered to another station, hence no longer in charge of my case. He instead refered me to... heres the gem....another officer.......

So when i finally went there today, ready with my helmet to ride home with my old -not so trusty - bike, i was again 'pleaseanty' surprised wiht a "He's-not-here-i-dont-know-where-he-is-you-have-to-wait-for-God-knows-how-long-sorry-i-cant-help-you-im-fasting-so-im-incapable-of-working-effeciently."

So after being refered to about half the departments in the police station, i finally spoke to some guy from some department, who asked me "Who found your bike?" I dont know! YOU FOUND my bike. How am i supposed to know which officer actually nabbed the thief and rescued my bike? "If you cant tell me who was in charge of it, i cant help you." In the, he told me to go to the yard to see if my bike was there. it wasnt, and in the end, the truth dawn. NOBODY... None of them knew where my bike was supposed to be. They expected me to know... If the police who found my bike dont know where it is, who does?


I dont want to get to much into the details, just that these people have a serious communication problem... not me...


So i went back empty handed... to my obvious dissapoinment... but not quite unexpected.. given the reputation of our police force.

Oh well... so much for that....

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 12:00 am Comments: 0

Depression

The problem of depression is something very close to my heart.

Having grown up with a mother suffering from depression, paranoid delusions, and schizophrenia, live never has been truly easy. When I was young, I blame and hated my father for leaving my mother. I hated the fact that he was somewhat a womanizer and a compulsive flirt. At the same time, I couldn’t accept that my mother wasn’t like other mothers. Somehow, I always knew that my own mother was ‘sick’ and that I could never have a regular mother like my other friends. As I grew older, I realized that my mother couldn’t help her own actions. She was in too deep into her depression, and it all spread out to become much worse, with delusions and schizophrenia eventually setting in.

Until today, I have to consciously refrain myself from asking her to stop twitching her face or biting her lips. In all honesty, its embarrassing when people look at her and see her twitching her face as if something is not quite right. Sometimes, just not wanting to bare with the embarrassment, I just prefer to not bring her out at all. Its so selfish of me. Her twitching and biting are all due to the side effects of the medicine, and it’s just not fair of me to ask her to take the medication and at the same time act like she’s not taking it.

I know through my own experience that depression is a serious issue. It has the potential of wrecking whatever good chance a person has of being truly happy in life. Personally, I feel that I had to grow up pretty quickly when all this things were happening to my family. How could my brother and afford to be immature about the matter when the very foundations of your life; your family starts to fall apart. You can’t, and just like many of others who are faced with difficulties in life, we are forced to rise up to the occasion and handle it in a way that is beyond what we ever expected ourselves capable of. But when you are force by circumstances to grow up quickly, it takes and invisible toll on you. For me, I always felt at some level that I was robbed of my innocence as a child. That I wasn’t given the chance to enjoy life the way it was supposed to be in the eyes of a 5 year old. To see my father cheating on my mother at such a young age, I pretty much knew what lust and temptation was about, though I never mentioned it. You just knew what it was although you didn’t understand entirely. To see my parents argue and fight, and my mother screaming at us to help when he hit her, it certainly takes away all remnants of innocence. I became aware of what violence, abuse, sex, lust, infidelity and insecurity was at a pretty young age. There are times when I myself wonder if I’m in a depression.

Some weeks just go by, and I feel horrible the entire time. As if something is not right. You don’t know what is it, only which it is there, and the frustration of not knowing what it is and what to do about it just makes it worst. Suddenly, I feel lonely for no apparent reason. It’s not like I am alone. On the contrary, the more the people around you, the lonelier you feel. I think many people share the same emotional turmoil. No one understands me. No one cares about what I feel. No one truly knows what I’m going through or how I feel, and nobody cares to know at all even if I did tell them. I know there are always a hundred and one souls out there just reaching out, trying to find a person to relate to; to let that bulging burden off their chest. I know that all of us, no matter how happy we may be, feel lonely sometimes. I know, because I am that way too.

So many times in my life, when things go wrong, I do what is expected of me. To act with maturity and reason. To put on a brave face and swallow whatever life had given you and say "i'm ok." Not only do you have to say YOU are ok, you have to show that you are strong enough, so that those around you remain strong and perservere. The one worse thing that actually breaking down emotionally is seeing your loved ones breaking down. More often than not, you stay strong, or at least appear strong for their sake and not for your own. I remember when we went down to see my mother in her almost lifeless state, dirty and unconsciouss. When we tried to bath her and dress her, for the first time in so many years, i saw my brother break down in tears. I could just feel the deep sense of sorrow in him. He asked me me to continue. I hugged him and told him i will manage it, as he tried to calm down. I was just about close to tears myself, but i dared not cry, for my sake and my brothers sake, one of us had to hang in there. At the moment, crying was a pleasure i couldnt afford. It wasnt untill weeks later, when the full reality of it had set in did i manage to cry it all out, alone in the room. Only after that did i manage to really put it into words and publish it in this blog. Those who have felt true sorrow will know and always be weary of trying to describe how it feels like or stereotype it. I can never imagine how it feels like to loose someone to death, i can never imagine how it feels like to grow up as an orphan, or how it feels like being raped, betrayed or abandoned. but i know that it would be foolish of me to say i know how it feels like. Through my own pains, i know that pain that runs deep can never be fully expressed in words. To try to said you know how it feels is naive and insensitive, and shows that you have no real grasp of human suffering.

but therein lies the problem. We hurt, and we dont know how to get it all out., When we talk to people, all we get is "I know how you feel."... But that doesnt help. We go about our lives, forcing ourselves to move on, and not dwell on the past. But deep wounds heal slowly, and always leaves a scar. On the ulterior, we look ok, and to a certain extent ,we even feel alright at times. But then, something is unresolved in our hearts and we are discontent for no particular reason. We put on masks of what people think of us, and we conform to what people expect of us. Once your grieving period is over, people expect you to return to normal, but after a while, you realise that there is no returning to normal. Things have changed. YOU have changed. And when we hide that change, to show everyone that we are 'back to normal', we hide that side of us that needs coming out the most. In the end, we have this outside self that we portray to everyone. The person we are all so used to; the person we all love and hate for. But inside, there is something else. I feel it alot sometimes, because there are secrets in my life that i guard so closely. So close i have never told any other person. There are times, when i am with a friend, and the words are just at the tip of my tounge, but they dont come out. Fear of rejection. Fear of judgement, fear of dissapointment, fear of an unsympathetic ear and worst; fear of an uncaring heart.

Though i have kept my secret for a long time, and i have moved on, the fact that i have never uttered a word of it, never confided anyone about itl its just unsettling. The irony of it all is; i am forced to behave and act like nothing is changed, that everything is fine, but in truth, everything changed for me and nothing was the same anymore; inside of me.

I look at my mother, and i wonder how she became how she is. Was it because she too never dealt with her past? Was it because she had some deep problem within of her that was never resolved? Was that the start of it? I know i would not want anyone to ever go through what i have gone through. Everyone is entitle to a friend, and everyone should be entitle to come clean about his worries and problems. To speak your worst fears and shames without the fear or guilt, and know that someone cares and you are accepted despite your flaws. If only we all listened more that we spoke, the world would be a much better place.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 11:56 pm Comments: 1

Last day of work

Well, it was my last day as temporary assistant in the college today. I must say, I feel better than I expected myself to be. Initially, the only reason I took up this job was to earn extra cash. And seeing how I only had 3 weeks of holidays, I didn’t have much choice in terms of employment. Thought the pay is only average, I decided ‘what the heck, it’s better than not working at all’

Just 3 days into my new job, and I was already suffering as hell. Every morning, I would stay in the office, making photocopies of just about everything, collate papers, stick double sided takes, and all sorts of miscellaneous stuff. In the afternoons, I would be banished to the hot and stuffy filing room to work on the filing work taking back a year. Not only was the room always hot, I was always alone, and the afternoons went by without seeing another soul in sight.

Just as it seemed that I would be stuck that way for the next 3 weeks, I was rescued from my misery and was ask to help out in the marketing department with some seminar coming up. The work was pretty much the same; collate her, staple there, glue here, punch there. But the days just seem to pass much quickly and less miserably for one very simple but powerful reason. Good company. There were only 3 other people in that office; the manager and his 2 officers. And though I was required to work overtime, and do all sorts of tedious and often mind numbing work, it all seemed so much less a chore, and more an excuse to just sit around and enjoy good company. It was a welcome break from lonely afternoons in that sauna like filing room. For one, I liked the way these people worked, as opposed to those in the main office. Firstly, there was no ‘ular’ here and there (truant from work). The people from the ‘other side’ (as I like to call them) would leave sharp at 4.30pm without fail. Being all women, they gather around at the end of the office, discussing the latest do-nothing-but-loose-that-ugly-thighs dieting techniques while happily devouring some fruit cake from home. People on ‘this side’ were much more committed to their work, after staying pass an hour after the official off time. Even so, I actually felt more relaxed and at ease with them. They were professional in their work, but always maintained friendliness and sincerity, even to the office boy (which is me by the way). When they asked me to do overtime, I agreed without a wince, because I knew that they wouldn’t ask me to if it wasn’t absolutely necessary and they did not take it for granted; they stayed on to as long as they possibly could while I tried to finish asap and even bought drinks as a sort of mini reward.

The little little show of understanding and appreciation made the difference as opposed to just ‘you have to do this by tomorrow so do overtime until its finished-meanwhile, ill go and chat with my colleague and watch you do’. Though I was just a T.A (temporary assistant), they didn’t treat me like a second class person there, though we joked a lot about it. In fact, I got the impression that they, or at least one in particular shown genuine interest and concern to know who I am and where I come from. As I said in the earlier blg, I was surprised that this person shared her problems and history with me, and I surprised myself even more by just telling her frankly about everything in my family. Its not something I do with people I meet for the first time. In a way, I was also glad that they asked me to stay an additional 2 days to help out with their seminar.

Though mostly, I was more of a cheap labour, carrying stuff all around, it didn’t matter anymore. I was after all my job. The interesting parts came when not one but 2 of the senior staff asked if i was English educated. I always err at this question, since as far as I know, there are no English schools in Malaysia, except international schools. My answer on both questions was that I was in fact National school educated, and no I didn’t attend Chinese school either. I was flattered really since they commented that I speak very good English and that my Chinese was not bad either for a person that never studied it. So ya, that certainly made my day. As the participants of the seminar started signing in, I recognized and chatted with many of them (many of whom were either staff or lecturers). Again, I was posted the question “Are you a scholarship student? Are you a top student? Are you a course/school representative?” and to that I just gave a “No, no and no” I do not hold a scholarship, I’m not a straight A’s student, and I’m not school rep either. I just sit front center in lecture and ask a lot of questions in class. My day grew even brighter when some of the staff recognized me from last years public speaking competition finals. The fact that they even remembered my face is enough to convince me that I didn’t do that bad after all.

At the end of today, my colleague from ‘this side’ of the office offered me a handshake to say goodbye and a present along with it. I assumed that it was from all 3 of them but just asked “Who is it from?” But she just said “Open it and you’ll know.”

So after work I opened the envelope and found a book and a cd. The cd was from Maroon 5 and in her message she said she was growing too old and seldom listen to it anymore. So she decided to give it to me. The book was Where is God When It Hurts? by Philip Yancey. I honestly say I am touched by the gesture. Perhaps from our very brief exchange of life stories, she sensed that I was going through a lot of pain. Whatever it was, something compelled her to give this book to me to read, perhaps to find comfort in it. Maybe its her way of trying to offer comfort to me through the book, I don’t know. Still, it is just about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, what more from a person I only know for 3 weeks. She quoted a particular paragraph for me to read, and I will put it in full here for your reading;


[ In thirty three years on earth Jesus learned about hardship and rejection and betrayal. And he learned too about pain: what it feels like to have an accuser leave the red imprint of his fingers on your face, to have a whip studded with metal lash across your back, to have a crude iron spike pounded through muscle, tendon and bone. On earth, the Son of God learned all that.

In some incomprehensible way, because of Jesus, God hears our cries differently. The author of Hebrews marvels that whatever we are going through, God has himself gone through. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are-yet was without sin” (4:15).

We have a high priest who, having graduated from the school of suffering, “is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and are going astray, since he himself is subject to weakness” (5:2). Because of Jesus, God understands, truly understands, our pain. Our tears become his tears. We are not abandoned.

By T.S Eliot from Four Quartets.

The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That questions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hand we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer’s art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

>The surgery of life hurts. It helps me, though, to know that the surgeon himself, the Wounded Surgeon, has felt every stab of pain and sorrow. ]


Finishing the paragraph, I was really touched by it all; in so many ways. As I said, it’s the kindest thing anyone has done for me so far. Not only that, many of the things said in the paragraph touched a nerve with me as I ask myself “Does God really care about me?” I just had a gut feeling that all this didn’t happen by chance. As I end my short stint in the office, and start reading this almost God-sent book in my hands, I am strangely reminded of a quote I read recently.

Some people treat God like they do a lawyer; they go to Him only when they are in trouble. - Anonymous

In the end, the value of this book I hold now is such that; if after 3 weeks of working, all I was paid was this book, I would consider myself indebted. To my friend, God seems to always work through others around Him, and you are testimony to that. Thank you so much. I will treasure the book always, and who knows, someday I might follow in your footsteps and give it to someone else who needs it more than me.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 1:13 am Comments: 1

A new friend

My life seems to be an endless repeat of rotating issues. Sometimes, its always either money, family, girlfriend or religion.

Latest on the list is religion again. Since the holidays, i have been working in the college admin office. As fate would have it, i befriended a few of the people there, and started chatting with this one person about religion.

Being in an office setting, a lot of the conversations are normally non-personal. A lot of jokes here and there, but seldom do people ask or offer personal details. Maybe its because we were almost of the same age in our early twenties, but i got along pretty well with this particular person. Our conversation revolved around religion, and to my surprise, she actually shared with me how she became a Christian and the difficulties she faced (and still face) with her family objection. Her father strongly objected to it, feeling that Christianity is a western religion and has no place in his family. To my even greater surprise, she even told me about her family problems; her parents were no longer together, and her mother moved out of the house while she was in the uni days. They never formally divorced, but continue to live under the same house and are not on speaking terms. She wanted to get baptised, but decided to put it off because she was afraid that it would upset her father too much.

Of course, she did not share all this with me without asking me for some in return. So, i offered her information about myself, relating to her my family history, my fathers career in ministry, his conversion to Islam, my mothers mental illness and her struggle with a cheating husband and depression, my own struggles as the son of both of them and such, I did admit to her that I'm sort of lost in terms of religion, not really doing anything about my faith. Of course, it was just a highly condensed version. But at the end of it all, she just said to me "I guess I actually have alot to be thankful for." I just smile and said nothing.

In the end, she gave me an invitation card to her church and invited me to come along. She even gave me the name and contact of her pastor and told me to call him if i needed someone to talk to or any help at all. i was flattered actually. I didnt expect anyone to show so much interest in me or my problems, all the more in an office setting. Aftera all, i was just a temporary assistant in the office, doing all the miscellaneous work. They see dozens of us come and go every few months. But in the end, i was glad that at the very least, i made a friend in my few weeks of working there. Though i was wondering was kind of message i was sending her that prompted her to give me the number of her pastor. Do i really come across as someone who needs an ear to talk to so desperately? Nevertheless, i appreciated the gesture.

But it seems so strange that of all kinds of conversation possible, i ended up talking about my faith, and of all things, i was invited once again to come to church. Every time someone invites me to church, it seems almost like some sort of divine action from God. As if, this person here at the moment is asking me to go to church not by accident, but by fate. Its not like someone asking you to go for a camp where you can afford to miss. If truely there is a God then turning these invitations down would effectively be condemning myself to an eternity in hell! Well, some thing along those lines anyway.

I just want to thank this person, who shared her own struggles with me. As i have said even in this blog, the fact that you are willing to share your problems with me, a stranger, is an honour. It made me feel good that you deemed me worthy to share your problems with, though i assume its not something you do with all of your colleagues. Even more, i thank you for lending an ear to my problems offering me help in return.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 12:43 am Comments: 0

Barney Bashing

A confession; I occasionally sing the Doraemon tunes to myself when I’m in a good mood (and obviously when I’m alone). Not just the theme song, but all the other familiar tunes you hear when Nobita is either being horribly lazy or being beaten up. (Those in a blur, I apologize if you don’t understand what im saying) I grew up watching that cartoon, with the funny and squeaky Malay dubbed voices as Doraemon and the gang. Till today, hearing those tunes just puts a smile on my face, because it remind me of a time long ago, when the most crucial thing for me was to be at home at the right time to watch my favourite cartoon. Yes, the memories of being a small kid with little worries all manage to be embodied in that simple and childish song. Many of us would cringe in shame when caught humming the tune, but many of us would be lying if we said we didn’t know it.

Of course, there’s that theme song everyone knows and I absolutely hate; Barney’s ‘I love you, you love me.” song. I never liked that stupid purple lizard (as I like to call it =P ) jumping around with his little arms and funny voice. I grew up idolizing dinosaurs such as the T-Rex, Brontosaurus and Triceratops as mean, tough, wild and amazing creatures. To see my favourite dinosaur in purple singing and jumping like a school girl sealed my fate as an anti-barney. It’s a bit dramatic I know. But at the best, I like to think myself as a Sesame Street loyalist. At worst, I’m a Barney hater. Hehehe…. Never mind that half of the kids in the world love Barney, Barney should have his eyes gouged, kicked between the knees and his tail cut off for destroying my (along with countless young boys) image of the once great and revered dinosaur. Yes, the lizard single handedly brought my dinosaur fantasies to an end. Every time I whipped out my dinosaur colouring book in one hand, pencil colours in the other, my eyes land first on my favourite dinosaur the T-Rex. As I go through the pencil trying to select which colour to put on my ferocious companion, I invariably see purple, which then reminds me of the wretched lizard, which then reminds me of that that annoyingly infectious song. And once that happens, I’m stuck with the song in my head for the rest of the day. Sometimes, I would catch myself humming “I love you, you love me……. hey!... wait a second, I hate that song! Stop singing…..” (half an hour later) “I love you….you love me……. we’re a happy........nooooooo! Barney has taken over my brain.”

To make a little comparison between Doraemon and Barney, Doraemon seems more realistic in many ways to Barney. Some may say its ridiculous having a robot cat from the 22nd century with all sorts of strange and amazing (and often destructive) tools coming from his magic pocket as the lead character. But look at Barney, he’s supposed to be extinct! His purple, he sings, spells, gives advices to kids and likes to giggle and hug people when he’s supposed to be eating them (at least Godzilla got that part right).
I know Barney is supposed to be for kids, thus the innocent and squeaky clean programme. But I get a little creepy watching Barney sometimes, mainly because it all seemes a little TOO clean. All the kids are smiley, happy kids who know no wrong; Barney is an all loving and kind (probably vegetarian to that matter). Every episode ends wonderfully with that love song, everyone is so polite and kind, there’s no problem too big to solve. It’s like some big giant satire by the producers and that evil dinosaur to reflect on the society we DON’T live in. But take a look at Doraemon and you’ll see the difference.

Nobita does not live in a perfect world, and Doraemon is not Barney perfect either. For starters, Nobita is always in some sort of trouble. He’s either bitten by a stray dog, beaten up by his regular antagonist Giant and Sinyu, fried by the teacher and his mother for getting zero in his exams or being rejected by Sizuka for the superior Chong Meng (or some other name). But the episodes make no excuses Nobita and we see that he is in fact lazy and pretty much a loser in every way. To his rescue is supposed to be Doraemon, an amazing robot cat send by his future great-grandson to help him. Some of the worst things have happened due to the best of intentions, and this is no different. Every episode sees Doraemon give Nobita some tool from the future to solve his problems, either in love, school, friends or the stray dog. No matter how great the weapon, it always backfires and Nobita bears the brunt of his irresponsible actions; often it becomes the moral of the story. No tool, no matter how amazing can help solve life’s problems. Only you can do that. The part I find amusing and like the most is, occasionally, you see that Nobita and Doraemon aren’t entirely innocent. They are selfish sometimes, and emotionally normal people, with ups and downs. Doraemon is easily bribed with Dorayaki (Japanese sweet cake), steals it from mothers cupboard, and is terrified of rats. Nobita exploits these weaknesses to his own gain, by giving Dorayaki bribes, springing fake rats and worst of all play scissors-rock-paper with Doraemon knowing fully well that Doraemon has no palm, only a ball for a hand. So every time they play, he can only give.. you guessed it… rock! He gets green eyed jealous when Sizuka talks to other guys and tries to hide his exam papers from his mother. Other than that, you can’t help but get the feeling that the dynamic duo are a bit of a voyeur. At every opportunity, they seem to ‘accidentally’ walk into Sizuka in various states of undress. That or they ‘accidentally’ peek on her with all sorts of tools from the future. Despite their best efforts to apologise, they just can’t hide the funny look of enjoyment/guilt on their faces. Giant is a big bully, terrified of his mother and beats up smaller kids. Sinyu is a boaster cock, flaunting his wealth to impress and show off and in an impulsive liar. Even Sizuka plays the violin lousily and likes to daydream all sorts of girly fantasy.

The characters are too numerous to name, but the point is, every character has their good and bad sides, thought when it really matters, most of them eventually do what is right. The characters are shown for what they are, and you sometimes see the changes of heart and internal struggle faced by the characters. Seems quite heavy, but when you read the comics or see the show, it does not seem so. It’s all packaged nicely and at heart, it remains a kid’s show. But watch it as an older person, and you can appreciate the more subtle themes. Not unlike sponge bob square pants, if I might say. Now tell me, can Barney the purple dinosaur top that? Hehehe……

My arguments are incredibly one sided and bias I know; but its just so fun being that way! Its just my round of Barney-Bashing. What better way to de-stress that to give a thorough bashing of something you don t like, just for the sake of it. As they say “Kasi taruh kau kau..” So there’s my 2 cents worth for Barney. To Barney lovers, I make no apologies! But you are welcome to rebut me!

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 11:51 pm Comments: 0