Forthnights

Calling it quits on life?

Why does life have to be so difficult?

So many times in my life, I just shake my fist up in the air and curse the powers that be for making life so difficult. Yes, I admit it. I begrudge the fact that some people have it easy and some don’t. I begrudge it even more that I am not one of those lucky people.

Relating recent developments to a friend, he asked me this question “Don’t you just wish it were all just an act, and you could just shout “Cut!!” Yes, I do wish it. I do wish life was as simple as saying “I want it to stop.” I guess some people just want it so badly, they decide to stop it themselves; suicide. Some say it’s the ultimate act of defiance against God saying “You can’t fire me! I quit.” Others say it’s the ultimate act of defeat and failure. But I read something really profound that made me rethink.

When someone throws in the towel on life, pushed beyond all hope, lost beyond misery, it is not the failure of the person. It is the failure of society to listen. No sane person would really want to take their own life. The act of suicide or rather the attempt at suicide is a person’s most desperate cry, not for some attention, but for some help, guidance and love. When we as a people fail to respond to these signs, we have failed each other. Because everyone of us, regardless of age, status or gender, at some point in our lives have felt totally helpless, totally cold and alone and we cry out for a caring shoulder and reassuring hug. At the lowest points in our lives, we all need someone by our side, even if it’s just to listen.

My first brush with suicide was when my mother took a major overdose of her medication back when I was 13. I wont go through the details again (I’m sure I wrote it somewhere on this blog), but until today, I struggle to understand just what went through her mind. My mother has related to me that when she stayed alone those many years, she thought of suicide many times, but never dared try it. The fear of pain and death prevented her. Just knowing that she even has such thoughts really scared the light out of me. I guess staying 10 years on your own with no one to confide in, fending for yourself, dealing with depression and living away from your sons, suicide doesn’t seem absurd, especially when there’s no one to tell you it is.

I had 1 more brush with suicide, but I never told anyone about it. It happened 5 years ago, at the very beginnings of my relationship with my girlfriend. At the time, she was living some 20kms or so away from me, in a nearby town on her own. I never saw it coming. We had just gone out for the day, and I sent her off at the bus stop. While we were departing, she started talking to me strangely, saying that she loved me, goodbye, take care, be strong etc. Obviously, I didn’t like the sound of it. I got angry and told her to cut it out and she stopped talking like that. I tried telling her that life was not as bad as it seemed. But a few hours later, she calls me and tells me goodbye. I asked her what she meant, and she told me that she had swallowed about 2 dozen aspirins. (Now, I have no idea if taking 2 dozen aspirins will kill you or just cure a really bad head ache, but it sounded bad to me). I spent the next 15 minutes over the phone telling her to vomit it out. She refused and I tried persuading, begging, scolding, but in her state of depression, nothing seemed to move her. When the line eventually went dead, I was in a fix. What should I do?

There was only 1 answer in my head. It was crazy, but it was the only way. I had to get there. I grabbed whatever cash I could, and ran to the nearby taxi stand. I never felt that urgent since my mothers episode, and it all seemed just a bit too much déjà vu. In some funny twist of fate, the taxi I got into was my friends’ fathers. He asked me what I was doing going in the middle of the night to Klang (town) on my own. I couldn’t just say “My girlfriend swallowed 2 dozen pills and I’m going there to rescue her.” So I faked a story about a fake friend in a fake accident with a fake broken leg. Whatever, I didn’t really have time to come up with alibis. On the way, 2 questions lingered in my head. Firstly, am I destined to be with suicidal women? Secondly “How was I going to get in? Break the door? Shout for help and alert the neighbours?”

The first question had no answer, but the second one quickly resolved itself. I knocked on her door, and she opened the door calmly and let me in. I was still a bit exasperated (understatement) and told her to come with me to the hospital or spit it all out. She said when I stopped answering my house phone, she figured that I was coming, and she vomited out all the tablets. She then broke down in tears, hugged me and said she was sorry. I will confess this; I cried too. I had gone through this once before, and it was happening again. I told her that I was scared out of my pants that something bad had happened to her. I made her swear that she would never try a stunt like that again. I wanted to scold her, but I knew it would not help matters. She needed love and support. I was not there to give tough love; I was there to comfort and console. After she was alright again, I said goodbye and left.

But that was one part of my plan I didn’t consider. I had only enough cash to go one way on the cab. In was the middle of the night, there were no cabs, I was walking, and worst of all, there were stray dogs around. Big, menacing mean dogs which seemed particularly adept at sniff out strangers.

Not to make light of the preceding events, but man was that a night to remember. When I was young, I was terrified of stray dogs. My dad taught me 2 golden principles concerning dogs; never show that you are afraid. Dogs can smell fear. Secondly, never run. When you do, they chase. But walking alone on that dark street, a huge stray dog spotted me and started barking at me, making its way to me. Knowing what I did, I should have just stayed cool and continue my pace. But I guess fear overtook me, and those golden principles went down the drain. The dog looked like some sort of hell hound, and as it started coming straight at me, I bolted faster than you could say “Fetch”! Luckily, I was nearing the main roads, and managed to reach the safety of the nearby convenience store before being devoured by that demon dog (as I later started to call that wretched canine). I had not felt that mortally afraid of something since I was a kid. Kind of embarrassing really, since I was almost full grown. But I couldn’t help laughing at myself. It made me feel like I was a small brat again. The cashier at the store must have thought I was a nutcase.

I called a friend and he came to my rescue. On the way home, I related to him what happened (since there was no hiding it, and for rescuing me, honesty was the least I could offer). I was remarkably calm by then, to the amazement of my friend, and he asked me how I could just talk about it like it was nothing. Perhaps the short adventure earlier sort of threw me off. But it was not nothing. I had serious issues to think of.

Suicide happens because of the failure of society to listen. Perhaps if I had paid heed to her earlier signs when she spoke about it and not scold her, she would have not even tried taking those pills. Perhaps if I took her seriously and consoled her, it could have been avoided. And what if I did not come when she did take those pills? Would she have taken more? Or something more potent? It was a relief knowing that she spit it out when she knew I was coming. Though by the time I arrived, there was nothing more to do, I guess the act of coming itself meant something to her. And so, I learnt through that experience never to take thing likely when a person talks about suicide, no matter how nonchalantly he or she mentions it. It is a very silent cry for help. They don’t want to die; they just want to know that someone cares enough about them. That’s something we can all related to right?

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 8:31 pm Comments: 0

Her dad

I didn’t exaggerate when I said my life was something out of a drama.

Exactly one day after my mother left, something else did happen. Smack in the middle of my exams. This time, I wasn’t my mother, or my father, or any other member of my family. Instead, it was my girlfriend’s father.

For some background info, her father has been missing to us for the pass 6 years or so. This is the man that left them to live with a Filipino mistress, bringing my girlfriend and younger brother along after their mentally ill mother went missing. The Filipino lady physically abused my girlfriend. For some reason, the father never did anything to protect her or to stand up for her. He was a fierce and well built man, but mysteriously never stood up to his mistress. At a tender age of 12, she ran away from that house, going on to live with sympathetic families, eventually on her own, supported by her aunt from UK. Her younger brother, who after my girlfriend ran away became the only target for abuse, was eventually brought by his father, at the age of ten, to Petaling Street, downtown KL and left there. He was there 3 days alone, living off food nearby traders and hawkers gave him. Eventually, social welfare workers came and he was sent to a shelter home. He has been living there ever since. This is the same brother that I tutored.

I have no idea just how a man can ever be so submissive and controlled by a woman that he would stand by and watch his children be abused by his lover. My girlfriend still carries a scar on her knee from being made to kneel down on salt for over an hour. How could a father in his right mind abandon his 10 year old son in the middle of the city? He disappeared totally about 6 years ago, just gone like that. No contact, no calls, no address. When I first met my girlfriend, it was how it was. No father.

But he made an appearance just 2 months ago. He showed up at the brothers shelter home, asking to see him and my girlfriend. My girlfriend was in shock. I picked her up and sent her there. The years had been heavy on him. He was now a 60 something year old man, limping with a cane, suffered a stroke and had diabetes. He wasn’t exactly received with arms wide open by his children. There were just too many questions, too much hurt for them to just accept him like that. Where has he been all these years? Why did he disappear like that? Why did he abandon his children? Why come only now after all these years? What do you want?

So many questions, so little answers. Even till today, he has not come clean about all that has happened. He is still unanswerable to why he abandoned his children. He is still with that woman. It seems he now lives in poverty while she keeps all their supposed wealth. He takes the bus around, has no property, no job, no savings, nothing. My girlfriend’s aunt was furious when she heard the news. How dare he show up now, when his children are almost grown up? Where was he when they needed him the most? Now when he is starting to get old and frail, he shows up expecting to be taken in his children? Even then, he only showed up because that woman was out of the country. Though I do not intervene in their matters, I do share those sentiments.

And then Friday happened. I get a call in the middle of a group discussion by my girlfriend. How typical of my life for something like this to happen. Her father had been kicked out of their house by the landlord for failing to pay rent. The woman supposedly went to stay in the nearby 5 star hotel while he was left to fend for himself. Not knowing where to turn to, he urgently calls his daughter, telling his story and looking to her for help. I guess no matter what he had done, she couldn’t just leave him like that. She asked if he could come stay at my place for a while. I was speechless. My mother had left barely 24 hours earlier, now I am supposed to take him in? Let him bunk in my mothers room? Of course, I just couldn’t say no. But I made it clear that he could only stay for a couple of days. I neither had the authority nor the willingness to let this man get comfortable in my home.

She brought him to our place and left the old man to me since she had to go back to work. I avoided him for the most part, since I was busy studying for my exams (by this time, my concentration was obviously off) plus I wanted to keep my distance. Out of respect and sympathy, I was willing to house him for a few days. If my father or brother even knew what I was doing, they would have been infuriated. I was taking a big risk here. That being said, I still did not trust him. There were just too many holes in his stories, too many convenient excuses here and there. I made this clear to my girlfriend. Until he comes clean and turns a new leaf, I can never fully trust this man; talks of the woman stealing all his money, of his intentions of leaving her were all empty not to be taken at face value. He even said to my girlfriend that she had a step sister. That blew her top, and she restated that she only has 2 brothers, one older, one younger, no more. Whatever love child he had outside was none of her business. But one thing was clear; something unspoken.

He was getting old. He was broke. He needed someone to provide for him, and he was looking to his almost graduated daughter for it.

My girlfriend feels tremendously pressure. Even after graduating, her pay is hardly enough to take care of herself, let alone her younger brother and now father.

In my eyes, this is the most irresponsible, spineless man I have ever met. His life story has and uncanny resemblance to my own fathers. Both married mentally ill wives, though with different diagnosis. Both took on a mistress (2 in my fathers case), and in this end, the children suffers. Difference is, my father left and is now trying to rebuild his life. This man was still hiding a tonne of secrets, he is still somehow related to that woman, and now hopes his children will help him.

Not overstaying his welcome, he duly left on Sunday, staying for a grand total of 2 nights. He thanked me for the hospitality, and my girlfriend and I watched him walk to the nearest bus stop. He did not offer to tell where he was going, or if he would keep in touch. Neither did we ask. Watching him limping off with his cane, I just know it won’t be the last time I’ll be seeing him.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 6:10 pm Comments: 1

Let it be

I have to keep reminding myself that it did happen.

Just out of the blue, she came back. My mother gives me a call, asking if I could come pick her up. I told her I could not, and so I waited at home, half upset at her, half relief and happy that she came back. She knocked on the door and asked me to open it. I asked her what happened to her key. She said she gave it away. She was thinner; she lost a lot of weight, and she was obviously darker.

I opened the door for her, let her in, and tried my best to let her be. I was upset at her, all the more for showing up suddenly, on the eve of my examinations. But I was playing it cool. Actually, I was playing it cold. I refused to talk too much to her, except the bare essentials, and I kept a distance from her, only talking to her in a stony voice. I didn’t want to scold her for going AWOL for the past 2 weeks, but didn’t want to send the message that I would welcome her back with open arms either. She was obviously tired, and for the most part, I left her alone, and let her sleep. We spoke a bit, argued a bit.. she hadn’t changed much, except that she was that bit sharper, alert and compose than when we last met.

The next morning, after I woke up preparing my breakfast, we started talking, and ended up talking for and hour plus. More like arguing and debating really. We argued and argued on about the reason behind her going away. I asked her what she intended to do with her life. I asked her to imagine just where she wants to be 5 years from now. How long do you think you can keep this up? How long do you want to live like a nomad, going around, living in people’s houses? She asked what grudge I kept against her. She said she has done no wrong. I told her she thought she was never wrong. I told her she wants things her way, from who comes in and out of the house to the medication doctor prescribed. I told her off; you think you are smarter than the doctor. You self medication, you do as you wish without ever feeling accountable to your sons. She insisted that she was just here to take some of her things and she will return

In fact, she told me that she intended to only stay for a while. Again I argued on. “You feel more accountable to your friend than to your sons. You call me and tell me you miss me. But your actions have spoken louder. You rather be there, free and uncontrolled, living with your friend than be accountable to your sons here.” She said she felt like she was imprisoned her, and that she couldn’t not adjust to the life at KL. I asked her where she planned to be when she was 60 years old. She hopes that her savings and a job would be adequate. I admire her fighting spirit. I told her that her place was with her sons. I said it repeatedly “If you want to stay with us, compliance with the medication is a must. If you cannot accept that, you are free to leave. It was better that she be made to choose. I told here frankly that my first urge it to get the police and admit her into the hospital. But out of respect for her, to keep her dignity, I will let her choose. I told her that her stubbornness has and will cause a lot of hearth ache for all of us. I could have forced her into the hospital, but even all the medication in the world will not make her change her mind. The medicine will calm her down, but it can’t change her thinking; in her mind, she wants to be independent, in every sense, and the medicine prevents that. She fully knows that the medicine calms her down, but that it also makes her incapable of thinking critically. She would rather take her chances without the medication than to be dulled and incapacitated by it. She said under the medication, she couldn’t even control her sleep, and she found it hard to act on her will.

As I was about to leave for college, we argued on and on about me going to the UK. She was against it. She said that I never consulted her about the matter. She didn’t want me to take a loan and such, but mostly, she said she would miss me. I said even now, she would rather be away, what is there to miss? She said it was at least within the country. She asked when I was in the UK, how would she see me if she missed me? How would she call me? And would I return? She was terrified that I would decide to stay there and not return. She said that she breast fed me since I was a baby and that she was emotionally attached to me. As she said these words, she burst out in tears.

There I was, standing in front of my door, ready to leave. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t expect her to say those things. My heart melted too, and all defenses came down. As much as I scolded her, as much as I tried being cold towards her, she still said those words, and I knew in my heart, it was true for me too. I love my mother, probably more than any other woman in this world. It is because I love her so much that it has brought me so much pain. I stepped forward and just hugged her and she continued crying. I tried reassuring her that my brother and I would almost ensure that she was taken care of. I said that I would most likely return after the few months that I was there only temporarily.

I knew that she was planning to leave on that day itself. She had made it clear to me that she was only here to see us and to get her things. If we cant stop her, we might as well support her and make the best of it. After talking to her on the phone, my brother and I managed to convince her to faithfully take her medication on a daily basis, even if its not really what the doctor prescribed. Better some than none. We told her to make sure she put herself out of harms way when she was up north and to call us once in a while. As I closed the door and said goodbye, I told her to take care. I was reluctant to walk down the stairs and go, because I knew she would not be there when I return. I had told her to call me if she managed to get a ticket and was leaving.

A few hours later, she gave me a call. She was leaving. She had taken the things she wanted (though most of her things were still here) and was taking the train, as I had taught her. She told me to take care, and not study too hard. I told her to call me when she arrived in the morning and to be careful. Just before she put the phone down, she said to me “I love you son.” Something I have not heard for a long long time. I admit, I could think of nothing else but my mother for the rest of the day, even now.

Something inside me just moved. My heart was disturbed. I was no longer angry at her for all that she did. I found it hard to stay angry at her and blame her for her actions. The hour long conversation in the morning was still clear in my mind. I had told her off, I had pleaded with her, reasoned with her and argued long and hard with her. I challenged her in her faith. I reminded her of the bible lessons that she used to teach me as a kid; of 2 airplanes, one new and one wrecked. She thought me that to live by faith and not by sight meant that you do what is even against the grain of your instincts and get on the wrecked plain, if that is what God has asked you to do. To live by faith is to trust that God intended for you to go on that wrecked plane, and trust that He will be there to see you through it. Similarly, despite all the calls from people around her, from us to friends, to church mates to strangers, she has stubbornly refused to surrender and submit to what God is showing her through the people around her. Instead she chooses to self medicate and do what she feels is right on her own, disregarding what others say.

In some ways, I think I got through to her. But I realised that it was better to slowly persuade her over time, rather than try to win the argument then and try forcing my will on her again. The more I tried to impose, the more she just seemed to resist.

When I came home, the house was expectedly empty. I was alone at home again. Something that had gotten used to over the 2 weeks. The silence was initially welcomed. It gave me peace of mind, it gave me freedom to do as I wish. But for the first time in these weeks, I hated the silence, and I felt lonely in it, and already I missed arguing with my mother. I wished that she was still at home. I have to remind myself that barely a few hours ago, my mother was indeed sitting at that chair. I wished that she didn’t feel the way she did. I feel a pang of sadness thinking that my mother would rather be free on her own than to be with us. Not that she doesn’t want us at all. She calls up here and there asking how am I, and I know its because she misses us and wants to know how we are. But I guess she’s just not ready to commit her whole self to living with us. She wants to be involved in our lives, but at a level and manner which suits her. I guess this is her will.

Again, I have broken my self imposed exile from blogging. But I feel for this time, it is justified. It is something I urgently needed to get off my chest and just tell someone. The only other people who know the full details of these developments are my brother and I. I told my girlfriend, but I never related everything to her. She’s too much in the picture for me to be able to relate all that I feel inside without affecting her feelings in return. She too is a variable in this complex equation of my life.

So where to from here? How will things be once 2007 is over? January comes to a close, and already much has happened. What will happen after this?

There will be an answer…. Let it be.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 1:12 pm Comments: 0

Windows into the past

Ok, so i know i said no post anymore. But last night, when i really should have been studying, i ended up writing this. Just couldnt resist it! So that's it for now, unless something comes up that makes my brain race and my fingers itch.

I was just going through my mothers room (formerly my room), clearing out some of the things here and there, throwing odds and ends, and tidying the mess my mother made of the place before she left.

I thought I would take just 15 minutes to clear the place, but I ended up taking almost an hour. One thing after another just started to catch my attention, things from the past, some recent, some ages ago. There was the my old secondary school workbook, with my old handwriting all over, scribbling notes from my subjects back then. Flipping through it, it really just opened my eyes as to how time truly flies.

Then, there was my toy Ferrari car that my father bought for me when I was 11 years old. Nothing fancy, just a small model with a spring inside that would make the car go forward after winding in backwards. But growing up not having any fancy, toys that was truly a dream come true. Then there were the really old things; the toy soldiers, aliens and monsters my brother and I used to play with as a kid. The last time we were clearing out the room, my brother and I could not bring ourselves to throwing out these gems from our childhood. As ordinary as they were, our imagination always ran wild, and since they were the only toys we had, we loved them to pieces. Then there were some old camera lenses belonging to my brother; they were obviously older than my brother and I, and it served to remind me that my dad too was once a photography buff. Hence my mothers disdain towards my own interest in the subject. Finally, and perhaps most nostalgically, old photographs.

Pictures of my brother in his teens, pictures of me as a 5 year old boy, and even one family portrait of my parents my brother and I taken when I was 7. My mother made the 2 of us wear matching pants and shirts, which I always hated, but nonetheless had to comply with. Growing up, almost everyone who saw the 2 of us liked to comment on us. My brother was tan and I was fair. My father would never fail to joke that he left my brother in the microwave too long, and me too short a time. Everyone said my brother looked like my father while I looked like my mother. There were also a couple of dozen pictures of my parents getting married, and of my mother when she was about my age now. Not to boast too much, but everyone who’s ever seen those photos would agree that my mother was a beautiful woman, and in her wedding dress, she simply looked stunning. My father on the other hand was a skinny chap with owl-like spectacles and a rather nerdy face. Its nothing short of amazing how he managed to find a catch in my mother. But as they say, most men look better as they age, and progressively my fathers face seasoned into a rather good looking guy by the time he was in his thirties and forties.

Its always an emotionally thing to do, going down memory lane. Many of the pictures were all part of my early life, and they remain invaluable. But looking at pictures of my parents, some even in black and white, is an entirely different experience. I have no direct relation with these moments, but the pictures present a window into a time and place long before I was born, of a time when my father was a young man like I am now, full of hope and energy. My mother was a sweet girl of 21, who seemed to be constantly surrounded by good friends. There was a picture of them on their honeymoon in Lake Toba, Indonesia, newly married. Who would have thought this is how it would have turned out.

It is really a sad story to write. All marriages start with love and promise. Its hard to conceive that 25 years later, this is how it would turn out. That my mother would fall into depression repeatedly over the next 20 years was tragic. That my father would leave her and the Christian ministry, convert his religion, only to remarry twice and divorce is beyond anybody’s guess. And in between, my brother and I were born, and we just had to somehow fit in all the turmoil. And still, the story continues until today.

To be honest, sometimes I become afraid. Afraid that I would some day make the mistakes my father made. I am after all his son, his blood runs through my veins, and possibly, the same weaknesses. What if I too become a philandering womanizer? What if I too make so many disasterous mistakes in my life, which ultimately cost me my marriage and happiness? Yet, I am sure when my father married that beautiful woman that would become my mother, and said his vows to her, he meant every single word of it, and he truly intended to stay with her till death do them part. What happened after that day that today would become like this?

Looking into my parents past, I wonder about my own future. How would my own future be? Will I walk the same path? Will I face the same temptations? Will I survive? As I learned, keeping promises can be one of the most important, yet hardest things to do in life. A promise kept is a trust earned, a love gained. A promise broken is a heart shattered, a faith stolen. I no longer dare to say “I promise” so easily. In fact, I try to avoid it all together. Things happen in between saying “I promise” to the time you fulfil it (if ever) that you just don’t have control over. Can you genuinely keep ALL your promises? What abut a promise of a lifetime? A promise we make in the form of a vow, to our partner, to society and to God. I would not say its impossible, but just look at how many marriages end up in divorce.

If my parents never married, all these suffering for the both of them would have been avoided, but then, neither would my brother and I be born. But its useless trying to hypothesize about what would have been. I read somewhere that said if man knew what lay before him in his journeys ahead, he would never have start. In a way, that is true. Not knowing if things will turn out fine for those I love is a scary thought. But I guess knowing what is ahead is perhaps the greater evil. My parents would never have married if they ever knew the future. I’m glad they didn’t; because then I would never have existed. At least that’s one good thing. Some day, old and gray, I hope to look back at my parents photos again, then of me and my life, and God willing, of my children and his children.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 7:09 pm Comments: 0

Notice: Interrupted blogging

Dear Reader,

Due to unavoidable events happening from the 26th Jan to 6th Feb (exams), the Management of this blog (namely me) would like to inform all potential readers (you) that the frequency of posts will be at a minimum (meaning almost nil) throughout the stipulated period.

The management would like to thank you for your understanding & look forward to resume chronicling this authors pitiful existence and thoughts as soon as possible (meaning at the start of the next month)

In the mean time, best wishes to all.

Whoever you are out there, thank you.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 2:32 am Comments: 1

Bathtub, bubbles and nothing in between

So here’s another skeleton out of the closet from me. Its either going to make you sick or you’re going to get a laugh.

The first time I ever saw a pornographic movie was when I was 10 years old.

In fact, since it was the first time, I remember it vividly. It was one of those trips up north to see my mother. Back then, my brother and I were still friendly with our neighbours. There was one particular neighbour which my brother and I were particularly close with. The 2 boys and us 2 boys reared fish together, played games together, and even went to the same school. Even back then, my mother was already obsessed with saving money, so she forbade us from turning on any lights or the fan, or even to watch TV. We were told to just sit in the darkness, don’t move so much since it will make you hot, and if you were hungry, there was water in the fridge. Being 12 & 10 year old boys, boredom kills. As luck would have it, our old buddy from a few doors away invited us over for a chat, plus the parents weren’t hope.

I didn’t really know what was going on, and I think neither did my brother. Then, very suspiciously, our buddy asked us a strange question “Do you want to watch something special?” Naturally, we just said yes. But nothing happened. Instead, we sat down at his living room watching NBA on television for the next 15 minutes. For a moment there, I thought that was the special something; watching the Chicago Bulls on TV. Then, our neighbour proceeded to take out a VCR tape (no cds in those days) well hidden underneath the sofa and proceeded to play the tape.

From watching Michael Jordan doing slam dunks, I’m suddenly watching a very fat & old chinese man, in a bathtub caressing a young, slender woman with nothing but some well placed bubbles covering here and there. It’s funny; my cheeks were burning red. I turned my face away from the television, trying to tear myself away from it, willing myself not to watch, but my eyes kept on straying back to the television. I wanted to get up and run out of there, but my butt seemed glued to the chair, plus I couldn’t stand up without showing everybody the little tent that sprung up at my trousers. I think my neighbour got a kick out of watching my struggle, because he was grinning from ear to ear watching my internal struggle manifesting into my head turning left but my eye so obviously going right.

So for the next 30 minutes, we continued watching the video, some in fast forward, and some in slow motion, courtesy of my friends insistence of emphasising the good parts. Actually, you couldn’t see much beyond the woman’s breast since it was just soft porn, but being 10 years old, that’s as heavy as it gets before your brain overheats. It all came to an abrupt end when my neighbours parents came home, and as soon as he saw the car, with the agility of a cat he scooped out the tape, changed the channel and hid the tape. So the parents came home to see us grinning with relief, watching basketball on TV, and after a while, we made our way home to our dark house. My brother and I never spoke about the matter before for some reason. We just went home, and pretended that nothing had ever happened.

I didn’t see another one of those until 2 years later, when I was 12 years old and accidentally discovered my fathers rather carelessly kept stash at home……. But that’s another story.

So there you have it, yet another skeleton out of my past! Shared exclusively on this blog.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 12:57 am Comments: 2

Money Matters

Well, here we go again; next week I will be sitting for what will (hopefully) be my last exam in this college, provided and don’t fail any of my papers. Then its holidays just before the Lunar new year all the way until May where I should be flying of to the UK for a 3 months summer course.

Of course, things are never that simple.

Chief concern is funding for my little trip abroad. There are 3 possibilities for me. One I take a loan. But the loan offered has a very high interest rate, with equally high repayment plans. Plus, I need a guarantor, who can’t be my parents, but has to earn more than 3k a month. That’s going to be a real challenge; I don’t really have anyone to go to. 2 years ago, I tried asking 2 of my uncles to be my guarantor; I got a job offer to work in Singapore, but it required that I have a guarantor before they were willing to train me for the next 6 months. First one told me “I’m old and retiring soon. I don’t want to take on more burdens.” Second one told me “Sorry, I can’t be your guarantor. It’s a matter of principle.” Well, I didn’t end up going to Singapore, but after that day, I told myself I want as little to do with these relatives as possible. Bunch of jerks! I pleaded with them, asking for help. I wasn’t even asking for any money. Only that they be my guarantor in event that I actually run away from my employers, and I assured them that I would do no such thing. And since when did standing as guarantor for your nephew become an issue against principles? Call it sour grapes, until today my regard for them have remain as low as ever, even if my own brother thinks otherwise. This time round, asking them again was the last thing I wanted to do. I told myself I will make it in life without their help, how can I swallow my pride and ask them now?

But then came the second possibility. Sell our house. The proceeds from this house would more than cover whatever funds I need during my stay there. The house is in my fathers name, but he said it is intended for the both of us, therefore, the both of us should decide. My brother and I spoke about it and the conclusion was we should sell it. Firstly, it was better compared to having to find a guarantor ten be stuck with the repayment after a graduate. Second, and more importantly, though my father said the house was intended for us, he has not gone through with the transfer, because he didn’t pay the lawyers. Our greatest concern is that if anything should happen to him, by default, the house will not go to us, but to his Muslim wife (who he has yet to properly divorce). Just in case you didn’t know, in Malaysia whatever property owned by a Muslim convert goes to his Muslim family at the event of death because they are given priority. Similarly, houses are sold at different prices for Bumiputra’s and non bumiputra’s. Bumiputra lots can’t be sold to non-bumi’s but non bumi lots can be sold the other way. Bumiputra refers to the indigenous people, namely the Malays in Malaysia. It’s among the special privileges of the Malays, which it seems should not and cannot be questioned. It’s not fair, everyone knows that, but our society is not mature enough to publicly debate the matter. We’d crumble like cookies if we tried to do it openly; just look at May 13th 1969. Anyway, the point is, not trying to be gold digger of my fathers property or anything, but I have no wish for what was meant for my brother and I to fall into hands of another woman. But then there is another problem. It probably won’t be in time to fund my studies! For everything to go through takes at best 2 months, but something like 4 months is closer to the truth. That cutting it pretty close, and there is the danger that the money hasn’t arrived at our laps when my fees and tickets are due. But one way or another, we are selling the place. That also means that I’ll be moving out of here after 4 years. Upon my return to Malaysia, I’ll have to find a place to stay because I’ll be without any home to go to! Yup, things are certainly changing again, which is always scary but necessary.

So, all my hopes are pinned on my last option; a sponsorship by a previously stated company. To be exact, it is my girlfriends’ aunts’ husbands’ cousins engineering company. Complicated, I know. Anyway, her aunt asked me to write to them, and I have. All that is left it to keep my fingers crossed and hope for a miracle to happen. A sponsorship will settle my financial woes for my education, but it would mean a working bond with said company for a couple of years. Not a bad thing really, since I would not have to hunt for a job. But I’d be indebted to my girlfriends aunt once again. Maybe its just me, but it feels a bit uncomfortable being so indebted to someone so much; someone who isn’t any way related to me. It’s incredibly ironic when I think of it. My own two uncle, brothers to my father, won’t even stand guarantor for me, and here comes someone who has met me only twice, yet has poured aide on me like I was one of the flood victims in Johor, loaning me money for my studies these past 2 years, and now opening a door to financial sponsorship to me. Even if it doesn’t go through, I remain indebted to her for her efforts.

So, that summarizes it. Besides that, I’m trying to find a job for after my exams. Cant afford to sit around doing nothing. A job would help pay the overdue house bills and hopefully a few other things. First on my wish list is of course a digital camera; something I’ve been ogling for what seems an eternity. Second is enough cash to pay for my air flight to east Malaysia. That’s right! On the 3rd to the 8th of March, I’ll be flying over to Sarawak to stay over at my friends place. By right, I cant afford the tickets, but my friend offered to pay half of it, just so that I can come visit his hometown. I’m not sure what got over him, but I jumped at the chance, and the tickets have been booked. He has promised to show me around his place and even determined to force me to eat some exotic meats, namely bat and snake meat (eeewww…) despite my objections. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, so I guess there’s no point trying to put up too much of a fight with this Sarawakian in his home turf.

I’m really not sure how things are going to work out in the next 4 months, but I can sense that change is coming, its right at my doorstep, telling me I better start packing my things. How my mother’s going to fit into all of these things is beyond me. Something has to change in her heart to make her stop running here and there before she can settle down. Something has to change to make her take her medicine willingly before she can ever get well. They say there is only one constant in life; change. Hopefully, it’s for the better, for me, my loved ones, and especially my mother.

That about it. I better get back to studying.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 2:04 pm Comments: 0

Floods and cheques

Its the worst flood in Malaysian for a hundred years.. so the papers tell me...

Down in Johor, for the second time in 2 months, half the state is in water 1 meter deep. Though hardly as lethal as other natural disasters, namely the Tsunami in Indonesia and Hurracaine Katrina these few years, i guess the effect is no less devastation to those involved.

Its been sort of a mini disaster for the nation, some 100 thousand people had to be evacuated... again, schools closed, towns completely cut off, people left sitting on their rooftops, and the kids having a great time playing in the water!

When the floods came last month, it was because it rained for 48 hours non stop. "The heaviest rain in 100 years" they said. So after about 1 week, the poor citizens there finally got to go back to their homes. From the paper, it said that most of them came back to a house half ruined, with things swept away by the floods and for some, by looters. Rats..... Anyway, all the major news agency covered it day in and day out, telling the rest of the nation how 'kesian' these folks were... No doubt, i have nothing but sympathy for the people of Johor. Heck, my own father's working there right now. Thankfully, his place wasnt affected as badly.

And just when nobody expected it, it happened again. Just as the people there were starting to asses the damage, the rain started pouring for another 48 hours. This time, the worst in like.... well.... a month really. Double whammy. So now, the whole nation is in a frenzy, trying to help out. Donations start pouring in, everyone from the local assemblyman to the Prime Minister has given the place a visit, rightfully. Every single day, in the papers and in the media, there is some company giving a few hundred thousand dollars for crisis relieve.

But like many others, i have my doubts about their sincerity. Firstly, why is it when you give out a couple of hundred thousand dollars, you MUST call the press? Why is it that there must be some sort of media coverage to the company giving out the donation? To speak frankly, its seems some companies use other misfortune to their own advantage, trying to come across as socially responsible and caring to the country. They present mock checks to the officials, with as many zero's they can squeeze in to the check, down to the cents, just to make the sum look big.

If you ask me, sincere and true donations are done from the heart, and you dont need media publicity to show anyone. Charity is not done for others to see. Its done for the people involved. The strongest example was during the Tsunami in Indonesia last time. There was an acute shortage of drinkable water for the people there. The local shopping mall had a drive; buy one dozen bottles of water to be sent to the victims. On the exterior, it seemed like a noble idea. Trying to get the society to buy water for these victims. But the nagging question i had was, if you are really trying to help those people, why are you waiting for someone to buy them from you to send the water? Why dont you just send it straight to them and bare the cost? Why make people pay you before you do anything? Of course, they had to protect their own pocket before doing any charity.

I guess the government kind of knew that. This time, they tried a different approach. Adopt a village they said. Instead of just giving cash at fancy mock presentation ceremonies, why not commit yourselves to the rebuilding of these villages destroyed by the floods? That way, the companies can truly say they have done something. Not surprisingly, there have been little if none takers of such proposals. Only government linked companies have said yes, while the rest of the corporate world have remained muted. Ha! Now we see just how committed they are! Just giving cash it easy. Talk is cheap. When it gets down to the doing, nobody wants to lend a hand. Again, thats the attitude of some people for you. They tell you all that is wrong in this world, they tell of all the help that could be given, but when you ask for a show of commitment, everyone runs like hell.

That's just the way it goes with large corporations. They want to make sure everyone knows just how caring they are! But its all really a publicity stunt. Blame it on all the PR students out there, for making them sound more caring then they really are.

The true heroes of it are always the unsung ones. The men and women who volunteer themselves to help out, over there. Members of the red cross and red crescent society, people who truly volunteer with no personal gain to help others in need. Doctors and nurse who volunteered their services in time of need, dropping whatever they were doing, in the name of humanity. The local fishermen who willingly lend their boats for rescue services, the people who gave up their homes to be used as relief centres, and countless other nameless people who stood up, lent a hand and made a difference to those in need. Not those who sit in their corporate office, pledging funds to the cause while busy filling their pockets at the same time, worrying if the mock check is big enough.

My heart and prayers go out to all the flood victims in Johor, who have to endure not one, but two great floods over these months.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 3:45 pm Comments: 0

What to do about it her?

Finally, some development.

After days of waiting, she finally gave me a call. As suspected, she’s up north again, though this time, I’m not really sure where exactly. I only know because the area code showed that she was calling from that state.

In fact, she called me 3 times; all lasting barely 15 seconds. But I did manage to ask her when she was planning to come back. She just said to me “I don’t think so.” I took that to mean that this time, she left with the intention of not coming back.

She sounded just as confused as when I last saw her. The first thing she said to me when she got through was not Hello, but “Hann, I don’t need the medicine.” I asked her where she was staying now, but she insisted on saying what she wanted to first before answering any questions. Well, from 45 seconds worth of interrupted conversation, there wasn’t much I could make out.
She did get angry when I asked her what she was planning to do, or what she hoped to achieve. "Don't ask me about my personal life!" she screamed at me. She insisted on saying what she wanted to, and went on to tell me to ask my girlfriend to move out. Before I could give any response, the life got cut off again.

Over the pass few days, she has been calling here and there, always with something else to say. Primarily, she talks about how my girlfriend should move out in order for me to better concentrate in my coming exams. When I asked her about her plans, she gets upset and just tell me that “I’m your mother, you have to listen to what I say.”

Of late, there seems to be many people, suddenly worried about our situation. Apart from the friend I had a long talk with recently, my mothers old friends from her university days suddenly start calling and leaving messages, asking for any news concerning my mother. Then, my girlfriends aunt in the UK asks me to write in to a cousin of theirs, running an engineering company in KL. They are willing to take a look at my CV and may consider providing financial sponsorship for me to study this coming June in the UK. It all just makes me all that guiltier about accepting any more of their help, since they have already help me so much. I find myself feeling so indebted to them, and that really is the problem. Debt in cash can be returned, but a debt in deed can never really be repaid. As they say in Malay “Hutang budi dibawa mati”....

It’s a mix bag really. Things aren’t going well with my mother, she’s back up north doing as she pleases, and there’s really nothing much we can do. We are again, perpetually short on cash. But in the midst of it all, there have been concern voices here and there, caring help and support; all of which I never really expected nor asked from anyone. Maybe God heard my prayer after all, and he’s sending in his fire fighters in the form of these people. At least, now I know she’s still alright, albeit not in a proper state of mind and that she is up north again. Looks like even after all this while, her heart still remains over there, and not here, where her sons are.

My mother; forever an untamed spirit, resourceful, wilful, darn stubborn, but sadly ill.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 1:34 pm Comments: 0

Unexpected friends

I heard it again today; the same words, the same reaction people give when i talk about my life.

"I never expected your life to be like that. You seem to cheerful, you don't come across as someone carrying so much burdens."

Thought not all of them have said it in those words, they all have the same meaning. For some reason, to them, i just dont come across as someone with a lot of things to deal with. They tell me that i seem to carry myself just fine, confident and cheerful, unlike what you would really expect in your stereotype broken home.

But really, what else am i supposed to do? Walk around as if i have a 50 pound weight on my shoulders? Though sometimes it does feel like that, the fact is, i dont think its right going around announcing to the world that you've got problems. Its like shouting "Hey, i'm down! Come comfort me!" Unlike others, i dont constantly want attention from people, though i do welcome it at times.

I have a friend who's birthday is today. 2 days ahead, he's already singing "Happy Birthday" to the people around him, subtly hinting at whats coming ahead. Come 12 midnight, he expects his friends to be around him, to send him messages, and celebrate. "Hurray! Lets celebrate me! I was born on this day, isnt that great?" Who does such things?

Anyway, my point (apart from just trashing it out) is that I'm not the sort who tells people everything. I dont carry my heart on my shoulder. My mother has run away twice, and i have only told 1 friend, and only out of need. The rest of my course mates and friends arent interested to know, it doesnt concern them, why should i go around announcing my latest trauma to them?

But i was pleasantly surprised today, by someone unexpected, who showed me that there are people out there who genuinely cares after all.

I was asked out my former work colleague for lunch, the one i worked with in college during my holidays, the one who gave me the book, the one that invited me to church during Christmas, the church i have been going to for the pass 3 weeks.

I related what happened over the week to her, and filled her in on the many many details of my family history, and for an hour and a half, she and just sat at that canteen talking, when we were really supposed to have lunch. I had class, and her lunch break was over, but we just kept on talking. I felt comforted, because this person, 4 years my senior, was just being so kind to me and showing genuine concern over what was happening in my life. She asked about my family, she asked about me, she asked about my girlfriend, how i'm coping with the whole matter, and at the end of it, she told me what i wrote earlier.

It is the small thing like these that really carry me through sometimes. Apart from the big helps here and there, it is the small caring gestures that really warm my heart. She said to me "Honestly, its a very big burden you carry. I dont know how you do it. You need someone you can talk to." Yes, i do need someone to talk to, but we all know how hard it is to find someone to listen, and so i gave up trying. I have tried finding a buddy and talk to, to feel free to say whatever i needed say. I even tried talking to that girl that i was so crazy about, and we did share a meal a couple of times. But for some reason, it just didnt seem to work out. i was disappointed really, because she seemed like a person really work knowing. But the unreturned messages and phone calls turned me off. I thought she was genuinely interested in making friends, but it turned out i was kidding myself.

Anyway, after 90 minutes of pouring my heart out to this lady, i was exhausted but happy. More accurately, i was comforted. I dont mean to offend any guys out there, but its just different talking to a woman. It always feels more natural talking about your feelings to a woman than it will ever with a man. Apart from my girlfriend, i dont really have (in fact i dont have) any other female friends i can really talk to. Its ironic. For such a long time, i have advocated having friends you can talk to apart from your partner. I encouraged my girlfriend to go out with friends, male or female, without me. To me, it can only be healthy to have a balanced mix of friends, family and partner. In the end, it is the advocate that seems to be lacking the things he advocates!

I attend a course with 95% of its students male. Is it any surprise that virtually all my friends are male? I keep my personal details, and my own family problems because for one, its personal, and secondly, guys arent interested to know such things! To suddenly be friends with one of the staff of the college seems a little strange in a way. Its not something that happens everyday, but i'm glad it did. The person i fancied turned out to be a disappointment. But instead, i find a friend in the least expected places, in the most unexpected people.

As of now, there remains no news about my mother. I still look out the door and am still waiting for her to show up at any second.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 4:16 pm Comments: 0

Sigh….

Sigh….

I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what to do or how to feel for the matter. This time around, it just feels different.

My brother and I brought her to the doctor on Tuesday. Something just had to be done.

She had steadily lost her nerve throughout the week, going from bad to worse. Again, on numerous occasions, I came home to a house left in darkness with the doors left totally ajar. As I walked into the house, I spotted her sitting down in her room, without her shirt. She said she was doing her things, and that she just hasn’t come around to closing the doors yet.

I sent her out to buy groceries, since she agreed to cook a meal for us during dinner. She left for an hour before coming back, all ruffled and disturbed. I discovered that she was arrested by the supermarket staff for shoplifting. I asked if she intentionally tried to steal things (it was a melon), she said she wasn’t even sure what happen. It was an accident she said. She was just carrying the melon around, and they just arrested her, or so she said. Whether she tried to steal it or not, the fact remained that she walked out of the store without paying for it.

She would break into tears one minute at even the slightest thing, and start screaming at us the next, and then back to crying again, then suddenly turn happy.

I felt that she needed injection, but we gave her our word that we would let the doctor decide. Doctor gave her one last chance, with 1 week medication of a new drug, supposed with minimal side effects, to her liking. I was sceptical, and I made her promise the doctor as well as us that she would take her medication daily, but only after the doctor caution hospitalization as the alternative did she agree.

But as I said, she lost her nerve, and her swings continued to be as quick and as varied even after seeing the doctor.

That night, we had dinner with her, and she obediently took the medication. But 3 hours later, she was gone again.

I’m not sure when she sneaked out of the house. I was in my room, door closed trying to get work done. I went for a drink, her door was ajar, lights off with the fan still running. I peered in for a closer look, and that was when I discovered that she was in fact gone.

But this time, it just feels so different. For one, she sneaked out of the house when I was around. Secondly, unlike previous times, she left without bringing her cash. Her purse was still there, and I thought perhaps she just went out for a walk again, but her absent bag told otherwise.

That was Tuesday night, and till today there is no news from her. I keep opening the front door, wondering if perhaps she is outside the house sitting, waiting for someone to open the door, but she’s never there. I keep opening the door; half hoping that she would be there. To be frank, this time I am worried. Previous times, she would call within a few days, and she would always head for one place; up north. But she just had an escape there barely 2 weeks ago, why would she want to go again? I think by now, even she knows there’s nothing there for her.

The next night, alone in my room, I wrote an angry letter to God (its true!) asking Him just what on earth was He up to this time. Blasphemy I know, but I was just so upset over the whole matter. Give me a break for God’s sake! Ops…. I mean give me a break for my sake…. Its barely halfway through January, and already so much drama! More importantly, give her a break. I think even God knows she needs one. Just how long is she going to suffer on like this? I asked why He has chosen to give her such a hard life, with so much suffering and pain, with little blessing to count. Why has He blessed others with such carefree and easy life, even when they live for no one but themselves? Even in her insanity, even at the verge of loosing her mind, my mother stubbornly clings on to the Bible and its teachings, even if she gets confused sometimes. She brought her bible along with her when we went to see the doctor, clinging on to it like it somehow gives her comfort. Is she not worthy of any blessings at all? Her mind is gone, but her heart is in the right place.

I know I complain a lot about the matter, but at least I get to complain. But what about my mother? She suffers in silence, in her own head, somewhere deep in her conscience, where sanity still lingers. She is the true victim in this entire ordeal. She struggles even after so many decades, to come to term with her illness. She stubbornly refuses to admit that she needs medication, which just makes it worse. She longs so much just to be like everyone else, healthy, able in body and mind. It is this burning desire of hers that has kept her alive all these years alone, with that fierce fighting spirit. Yet, that same spirit prevents her from admitting the need for medication.

I find myself caught in an impossible situation. You cant live with them, can’t live without them. That has never hold so true for me than right now when it comes to my mother. When she is around, she is ill, life really seems unbearable. Having to put up with her attacks and at the same time care for her, having to be stern and controlling of her, yet preserve her dignity and freedom to do as she wishes is really a challenge. It’s a full time job; one I am ill equipped to handle, emotionally and mentally.

In some ways, I wish I was the crazy one instead. For all the wrong that I have done in this life, for all the hurtful things I have said and done to her and to those I love, I should be the one loosing my mind, not her. Why her? Why my mother? A person who has been passionate about God ever since her university days, who actively tried to spread the good word to others, who cried so hard when she heard that her aunt died before she managed to save her soul. Why not me? Why can’t I take her place? Me, who goes to church once a year, only during Christmas, who claims to be Christian but never pray. Selfish me; who goes on and on about his own misery, not realising that it is really her that suffers.

I don’t know what compelled her to run away this time. The manner in which she left this time makes me more worried than usual. In her state of mind, she can hardly take care of herself, and she hasn’t called. A concerned friend asked me to pray for her safe return. Usually, I leave the praying part to other more qualified people, but this time, for the sake of my mother, perhaps it’s about time I get down on my knees and have a long overdue conversation with the man upstairs

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 4:12 pm Comments: 1

Talk about being difficult.

Pure rottenness; that's what has been coming out of her mouth these few days. Every single word, every single expression, pure rottenness.

Maybe it's the lack of medication, maybe it's PMS, maybe she's in a bad mood, but whatever it is, my mother has been in a foul mood ever since she came back. She was already in such a mood earlier, but now its just worse.

Last week, when my girlfriends younger brother was staying over, she did everything she could to chase him out of the house. When I wasn't around her house, he went to my room and asked him to leave, scaring the poor fellow. Then, she took their slippers and threw it out of the house. When I saw it, I lost my temper, and forced her to apologise to him. She refused, but I continued scolding her, forcing her to apologise. She eventually did, but grudgingly and without any sincerity.

These few days, she has refused to eat the food I buy her, accusing me of trying to bribe her. She then launches into countless countless attacks on me and my girlfriend. Its hard trying to keep my cool in the face of such vicious personal attacks. At times, I loose my temper and argue on with her, but its trying to talk to a radio, you just cant get it to listen. Furthermore, she looses her temper without much provocation, screaming and shouting at me in turn. When I try to reason with her, she just shuts her ears or goes into another attack. When I ask her to listen she says she doesn’t want to listen to me.

Yesterday night, when I came back, I smelt something strange, as if something was on the stove. True enough, she had to stove on, left unattended. She tried boiling water to drink (even when there was water readily available) and forgot about it. By the time I returned, the water had all but dried up, and the bottom of the pot was RED, like metal about to melt. Who knows how long it had been left like that! I came into her room, told her nicely that she forgot to switch off the water, and she goes into one of her rages, saying that I am just finding fault with her. She insisted that she did switch it off. When I eventually showed it to her, she just said “Serves him right.” The pot didn’t belong to us. It belonged to my friend, who cooked in our place some time ago. She said that it served him right since he didn’t take home his pot sooner. Now that it was black and burnt, it was his own fault. Tell me what am I supposed to say or do it the face of such attitude? I just said to her that her actions are her own responsibility and how dare she try to put the blame on someone else? Why was she boiling water in the first place when we have enough clean filtered water? She said the water makes her giddy.

I received a call from her old church friend who wants to come visit her this Saturday. I told them that my mother was in a relapse, and that I had no idea what they can expect if they came. They were only too familiar with the situation, having dealt with my mother before. When I informed my mother, she again just screamed at me, saying that I shouldn’t be talking to her friends, that I would brainwash them.

My lungs have been sore from all the shouting matches with her. My heart is boiling, and at the moment, am just soooo angry at her. She feels not a pinch of remorse or regret for what she says or do. I know I cant really blame her for what she does; she is ill. But that doesn’t stop my heart from aching. She says that I am disrespectful. She says that I only know how to take care of my girlfriend, and that I treat her like shit and I neglect my family. On the other hand, my girlfriend feels that I always give a lot of face to my family and none to her, and my priority is always my family. My friend thinks that things would be better if only I learnt how to treat my mother better.

What am I to do? Nothing I do seem to be right. I admit that I am not exactly very gentle when dealing with my mother. I have neither the patience nor energy to try to sweet talk her. To me, that has proved to be ineffective long ago. I admit that I do care a lot for my girlfriend and that I do the best I can for her. I admit that I give priority to my mother and her needs, and whenever there involves compromise, I would ask my girlfriend to do it. Have I done wrong? Have I really failed so spectacularly?

And that’s just one part of my problems. I have exams looming near, and true to Murphy’s law, something just has to come up. Just last month, my father and brother had to cough out RM2300 for my application to university. The both of them had to dig deep to give me the money and as a result, we are on a major shortage of cash. The bills have been piling up for 3 months; long overdue. My father banked in RM450 just the other day to use this month. Of which, they instructed RM150 be used to pay the bills. That leaves me with RM300. Minus RM100 I owe my friends (Christmas shopping) and I am down to RM200. Minus petrol money, minus money needed to print, copy and binding hard cover copies of my dissertation, other miscellaneous expenses etc, and I am left with…lets see… around…. 50 bucks? For a month? What am I supposed to eat? Grass? Even that’s not free.

I plan to take up a study loan to fund my 3months in the UK. But here’s the ironic part. To be eligible for the loan (which is a non-profit corporation), you need to be a member of the corporation with a minimum number of shares. So not only do you have to find a guarantor, you need to pay to buy their company shares, which amount to RM1800 to receive their loan, and its due end of this month, smack in the middle of my exams. Its just plain stupid if you ask me. But apparently, due to some legislation governing non profit corporations, that’s how it has to be. The whole point of a taking a loan is because you don’t have the cash. If I had enough petty cash to buy shares, would I really need a loan? Someone should look into that.

Forgive me if I am talking like the whole world is black and grey. It has been feeling that way for quite some time for me now. The euphoria of Christmas and New Year have quickly ended, and it’s very much back to the battleground for me, charging head on into the line of fire.

The love of money is the root of all evil, so the bible teaches us. Is it really? Is it really wrong to want money? They say money can’t buy happiness. Can it really not? It can’t buy health, love, and dignity. But without cash, they certainly are taken away from you. Money buys you good treatment when you are sick, money buys you proper cloths to wear, money affords you to buy the things you need most. You need medicine for that illness? You need new cloths to replace those old torn jeans? It involves money. I wore my last pair of jeans so many times over the year that it finally started to tear. Then I discovered that I couldn’t afford a new one. So I continued wearing it, and wore long shirts to cover the tear. It’s embarrassing when friends ask why am I wearing torn cloths. Having money won’t guarantee you happiness, but lacking money certainly ensures some measure of heartache and difficulty. Suddenly, I no longer gaze harshly at those labelled materialistic. You never miss the water until the well runs dry.

That’s enough ranting from me for now. I’m getting hungry. I better go pluck some grass outside before people start stepping on it, or worse the cat comes by.

Bon appetite

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 2:37 pm Comments: 0

Some guys get all the fun...

I was shopping with my girlfriends younger brother on new years eve.

He's only 17 years old, but if you see my caroling pictures, he's rather good looking.In fact, at his young age he already has had dozens of women interested in him with 2 past relationships to his report. A world apart from some of my friends, who are 22 but have not even been on a date before.

We went into this one show, looking for a ladies blouse for her friend. Now, I have been in that shop dozens of times, but never have I received service like that before. The sales promoter (obviously female) came over, being all friendly and helpful with our shopping, suggesting this and that. But obviously enough, she was really just taking the opportunity to talk to this cute guy!

In fact, she wasn't just being helpful and friendly, she was outright flirting, right before my very eyes. She was hitting on him, subtly trying to find out if my companion was shopping for a special friend or not. Of course, this 'brother' of mine is no stranger to women hitting on him. He just takes it in his stride and strolls confidently through the conversation.

Now, say what you want, but I think its crazy not to feel even a tingle of envy there. I mean, I'm 21 years old and I have never had a woman come up to me and talk to me like that, flirting and all. There he was, someone more like a little brother to me more than anything else, and he's getting all the attention! I guess there's no question who's th more eligible eh?

Well, in all honesty, I would love to know how it feels like to be on be on the receiving end of such things. I know it may sound ridiculous, but hey, how many guys do YOU know who have girls throwing themselves at their feet? Its flattering, and it cant be bad for the ego right? :p

Good looking guys get all the fun. Birds of a feather flock together, so what kind of women are these hunks likely to attract? You got it, babes. Its shallow i know, but that's life for you! Good looking people stick together, good looking people get attracted to good looking people. The rest of us are the same, only we end up settling for others more down to earth.

I heard this analogy once. Men approach women and cars in the same way. We all dream of the Lamborghini's and Ferrari's, but in the end, we settle down with our Toyota's and Honda's. We idolize the Aston Martins but we love our our cars to bits. But for different reasons. The Aston Martins represents the car of all cars. The ultimate automotive. But given the chance, not many of us would want (read expensive) to own one without first being a gozilliannaire. So we settle for the trusty and reliable old jalopy, and because it still gets us from A to B, and we bought it with money earned through sweat and hard work, we love it like it was an Aston Martin anyway.
That being said, beautiful women normally belong to the real of super rich man, or in this case, really really cute 17 years olds who looks good enough to eat.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 6:35 pm Comments: 0

Slow to a crawl!

Its been hard trying to go online these few days.

Just in case the rest of the world doesnt know yet, Asia is suffering from what seems to be the first ever Internet crisis in the region..

There was an earthquake during Christmas time which destroyed some under ground cables off the coast of Taiwan, which of course are the very cables that connect us together.

So as they are saying in the papers now, its back to 1997, where dial up speeds were as fast as a turtle on steroids. Just trying to get into blogger took soo long!

As expected, my mother did return. The worst part of it all was that I had to go pick her up in the middle of the night once again at the bus station. She went back to our old place and caused a mini havoc by sleeping outside our house and going to the lawyers office, trying to cancel the sale of the house.

But she returned duly and now, she's at home again, walking around without her pants, making arguments here and there, and of finding a tonne of faults with everything. Her attacks on my girlfriend has turn move vicious recently, resulting in a few skirmishes between them. I had to step in and stop their shouting. My girlfriend is now rather upset about the whole matter, and i suspect it wont be long before she moves out to stay with her younger brother, whose about to graduate from secondary school and perhaps leaving the shelter home.

I have given up trying to give her medication. Just before she made her disappearance, I tried giving her medication to her in a drink. Just like the last time, she resisted and we got into a scuffle, with the drink spilling all over the room. I lost my temper, splashed the rest of it on her face and walked away. I mopped the floor, changed the bed sheet, and even had to wash her hair for her. That night, she didnt eat, so i made soup for her. I secretly put some of the medicine in the soup and she drank about half of it before taking off the next day.

Since she came back, things haven't improved much. She's back to walking around the house in her underwear, and when i screamed at her again last night for not dressing decently, she called me a peeping tom. Well, peeping tom or not, i am give up trying to do anything. I just left her medicine for her, for her to take on her own will.

Instead, I spoke to my brother, and finally her agreed to send her to the hospital if she doesnt improve which is of course very likely. I hope this time my brother comes through with his word and sends her to the hospital within these few days, for her own good. We agreed on a few things. The whole situation seems to have turned into vicious cycle with her going in and out of relapse and running away. I told my brother we cant be feeding her her medication day by day like that. But we also could not just leave her to take the medication on her own. In her own words, she feels that she isnt sick, and even even if she was, she would like to get better by stop depending on the medication. The fact is, she wont take her medication on her own initiative. In the end, we agreed that a monthly injection was the best solution to our problem. That way, we dont have to watch over her day to day wondering if she skipped her medication. The trick is how to get her to go with us once a month to the doctors.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 6:04 pm Comments: 0

First day of the rest of the year

What a start to the new year.....

Lets see, how did my first day of new year go? I got caught in the rain, completely soaked wet by the time i arrived home on my bike. Oh ya, my mom ran away again....

My brother was planning to come over to see just how my mother was after i updated him on her latest episodes. When i came home the night before, she was still awake. I turned on my computer, typed out my last blog and crashed into bed.

The next morning, i woke to the sound of my brother knocking on the front door. I opened it for him, curious as to why my mother did not open it first. It didnt take long for us to realise that she was no longer at home... bags gone and all.

My brother stayed for a while and we chatted about her disappearance again. Some solution had to be found. We cant leave her to take her own medication, and we cant be hospitalizing her all the time. A monthly injection seems the most ideal solution.

Of course, that can be done only after she has appeared again, which we really have no idea when. It seems almost pointless to be angry at her for running away. In her state of mind, there is not much reasoning with her. I only hope that she knows how to take care of herself and return safely. In fact, i thought about it a lot today, and i told myself, perhaps i should stop saying that she has run away.

To say so would imply that she has in fact settled down here with us, and that she is leaving the place that she is meant to be. But perhaps to her, she hasnt quite settled down at all. To us, she is running away. To her, she is merely going someplace else. When she is done, she goes back to see her sons. The constantly packed bags throughout 2006 only confirms my suspicion.

I will say honestly that its starting to feel a little too familiar to me, coming home to find a missing mother. I half expect her to call me within this week to ask me to pick her up from the bus station. And i half expect her to run away again a few months later, unless we do something drastic.

Its hard to look forward to the new year when the first day goes like that. As they say, a bad start does not mean a bad finish. But I remain extremely apprehensive of what lies before me in the next 12 months.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 10:52 pm Comments: 1

To our friends this new year

So welcome 2007.

New years eve was a quiet affair for me. Went to church in the evening. Tried giving my mother her medication. Finally managed to give it to her by secretly adding it into the soup I made for her, though she didnt finish it. After that, went to my friends place to watch the fireworks from the balcony.

At 12.00a.m. we opened a bottle of wine, and the four of us drank while chatting for an hour or so, and here I am writing my first post of the new year when I should really be sleeping.

Maybe its the alcohol getting to me. I suddenly feel the urge to say something really profound, but really the alcohol just seems to make everything just a blurry high. I don't know if you ever knew, but I'm not quite a drinker. In fact, I'm a lousy drinker. I drank like 2 cups of wine, and the entire upper half of my body was tomato red, and I get into this elevated mood, laughing at the slightest thing.

Yup, getting me drunk is a sure way to get me to spill the beans on something or to get me to do something really silly.

Of course, every new year celebration is accompanied by Auld Lang Syne. I didnt really sing it out loud. I just thought of it in my head. Its a song that always make people emotional, me included. It sings of friend new and old, of remembering those who were once a part of our life, who shared in our joy and our pain, our happiness and suffering.

Our friends, the people who laughed when you laughed, cried when you cried, and thankfully, didnt go crazy when you did. It is true that they come and go, and we should never begrudge that fact. The question isn't what role they played in your life, but how well they play the part they were given. Some friends leave an everlasting impact on you, even if your encounter was short and brief. Other friends remain by your side for years on end. Regardless of which it was, friends truly are invaluable. Apart from your family, it is your friends whom you can count on to stand by your side, to lend a shoulder, to offer a hand, to give a hug. Though individually, friends contribute little to our development, taken as a whole, they play a major role. It was a friend who taught me to overcome my fear or roller coasters and to fold paper birds. It was another friend who thought me how to let loose my previously uptight self, another friend who taught me that hugging is never a bad thing. I remember sitting in the park, chatting about love, life and happiness with a good friend long ago, and our bond of friendship just seemed so strong. We talked and talked and talked. At that point in my life, I never talked to anyone more than i did with this person, nor did i ever have a friends so close.

Though today, we are no longer as close as we used to be, I will always cherish those times together. It was meaningful times. Times that have stayed in my mind; a sweet memory of a friendship unexpectedly forged. At times, I reminensce with sadness of those times long gone, wishing that things could somehow be like last time again. But the memory of it reminds me that good friends are worth making. Good friends are worth your time, effort and commitment, because in return they give you so much more. They help you, guide you, tease you, comfort you, scold you, advice you, watch your back, and if you ever miss the last bus home, help is always a call away. Though it may not last forever, that friendship will carry you through those periods in your life. The objective in life is not to make things last forever. Nothing ever does. You do not love a flower any less just because its blossom doesnt last forever. It is meant to be appreciated while it is still there, in the present, while it is before you. Similarly, you do not shun a potentially beautiful friendships just because you know it wont last anyway. Its the wrong approach. A beautiful friendship is one that blossoms to its fullest during its time. It may be just 3 months in camp, it may be 4 years in college. I have known some people for 10 years, and still not count him as much of a friend. The measure of friendship is not how long, but how far.


Should all aquaintence be forgot and never brought to mind? Should all aquaintence be forgot and auld lang syne? For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne. We'll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne.

Every new year, when we sing Auld Lang Syne, we are essentially paying tribute to our friend. Not one friend in particular, but all our friends. Collectively, they have been a definitive part of our lives in so many ways. What better way to call a close to the year than to remember those who helped us through it? The songs asks not if friends will ever part. It asks should we remember them when we part. As we bring the year to a close, we are reminded that some friendships will also come to a close. It makes us sad, as it always does when good things come to an end. It is a part of life for all things to have a beginning and an end. Yet, it is also in the knowing that it will not last forever that we we begin to grasp just how invaluable some friendships are. In this realisation, we begin to cherish the memories of our friends and the times together from long ago. Hence the title. The words 'Auld Lang Syne' literally translates from old Scottish dialect meaning 'Old Long Ago'

The song never answers the questions it poses, because the answer lies readily in our hearts. And so, when the new year has come, we sing a song for them, we make a toast in their honour and pay tribute to them, keeping them close to our hearts even though they those times were so long ago. For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne. We'll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne.

Happy 2007 to our friends; they make life bearable, they make life wonderful.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 10:43 pm Comments: 0