The Rambling Way In

Ramblings...

2009-08-09T20:33:00.002+08:00

Nothing better than camp cable. To watch the morning light paint the trees through the windows of a tent.

One year on

2009-07-17T03:48:00.005+08:00

Exactly one year ago, on this date, I ground flesh into tar on some lonely mountain road north of Thailand. One year ago, tomorrow, I would wake up in my RM20 backpacker’s room in sleepy Chiang Rai writhing in pain. By the afternoon of tomorrow one year ago, I would have developed a fierce craving for painkillers. In the next few days, one year ago, I would experience the slow and excruciating pain of infection coupled with epidermis healing. Then, two weeks from now, one year ago, I would be hobbling along Thailand, boosting my new thai tattoos, jumping into seas and tanning them dark.

Now, one year on, so much has changed. The wounds have turned to shadowy reminders. The pain is vague yet unforgettable. And now, whenever anyone asks, I brush off my scars like a passing statement because today, they are a part of me. They are a part of who I am and what I have been through. They are an imprint of one point in my life like memory in ink. Today they are constant reminders that while I can hurt I can also heal.

One year ago, I would never think that. But life does heal. Life does move on. Even through the most painful of experiences, it moves on. Someone I knew liked to use one profound phase, "This too will pass." Indeed.

Exactly one year ago, on this date, I was having one of the worse days of my life. Today, I can look back and say “I’ve got stories to tell!”

DOUBLE A

2009-07-09T23:32:00.004+08:00

I am an alcoholic. And I make no excuses for it. I like my drinks. I like my wine. I like my liquor naked, unadulterated, on the rocks. I like the taste of the percentage. I like the burn, the breath, the buzz.

They say there are amateur alcoholics and pro alcoholics. Through the many years, I have learned a lot and even then, there is still more to learn. Now, my drinks run through a very stringent process of branding. I do not mix what I do not know, this applies for the drinks and the people I drink with. I watch out for anything that bubbles. Water is taken when water is due. I hardly ever test my limits (hardly). And as long as I can still see straight, anything goes.

There is nothing wrong with drinking unless one drinks excessively. But what is the limit? I guess you’ll never know till you put it to test. I’ve put mine to the test, and there were many times that I failed miserably but hey! I’m still standing! (And there is nothing wrong with drink driving just as long as no one dies in the process because a lot of drinkers drive better than when they are sober).

Most of us drink for very different reasons. Nothing like chilled beer to nurse a hard day’s work. Or a shot of something nasty to numb the senses. Or a few jugs to prepare the mind for sleep. Nothing like sinking into bliss instead of depression. Or dealing with emotions on fizzy guzzling. And there is nothing like trying to mend a broken heart with booze; it never really cleanses the heart but it still feels darn good.

But I don’t drink to be emotionally stunted. That was the past - a sort of rite of passage. I drink because I like the taste of it. I like the buzz of it. And I like the conversations that come with it. I like it when inhibitions strip themselves with each mouthful and people swim into a genuine state. You can never pretend on booze. Everything that is true to self exposes itself. You can never pose on booze; you may fool the other drunks but not the clear-headed ones.

Drinking is also the best of icebreakers. It helps discard the cloaks of fear and low esteem. It flushes away self-pity and rationality. And in its place, it breeds guts, sheer bravado, and sometimes stupidity – whatever that is true to self. The shy become flirts. The posers become outright losers. The gorgeous become demigods or its exact opposite. The timid become bold and the bold become reckless. The plain become dashing. A lot of people do lots of things they would never ever imagine they would in ordinary circumstances; they strut, they strip, they straddle, they propose, they break-up, they throw a punch. Jumping off a building is another such extreme.

And there are many things to discover in a state of intoxication. The tipsy world can be a pretty alien place. How the toilet bowl is not as big as it seems and the road not as wide as it looks. The creation of a new language that can only be pronounced in slurs. The fact that things that look fast are actually slow and things that look slow, fast. And then the discovery that bad days are not as bad as the next day’s hangover. And things that look good don’t look half as right in a more proper state of mind.

But there is nothing wrong being in an improper state of mind, well, at least in my books. There is nothing wrong escaping into some other more floaty realm. We all have our poison. We all have our antidotes. Of course there are other ways to escape. Some people run a marathon. Some look for a fight. Some succumb to drugs. Some binge on food. Some sink into their shell. This world has its burdens and we all shoulder a part of that burden so there is nothing wrong finding our own respite, even if it is a temporary paradise in a bottle.

I say life is short. Drink up.

Ramblings...

2009-07-02T11:55:00.001+08:00

It’s 1 a.m. at the club and she stands right outside the little girl’s room.
It’s a Wednesday night. It’s ladies night.
And she is the oldest gal in that dark smoky club - sardine-packed with hot young girls strutting their stuff to the beat of the DJ and the pulse of alcohol.
She stands in the corner with a mop in her hand.
When the little girl’s room packs up, she is in there with them, making sure the rolls are filled, the loos unclogged and the ladies leave no make-up stains on the mirrors.
Then, occasionally, when the DJ spins a good number, the ladies empty the toilets for the dance floor, and she follows them out to watch.
There is a weary kind of scrutiny on her face as I watch her staring at two girls rubbing up against each other and another at the far end grinding with the pillar.
She looks tired even as she watches a lap dance on a couch or a threesome hotdog dance.
I wonder what she feels night after dutiful night. Envious? Matronly? Ached?
She must feel aged in a place packed with youth - or the illusion of it at least.
Aged and tired, she would still be one of the last to leave - long after the crowd stumbles out; long after the lights come on; long after the last cubicle flushes empty - mopping up party stains for the next night.
I wonder what her salad days were like.

Ramblings

2009-04-29T13:17:00.000+08:00

I feel like I have been robbed.

I just paid the highest income tax in my entire career and I am bleeding through my nose. I’m woozy in the head. My bank account just had a really bad diarrhoea. And I feel the pinch like a nine inch needle.

And even as good citizens try to do their taxes at the tax department, a policeman in charge of handling out numbers worked with touts so one could purchase quick numbers to get things done. Perfect scenario of how this country works.

Then, to add to the insult, MPPJ does a ticket spree right outside the tax office. We take the effort to pay out taxes and get a parking fine in the process. Is there no compassion in our government?

April for fools indeed. ...

Passing quotes

2009-04-29T13:07:00.000+08:00

"The World Wide Cobweb"

A day to not remember

2009-03-01T12:01:00.002+08:00

I buried my cat. Attacked by dogs in our own compound. Flung around like a rubber ball. Trapped in a corner under the shrubs where we found him.

I buried him under our rambutan tree. His brother too scared to come home.

Can I be angry at animal instincts? I wish I could. I wish I could beat the dogs that take the cats as game. But what good would that do?

We brushed the soil off. Life goes on, there is one more cat to protect.

Then, a call from University Hospital.

Another death within.

All in one day.

When it rains, it pours shit loads.

Killed with kindness

2009-02-26T13:22:00.003+08:00

It may be just a millipede but it wasn’t meant to die. Not just yet and definitely not by a careless heavy foot; a foot that belonged to an tremendously remorseful owner who could not stop cursing at his carelessness.

It was a huge one, the millipede I mean – thumb thick, fat and oozing goo. Had, perhaps, a few good months or years left to live. Had an odd colour on – not the usual brown but beige in a rather pretty way – beige and semi-squashed. Half a body writhing above the dried leaves; the other half compressed into the jungle soil with the rest of its juices.

Perhaps it would survive we all thought. It did have maybe 50 legs left to take a walk. So we went on ahead to do the jungle thing. Dove into the waterfall. Did all the crazy things only crazy campers do. Then on the way back down, we took special care treading on the same spot.

It was still there. Sadly, 50 legs wasn’t good enough to carry it forward.

‘It’s going to be eaten alive.’ I told him as I watched his face contort in familiar remorse. A trail of excited army ants swarmed close by. We all knew what had to be done and who had to do it.

So our gang lingered away down the trail. And I waited somewhere behind the bush.

I think I saw him utter a prayer, perhaps. He looked so guilty even before the deed was done. It may be just a millipede, but to him, it was a life nonetheless – fragile and meek by nature. To have to trample the lights out of such a life is something even I cannot do. While we have the power and the choice to protect or destroy, the fragile ones don’t. I think of snails and I cringe.

Then there were two stomps on the ground. Two, just to be sure.

He made his way down the trail towards us. His face strained with guilt. I gave him a pat on the back. It was done.

Here was a pure nature lover through and through. The kind that wouldn’t pluck a leaf, leave a crumb or kill a leech unless he really had to. But the deed had to be done and he had to be the one to do it.

Fact of nature. Part of life. No one said it was easy being cruel in order to be kind.

Rambling...

2009-02-22T22:17:00.002+08:00

4am after a Friday night in town. A BMW rides a little in front of us on the Federal Highway. It's been a wild night and the roads are almost empty.

Then suddenly, the BMW switches from the middle lane and right into a tree.

WHAM!

We avoid just in time.

The car windows shatter. The airbags balloon out. The car drifts 180 degrees around the highway.

The tree shakes its confetti of sullen leaves on the wreckage.

It's a BMW. The occupants will be fine.

And all I said out load at that time was 'Holy Shit! Poor tree!'

A gift from strangers

2009-02-18T15:19:00.002+08:00

Dressed for the night out. All made up. Earrings, bling bling, sparkles, the works. Music blaring from my badly tuned car speakers.

The traffic light turns red ahead as I think about the day. I find myself checking my car mirrors a little too often, checking for signs of paranoia that tails me. Yes I am paranoid about the state we are in. I am paranoid about the crimes I hear everyday, crimes that are sometimes a little too close to home. Paranoid about the daily news with nothing good. Paranoid about the bleak political circus that is too disappointing to discuss yet too difficult to ignore.

By the way, I’ve stopped reading the papers; I’d rather risk seeming ignorant than being pissed off at the idiosyncrasies of our politics. But it seems that bad news does not need print to take flight – public anger spreads like wildfire.

So, besides a great day at work, there wasn’t much about Malaysia to be happy about on that particularly dark night.

And then my car stops right next to a family of three. A young tudung lady, beautiful in a way that only mothers can be. An adorable baby boy bouncing upon her knee. And a proud father behind the wheel.

I catch eyes with the baby while the mother smiles at me. I make faces at the kiddo and smiles break on all three. The child gets excited. They laugh in their bubble space. I cannot hear them but I can fill in the sound. The baby is lifted up to the window to say a better hello. And before the lights turn green, we sit exchanging silent baby language.

And between that space of one car to the next, something else exchanges through two panes of glass; two locked doors; and the barrier of traffic noise – it’s a wonderful thing to say hello to humanity once in awhile – and all it took was three crinkle-eyed strangers to lift my gloom over paranoia, pessimism and the Malaysian political farce on that night.

As I pull away from them, headed in totally different directions towards totally different lives, I am reminded that no matter where we come from or who we are, no matter how shitty things are or will soon be, we are all in this together.

Eyes wide shut

2009-01-18T21:11:00.002+08:00

How do I put into words the experience of sightlessness? There is no way to explain how it feels like but to ask you to shut your eyes, and resist the urge of peeping through even when you have to cross a busy street, or climb a flight of stairs you thought you knew well, or put food from hand to mouth.

Until today, I have not seen a clear day of the new year, and even now, what I see on this screen is but half. I remembered when in utter blindness only a week back, how much I missed the shape of clouds. What does the new year look like, I would ask over the phone? How blue was the sky today? Were the stars out yesterday night? Can you study the surface of the moon for me and tell me what you see?

I remember sitting in my room for 6 lightless days, on self-quarantine; tip toeing around the surfaces of my dark world; doing away time in my mind’s eye; playing scenarios in my head. Hours and hours would go by and I would turn the pages of my many bedside books and wish I could read through my fingertips.

I remember on one of my routine hospital visits when two little girls started to laugh. It was a kind of laughter that bubbled from deep within, and it came out bursting with so much innocence and happiness. I don’t have a face for the girls but I can still remember their laughter and the pattering of their feet across the waiting room floor. In a funny way, it was my sightlessness that made the moment magical. It was my blindness that made me follow their every decibel, their every rise and fall of each bubbly burst and each happy note. And until today, I still think it is one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard.

I remember keeping my elbows in a lot, locked to my side, and sitting rigid as an upright log, afraid to swing around and knock things down. I remember how well each glass and bottle fits in my hands and how I preferred eating without utensils. How I would gauge the amount of juice I had left by the temperature change on the surface of my glass. How I wouldn’t know if the toothpaste was squeezed out enough or not at all. How cement, tar and tile were different textures to my feet.

I remember hearing voices but regretfully not the faces, especially the nurses that guided me so gently. I remember being neater with my room than I have been in a long time because everything had to be in place for me to be able to find them again. And how sensitive my friends were to every twitch of my fingers and turn of my head. And how one daft waiter said that I should just take off my sunnies when I commented that I could not see the menu, how I would have loved to bash his head if only I could see something to bash his head with.

I remember the pain of every blink. The unstoppable tears. The bleeding lids. The throbbing. The fear of light. The fear of darkness. The fear of waking up each morning not being able to open my eyes.

But the worse thing about the entire experience is how I would sit in darkness and know that some people do live their entire lives like this. And it frightens me, this feeling of sightlessness, even if it was only temporary for me - how much life can be so much less without sight.

One long year adios

2009-01-03T02:22:00.003+08:00

I welcomed the new year with my one good eye. The other one was made useless by an infection which turned it bloodshot red and tearing like a woman on hormone pills.

So I spent my countdown behind shades. And in between champagne, wine and gourmet food, I also spent a lot of time in the toilets drowning that useless eye in medicated drips.

They say an infection on the right eye is good news. I’ve got a leftie which, no surprise, is a bad omen. Must be someone I came in really close contact to. Must be an allergy to that person’s eye contact.

The doc of course says it is contact lens infection. One minor problem - I don’t wear contacts so I switched doctors instead.

So I welcomed my new year with my one good eye as I was saying. And in a funny way I see much better. Things have become much clearer to me this past few trying months and I have learned a lot about myself and about the people around me and the people who are no longer around me.

I vote 2008 one of the worse years in my life. I think many can agree with that. Maybe it’s what the bad wind blew in. Maybe it was just plain luck. Or maybe it was fated. But I am glad it is over and I am glad I am still around. But bad year and all, there were few regrets. Okay…maybe more than a few… just tiny ones:

I should have rolled over that snake
I should have quit my job earlier
I should have taken that plane ticket
I should have said yes instead of no
I should have said no instead of yes
I should have played dumb
And of course, I should have not rubbed my left eye

But I am banking on one very prominent lucky sign – a scruffy mongrel has entered my house compound on the new year and has refused to budge despite attempts to chase him out.

My grandma believes that when stray animals decide to make your home their home, it’s a sign of good luck. But she does not really say if it is good luck for us or for the dog. It doesn’t matter, I’m putting my last coin on the dog, after all, 2009 can't get any worse than last year....or can it?

Lake Toba, Sumatra

2008-12-30T12:32:00.016+08:00

Toba. Where was it, we didn't know. What was there, we didn't know. All the better to buy those cheap air tickets to find out. No plans, no reservations, no schedule, no map. Just our trusty feet, passports and enough cash to get there and back. And we were off.

Getting to Toba by Train

Be prepared for a tough ride. We took the train from Medan into this little cowboy town called Tebing Tinggi. The train was not too bad. Really bumpy. Hard seats. Tough sleep. It’s not first class luxury but it’s a local’s insight for RM15.

Train station at Medan

We were actually told the train ride would be 2 to 3 hours but our stop came a little ealier than expected. And we only found out that we had to get off because my trusty travel mate made some friends at the smoker’s corner.

So to make things clear, Tebing Tinggi is the first stop from Medan. Be prepared at the door with your luggage when the station arrives. We got off the hard way, through a lot of jostling and elbowing, because the moment the train stopped, throngs of vendors and salesmen and women pushed onto the train to sell their wares and it was almost impossible to get off without knocking someone’s pile of goods over.

From Tebing Tinggi to Toba

Off the train and into the cowboy town. The bus stop to Toba is right outside the train station or anywhere you want to hail it. The buses aren’t really buses but makeshift mini vans. There are more comfortable big buses that travel from Medan to Toba. But if you want to be hard heads like us, the mini van provides a totally unforgettable experience.

One thing I noticed about Indonesia on that very first day was that if you want to get anywhere in that area, you have to start talking. Although I am usually tightlipped about my travel plans as precaution, in Sumatra, it’s a must the share your itinerary if you want to get anywhere. The locals will ask you loads of questions because they are naturally interested in you and this sharing of information can help you get from point A to B at no extra cost. In fact, talking was how we found our mini van by chance. Locals outside the train station hailed one for us and bundled us on it.

Our minivan had no leg room. No air. No space. And a crazy driver at the wheel. CRAZY! I had a butt cramp for at least 3 hours just trying to keep on the seat. And to add to the experience, our particular van was roach infested. Infested in a way that they swarmed on my cream roll in seconds. The locals in the van didn’t seem too fussed about it. I didn’t mind the roaches but I did brush my hair through a couple of times. The bottom line is that the ride got us to Parapat at Lake Toba for under RM7.

Parapat

Parapat is a tiny town by the lake and one of the main stopovers and sleepovers before the next journey into Samosir island. From Parapat, we can see the expansive view of Toba. And it looks like the sea. 100km across, there was no end in sight.

We walked the town of Parapat and its hilly roads trying to find a comfortable spot to park our ‘ahem’ and to rest after the excruciating ride. Parapat in November, and it seems during most part of the year, is quiet and dead. After the Bali bombings, tourism took a plunge and Toba was one of the hardest hit areas. The Parapat resorts looked closed down or dilapidated. There were no tourists in sight. It was one of my very few trips where I didn’t see a single backpacker or Mat Salleh for an entire day.

Parapat Stay

We walked around Parapat with backpacks that were getting heavier by each step. And just as I was about to give up and hail another dreadful minivan, Lake Toba International Cottage appeared around an unassuming bend.

For RM100 a night, we got a basic room with a million dollar view right on the water front. Of course our million dollar view was blocked by a coconut tree but what a view it was! RM100 is not cheap by Toba standards and I am pretty certain there could be better bargains out there but the package included TV, warm water at weird hours, breakfast for two at a gorgeous vantage point, and a clean mite-free bed. The International Cottage provides one of my best breakfast views of the lake at the top of the hill.

Room view of lake right at the very edge

There is nothing to do at Parapat town. Nothing. So I slept the town away the entire day until check out the next morning.

Samosir island

Samosir island is right in the middle of Lake Toba. And it is HUGE. Samosir is an island larger than Singapore and surrounded by a body of fresh water 4km deep in some parts. Traveling to Samosir from Parapat is easy. There are many ports to grab a ferry from. Do not take the International Cottage ferry if you are on a budget because that ferry includes a tour as well, the same kind of tour you can get cheaper on the island.

Dock at Parapat

For a couple of ringgit, the 30 minute boat ride ferries us direct to the guesthouse. Most hotels and guest homes reside on the waterfront.

Reggae Hut Stay

Reggae Hut at Samosir is the least Reggae place I have ever stayed at and I am proud to say I have been to quite a few. If you’re on the tightest budget and don’t mind its rough edges then all is well. But right next door to Reggae is Bamboo Hut. For the same price, it’s cleaner, nicer and better kept so it may be worth checking it out.

View from Reggae because the rooms are nothing much to show

We stayed at Reggae Hut for two nights in a hut right on the waterfront. 5 steps from the door and into the water. The price – RM11 a night. The benefit – a crazy bunch of stoners that run the place and the tour around the island. The food – not too bad, try the chicken curry and the gado gado salad. The ambience – bare but we get live singing echoing from the reception area by the stoner boys every night. The damage – roaches in the loo, leaking sink, mouldy walls, flimsy doors, giant spiders and gangster lizards.

Gado Gado doesn't look so good but tastes pretty ok

Reggae Boat Tour

I can’t be too sure how much the one day tour cost but it could be around R45,000 inclusive of one drink, lunch and fruits. Don't grab too much beer thinking it free. They tend to charge you in the end without warning you first that it is not part of the package.

The ride starts in the morning about 10 with live Batak singing and entertaining throughout the day. Most of the locals at Toba are from the Batak tribe and one thing the Batak tribe is famous for is their vocal chords. Almost every Batak male we met sings. And every place we walk into has a guitar. So it is nice to say the island is filled with songs.

The onboard entertainment

Singing on the hill

The boat tour took us to visit a hillside tribe of padi farmers. There, I met a kid who was so cute I wanted to steal him home. I carried him most of the way up the hill and as I passed by farmers, they waved me by and kept calling out MALAYSIA. I remembered thinking, ‘Wow, these people have seen their share of my country folk.’ But it was only when I got to the school up the hill that I discovered the kid in my arms was actually called Malaysia. How apt.

Just imagine. At the top of the hill, overlooking a vast lake and a quaint little church, the village school children greeted us with songs that echoed across the hills. They serenaded the visitors and charmed us with their evasive smiles. From young, music has been infused within the Batak people and it was simply wonderful to stand there and appreciate.

Waterfall @ Samosir

From the village, we boarded the ferry for a long and slow crawl down Toba to a waterfall that falls right off the top and into the lake. Fresh water is a wonderful place to dive in. But if you don’t swim, you sink.

The currant near the waterfall is very strong and the water can be very chilly. A man from our boat almost got swept away if someone hadn't dived in after him. Another lady had a cramp and had to be hoisted back onboard. That was two casualties in a ferry of maybe 25 tourists. So if you are not a strong swimmer don’t attempt to dive off the second storey of the boat. And if you can’t swim to begin with, just stay onboard and watch the water monkeys below.

Tuak village

Refreshed from the dive, we hit the tuak village where we sampled freshly made tuak at a village hut. It’s quite a sight to see an entire group of foreigners seated on rickety floorboards and mats, downing tuak in muddy wet attire. Tuak is made from the sap of palm flowers and has a very raw organic taste to it. It’s quite a deceiving drink. Easy to guzzle and hard to know when it hits you.

As we got back on the boat, I noticed the reggae boys were a little more tipsy than they should be. And so was our boat caption.

Traditional Batak house

The tour ended with another slow crawl back to our various guesthouses by sundown, all the while entertained by our already drunk but still in perfect pitch Batak band. All in all, the trip was not worth its RM40 with most of the time being spent traveling up and down the lake. In a speed boat, the entire itinerary would have lasted 4 hours.

Carolina Hotel Stay, Samosir

Probably one of the best places to stay on the island. Carolina resort is right on the water front as with most of the other residences. But it is one place you know that will be run efficiently. Rooms cost from RM70. It’s clean, spacious and comes with a balcony overlooking the lake. Entertainment and TV can be found at their lounge and restaurant where residents meet every night to watch the news together and sit in for a movie marathon.

Carolina

For RM15, Carolina can even arrange a good masseur for a private 1 hour massage in the room. Baby oil, the lapping of the lake waters and chilly highland air can be a very seductive thing.

Food on Samosir island

MAGIC Mushrooms Omelet

They have them everywhere! The boys at Reggae were trying to get us to try some but in the end we opted to eat it at a more decent family establishment. The kind lady advised us to have it in small bites and to wait for 20 minutes before finishing the entire omelet (RM15 an omelet). It doesn’t taste much like anything. No crunch, no musky fungi taste, no texture. And at the very end, not much effect too. I did have a splitting headache when I went to bed that night but that could be attributed to a certain other substance I tried as well.

Magic Omelet

Magic Mushrooms are said to be hallucinogenic so experts advice a safe and quiet environment with people you can trust. High rises are a big No No in this case. One could think of flying or jumping on a cloud or running from imaginary monsters. According to the reggae boys, the mushrooms are grown on the island and are best taken from the dung of a nursing buffalo. Must be quite a task tailing a mother buffalo around and keeping a constant look out for her dung.

We tried ours at Onari Café (I think) and even took back fresh samples for ‘cough, cough’ further tests.

Bamboo Hut

Bamboo hut serves by far the best food on the island as far as I am concerned. Try the coconut milkshake. Also, their curry fish isn’t as fishy as the rest of the places. Dinner at bamboo is better than its breakfast. Bamboo hut was also where we first learned about the Mumbai bombings from a tiny TV as the owner of the hut filled us in with the details.

Carolina Hotel

Food at Carolina is also a must try. Their Satay is actually quite good, and so is their fried rice. Portions are huge.

Standard food at Samosir: fried mee/fried rice/ fried everything

It won’t be long before you discover that food on Samosir and in Medan is a lot more expensive than lodging or transport. Food is simple at Samosir. Their rendang looks like curry, their curry like rendang and their noodles are all fried the same way. Nothing beats food in Malaysia, that’s for sure.

Traveling around Samosir

You could walk. Or you could hire a bike. It would be endless to try to cover the entire island on foot. We took a ride on a Sunday morning and it was a wonderful experience. Many times I told my best mate that the trip finally started the moment we rented the bike. I was probably the only island idiot with a helmet on, but after the accident in Thailand, what the heck.

On Sunday mornings, we rode past throngs of church goers dressed in their Sunday’s best. They walk miles to the nearest church with their trusty bible in hand, their hair done up, their clothes bright and clean. Even the kids looked scrubbed down and all dolled up. Church bells call the worshipers and hymns flow out its windows. If it wasn’t churches that dot the island, it was the tiny tombs in the shape of Batak traditional homes that fill the landscape everywhere we turned. And the lake was omnipresent.

Tombs that dot the island

Don’t ask about the tourist sites at Samosir. There are plenty of websites that can offer information on the torture chairs and the king’s tomb. At Toba, we felt rebellious so we skipped all the tourist sites just because we could.

Weather at Toba

Chilly in the nights. In November, the sky was gloomy most part of the day. Sun shines through in the mornings and rain clouds come by in the afternoons all the way to the evenings. One day it rained all day long. It’s actually very beautiful weather if you don’t plan to do anything at all but sit, relax and read. A waterproof coat and a warm jacket should be sufficient.

And because of the weather, the lake water can be very cold. Watch out for cramps. Take a swim when it rains or right after, it’s warmer then. If you are disgusted with slime, well, watch your step on the rocks and on the edges, it can get quite gooey.

Linking lives

2008-12-23T04:30:00.001+08:00

Once in awhile you meet someone with a connection so deep so disturbing that you just have to blink a couple of times to see if it would disappear. And if they still don’t vanish into thin air, something is up. And you are put at the crossroads wondering if it’s worth pursuing or better letting go. Connections don’t come easy. Lives don’t link easy. People come and go. And few leave some impact if any at all. Yet, when there is someone that gives you that small jumpstart in the heart, just hang on. You’re in for a ride! The butterflies in your stomach are finally up from their slumber. And you feel like a child learning how to drink water from a cup without spilling all over. And because everything suddenly feels so right, you know deep down that something could be very wrong. Because things can’t be so great, so the cynic says. Every up has a down. Every rise has a fall. Every dawn has a gloomy side. And behind every truth, there is a need to rectify a lie. And so, sometimes, you cut your losses. Set free the horses. Let things off to run their course. And just by doing that, just by listening to your instincts instead of your heart, you find that connections can sometimes be false. Dialed to the wrong number.

Ramblings...

2008-12-10T16:23:00.004+08:00

Sometimes, memories are measured by materials. And long after a presence is gone, the objects serve as a reminder of the past.

Like the other day, I was going through my earring box, pairing up each piece with its other half. There must have been close to fifty pairs of earrings. More than half of which I didn’t buy. And I remembered the various people that got them for me. Some are still around and some have went on leaving me souvenirs from the past.

And then, every so often, I would come across a pair in which its origins I simply could not identify: the Who What When Why How of that dangly piece; materials without memories worthy enough to keep. A simple accessory and nothing more.

Then, when the box was almost empty, and my desk was scattered with gleaming pieces of memories reunited, I came across a lonely earring without its pair. One earring would serve me no purpose. What is one without the other? Insignificant. But I kept it nevertheless.

Maybe one day I’ll find its other half. Sometimes they do come back.

Mount Kinabalu

2008-11-21T17:00:00.004+08:00

From the plane, one can spot the mountain in an instant. There is no mistaking its magnitude. It protrudes the landscape like an ant hill on a flat bank. When I saw the peak of the mountain from my plane, the reality sank in hard and I remembered asking, “How the hell am I suppose to climb that?”

Kinabalu is the fourth tallest mountain in South East Asia and 20th in the world. It stands 4101 metres or 13,455 feet tall and the mountain still grows at 5mm per annum. Also, the mountain is so rich in flora and fauna that it is known as one of the world’s most important biological sites.

Most climbers spend the night at the Kinabalu Park or surrounding resorts and start the climb at the park headquarters at 1,563 metres above sea level. To put 4,101 metres into easier perspective, by the first 2.5km up, you would have passed the highest tip in Semenanjung Malaysia.

For the first leg, climbers scale 6km up the mountain to get to Laban Rata at 3300 metres where they spend the night. The next day, they venture 2 more kilometres to reach Low’s Peak (summit). In short, the climb takes 8km altogether – possibly the longest 8km for some.

The climb up

What can I say, it wasn’t easy. Let me sum up the journey with one word – ENDLESS. I started my first step and I ended up with a lifelong phobia for stairs. But that is just me – the unhealthy, untrained me. Meanwhile, the fitter, more enthusiastic climbers seem to attack the stairs with gusto.

But there will come a point in the journey, say maybe pass Kilometre 4 or 5, when the body starts to lag and the mind starts to zone out. And at that point, I bet my bottom dollar each and every climber would have probably started to question themselves on why they volunteered for this self-inflicted torture. Because Kinabalu tests your mind and your heart more than it tests your body. The strength of your legs and your body are just a means to the end; because ultimately, it is the mountain against your spirit and the challenge of who will conquer who.

Unfortunately, I never made it to the top of the formidable Kinabalu but neither did anyone on the day. The furthest I went was Laban Rata where I spent a very cold night at 11,000 feet above sea level. Then, before any of us could complete that short 800 metres to the peak, the skies opened up and the mountain overpowered the climbers with the help of the rain.

Packing for Kinabalu

Whatever you do, pack light, pack warm and pack smart. Light jackets do well during the climb but a heavier one, preferably waterproof, is needed to complete the mountain and to last throughout the cold nights. Nights can get down to negative degrees Celsius with the help of the wind so gloves, thermal wear, scarves and any extra padding would help keep the heat in. A set of clothing or two is also advisable; there is a high chance that your clothes will get wet during the journey.

Energy snacks such as chocolates, energy bars and dried fruit are light enough to lug along the trail and good enough to quell hunger. A small bottle of water will be good enough as you can refill on fresh spring water along the way. Never forget your headlamp or extra batteries. Split your first aid load among your mates – altitude pills should be considered because you won’t know whether it will hit you until it hits you.

And as for shoes, it does not matter if you splurge on hi-tech mountaineering shoes or spend less than 10 ringgit on local rubbery ones, the kind you can get in Kinabalu town, because in the very end, it won’t be your shoes but your willpower that will help you make it to the top.

Porters of Kinabalu

Kinabalu is the sacred mountain of the Kadazan people. Most Kadazan elders will never scale this mountain out of respect for the Gods but the younger tribesmen are more liberal in their beliefs and use the mountain and their natural-born mountaineering skills to earn good money as official guides and porters.

You cannot miss the porters of Kinabalu. Their fortitude astounds. Their stamina inspires. And the sheer weight on their back will make your own backpack look like child’s play. Everything needed to sustain the community up at Laban Rata goes up on the back of these men and women. I’ve seen gas tanks go up the mountain along with weekly provisions, television antennas, and building materials. And I compare the burden on my back and wonder how these people do it.

Of course it is in their blood to scale the very mountain they have known all their lives. They do it fast and they do it young. Some can even attest to making their first climb at the age of five and the trips never stop because there is no other way to get provisions and materials up the mountain if not by foot.

In a way unknown to these Kinabalu porters, they motivated me. Because each time they overtook me with the weight of an elephant on their backs, I willed myself to move a little further.

The climb down

Let me say this again, it wasn’t easy. In fact, the climb down can be the hardest part of the journey for some. I felt that climbing down was the exact opposite from the journey up. While going up is a battle for the spirit, coming down gives the legs a good beating.

The journey down brings the true meaning of ‘jelly legs’ to light. Walking sticks can help with balancing and ease the weight off the joints so make sure you get one before the journey.

But no matter how endless the return hike seemed, I knew I would eventually reach ground zero base on the very simple physics of ‘what goes up, must come down’. And after finally getting back to civilisation, I remembered looking back at the mountain and feeling this unexplainable sense of strength I never had before. And I can proudly tell myself ‘Wow! I climbed that!’

Well, most of it anyway.

The Climbers

Everyone has a reason to climb Kinabalu. Some do it as a test, others out of spite. Some follow the pack, some for reasons only known to them. But whatever reasons they are, they normally disappear right after the first kilometre march. Because after that… it is just you and your feet moving in auto motion – one leg at a time. Whatever worries, disappointments, frustrations, stress or memories you brought with you on that trip, Kinabalu has a way of helping you forget them by throwing at you one endless stretch of stairs after another.

I went up Kinabalu with the weight of lead in my heart and the mountain helped me put my life into perspective. The problems in my life at that time were like each stretch of torturous stairs on that mountain. And the mountain has a way to really torment you with every step until you reach a point where you either make it or break it.

Like the mountain, life can throw hard punches our way; but that trip made me realise that the life within me can always punch back. All your troubles and pains will seem trivial on that climb because the mountain can make you see what you are capable of – and what you are capable of is lot more than you thought. Because it is when your body starts to breakdown that you discover how strong your spirit can be.

I think that the journey up Kinabalu is all about you. You and the bloody mountain. You and your willpower against the challenges of that rock. And when you persevere and conquer your own limitations, you know that anything is possible because, in the end, nothing else in life matters but you and your still beating heart.

Travel plans made free and real easy via www.bigblueholidays.com

Ramblings...

2008-11-14T00:29:00.003+08:00

The less desirable use their charms

the more desirable ones lack theirs

but how does a girl choose

between the less and more desirable

when charms and looks don’t last?

And then there is another kind

almost fading out of existence

let's call them 'the principled ones'

who won’t know how to use their charms

or how to flaunt their looks even if they could

they rely on the square-ness of their minds

steadfast on the morally right path

in hopes that something will spark

between the girl and the straight-as-a-broomstick boy.

So, here's the deal.

You show me how to fall for the intangible

and I’ll show you how to love a rock.

Tales from Papua New Guinea

2008-11-06T17:20:00.020+08:00

Papua New Guinea was never on my to-visit list. But I turned down the invitation once, I would be a fool to turn down the opportunity again. So, I hopped straight from the finish line of Singapore F1 to the isolated islands of the South Pacific. And the change of culture and nature needed a little getting used to.

Papua New Guinea. The only thing I knew about that place was that it was in the middle of nowhere with boiling volcanoes and like a million tribes or so; some with an uncanny taste for human flesh.

To do a little research, I did what any logical traveler would do; I googled PNG. And the reviews were nothing short of discouraging. In fact they were horrid enough for me to have second, third and forty thoughts. Keywords that appeared frequently on reviews where ‘Violent’, ‘Dangerous’, ‘Wild’, ‘Unfriendly’, and all the negative things you don’t see on normal tourist routes.

In fact Papua New Guinea is not on the regular tourist route. No one goes to PNG unless it is for a good reason. And no one stays there for long unless it is for a good reason. During my stay, people would ask me what I was doing at PNG, and they usually expect a work or exploration related trip. When I said I was just visiting, they would look at me, blink as if searching for that once familiar word and say, ‘Tourist?’ in an astounded way that made me feel like I was from an extinct group of species.

But regardless of all that I heard about the place and regardless of what little I knew about it, I went anyway. And I saw a little part of the wonders and strangeness of PNG. And I am back to tell the tale. Unfortunately my experiences are better lived than read but I shall try my best to summarise.

Port Moresby

Port Moresby is the capital and the largest city of PNG and it was the only place I could visit this time around. I would say that Port Moresby is a city on the wild side with its dusty streets, dodgy establishments, omnipresent graffiti and high security.

I have never walked the streets of Port Moresby and I do not think I will ever be allowed to. During my stay there, the fantastic family I bunked with acted not only as my medal-deserving hosts, but also as tour guides, escorts and bodyguards.

Security issues

Extracted from Wikipedia
In 2004, Port Moresby was ranked the worst capital city in the world to live in the Economist Intelligence Unit's ranking of 130 of the world's capital cities . High levels of rape, robbery and murder and large areas of the city controlled by gangs of thugs, known locally as "rascals" (Tok Pisin raskol), were cited. According to a 2004 article in the Guardian newspaper, unemployment rates are estimated to be between 60 and 90% and murder rates three times that of Moscow and 23 times the rate in London.

Situations may seem dire but the families living there have gotten accustomed to the extra care they take everyday to ensure their safety. Life goes on as normal amidst the high walls and barbwires, loaded guns and growling dogs.

For starters, barb wires wind around every building, every shoplot, and every home. Every wall comes with its line of sharp barbs. They jut out everywhere like how skyscrapers and billboards protrude the KL skyline.

Next are the dogs. My host family has 5 dogs. Two are adorable house pets. The rest I was not allowed to go near. Even then, dogs can also be the cause of crime. My host’s son had his beautiful guard dog kidnapped for the second time around. The first time he paid off RM2000 for the return of his young dog. When I left, he was still waiting for the ransom note.

Then we have the gates and the security guards EVERYWHERE. To enter every art shop, jewellery outlet, diner, tourist spot or hotel, I had to pass through at least two highly guarded security checkpoints. Window shopping? What window shopping?

Also, let’s not forget the in-your-face protection guns can offer. People carry guns in public like handbag pieces. And since I was in a place where guns were used for crime or the deterrent of crime, why not do a little shooting myself? A relative took us out one day and gave us a super crash course on the handgun. Within an hour, we were shooting targets at 50 meters. Once we passed that initiation, we moved on to something more lethal, the shotgun - for a better kick in the shoulder. The smell of gunpowder is an addictive thing. And the shoulder bruise, a worthwhile souvenir.

Away from Land

To get away from the restrictions on land, the family would take their boat out to sea. Nothing like having a little freedom and a break from barbwire view. A day of fishing on the South Pacific is extremely therapeutic. And it is an extremely easy task too. On the right spot, all we had to do was to bait our hook, sink it and haul up the bounty. Fishes are still plentiful in many of the reefs just a short ride away from the port.

Because the boat is fitted with a GPS, my host is able to navigate the waters in search of their marked reefs rich with sharks, Coral Trout and Red Emperor. They harvest the reefs only a couple times a year and never take more than is needed. The only problem is that smaller boats without the navigation equipment would tail us, visually mark our spot and return on another day to fish out the entire reef.

Sometimes, poverty rules over preservation.

My host

My host family is Papua New Guinea native Chinese of the third and fourth generation and they have been there all their lives. It is a huge family and when you’re the native Chinese in Port Moresby, you will somehow be connected to all the other native Chinese in town and the surrounding islands. Let’s just say the PNG family gene is living on a very fine line. And along that fine line is a Sir knighted by the Queen and two ex-prime ministers I was fortunate enough to have lunch with.

During my stay, I’ve met maybe 40 people from different families all related to each other on both sides; and I’ve only touched the tip of the family tree. In such a place, connections are important and the family or the community there coexist well within their own circle.

My host family lives above their foam and mattress factory in a huge beautifully furnished house that is big enough for two families. Together they have 3 lady-helpers for all the housework and as many man-helpers as the day requires.

The house is cleaned daily. Clothes are thrown for wash in the morning, dried and pressed by sundown. Dishes are left in the sink (something I really had to get used to). Needless to say, I was spoilt rotten. And everything that was needed done was done by command. All except the cooking.

Food

The only times I ate out was for lunch at a Japanese restaurant, breakfast at a heavily guarded 5-star hotel and fine dining Italian-style at the Lomano Club but dining out is nothing compared to fresh home-cooked food with the family especially if the food was caught by your own hand.

Freshly caught freshwater Finger Mark

Sak sak is a starchy sweet dessert made from sago - PNG staple

Another traditional Papua New Guinea dish is the Grisim made from sweet potatoes, bananas, yams, taro and pit pit cooked in coconut milk. Starchy starchy.

Pit pit is a funny lemongrass looking plant with a bland brittle centre. My host roasts the pit pit over an open fire to be eaten with salt or Maggie Seasoning sauce. Pit pit can also be cooked with coconut milk.

Roasted bush corn is starchy and chewy. Not the usual sweet juicy kind we have in Malaysia.

Passion fruit or Sugar Fruit as known in PNG.

The locals are proud of their fruits. New Guinea soil is still so rich that anything grown on it has a distinctively sweet taste. Along with their fruits, the natives are also proud of their coffee and their No.1 tea.

The Community

Port Moresby General Hospital

The poor dwell on poverty lines. The rich live their fancy lives. And somewhere in between are people trying to make a connection. The people I met astounded me with their fiery passion for charity. Every week, my host family takes on the task of providing food for the needy and those seeking treatment in the local hospital.

The situation at the local hospital is dire. But I was forewarned before stepping foot in that place. After my walk through the Port Moresby General Hospital, I simple cannot complain about our Malaysian hospitals. The only way I can truly describe it would be for you to imagine a wet market with its muddy floors and stained walls and that stench from a source I will not try to pinpoint. And around every corner, a baby cries.

To seek medical attention in the children’s ward would mean a poor family would need RM50 a night to secure a bed - a small fortune for most islanders. But no bed no doctor. And if a bed is secured, the entire family comes to stay. A ward holds maybe 40 beds but will normally house double that amount if families are counted. So the wards are cramped with little space for privacy.

Malnourished children staring with blank eyes out of sunken sockets. Malaria victims running off their fever. Deformed young babies waiting for doctors to diagnose a simple symptom that their families can never afford to cure.

We pass out hot chicken porridge to outstretched arms and sandwiches for the young. They seem to know my motherly hostess just as well as she knew them. Sometimes they heal and go home, she tells me, sometimes they pass on.

She seems to accept this as part of life and it is in her faith to make things a little better. I admire her fortitude and her giving heart. I admire the doctors who travel across the world to offer a little help. I admire the people still running the food delivery week after week. I admire the volunteers who dare enter the wards for abandoned HIV kids and TB children with the knowledge that the child they help feed today may not be around tomorrow.

Acceptance seems to be a way of life there. But along with acceptance is also a fierce desire to see things a little better one person at a time.

6 mile community centre

On a brighter side, 6 mile community center is a buzz of activity every Saturday morning when the nearby settlement children arrive bare feet and grubby, to be fed their good meal and milk once a week.

The makeshift community hall houses a small classroom where mothers sit with babies on lap waiting for their weekly milk. There is a volunteer doctor to check on the children and a free medicine counter for instant prescriptions.

A long time community worker told me that the children used to be undernourished, scabby, lice-ridden and ill when the church first started the feeding program. Then, I noticed her tone of pride when she pointed out at the bouncy happy children running about with milk mustaches. ‘It is a joy watching them look fatter every week,’ she says.

Sum of my journey

Aside from missing my host family, when I think about PNG, few things come to mind: barb wires, guards and guns. It’s a sad image because the one thing that really put the problems of the PNG into perspective for me was the loss of freedom I had as a traveler there.

I was not allowed anywhere without an escort. I was not allowed to carry anything with me when I went out; no bags, no bling-blings, no SLR, no flashy stuff. I was not allowed to walk the streets. Or enter public areas unfamiliar to the family. I was not allowed to talk to strangers. And these precautions did not just apply to me, it applied to everyone we knew who was born or who lived in Port Moresby.

The loss of my freedom was the hardest thing I had to come to terms with over my stay there. Everywhere I went, I was enclosed by high walls or spiked fences. And unlike my many other travels, I could not meander the streets like a loss puppy or venture down uncharted paths in search of a surprise. I could not sit and chat with the locals or exchange pleasantries with the natives. I could not spend hours at the local markets or have meals by the street side. I could not hitch a ride to the countryside or walk the public beach. This all just wasn’t done in Port Moresby because it just wasn’t safe. Poverty, corruption and the lack of government support still rule this beautiful island state. But those in love with PNG hope that with the help of a better education, things will start to look up.

So, after sharing the lives of the privileged and enjoying the perks as a guest of the better-off, it is good to be home.

Ramblings...

2008-11-02T03:21:00.004+08:00

i am cold
and for good reason
i keep you away
because and only because
i want you near
this won't make sense
and it shouldn't
because i'm only rambling
rambling at 3 in the morning.

A different sort of darkness

2008-10-30T01:11:00.007+08:00

It was a very quiet neighbourhood shoplot. I go there often because I must. In the day, it’s a wonderful place. By dusk, it’s a different sort of darkness.

The two men on the bike were doing some turns at the parking lot when I drove in. I watched them watching me. And I watched them even closer when they made a u-turn back my way as I parked.

The back passenger, rather skillfully I must say, jumped off the bike as the bike went pass. He strutted my way. At the same time, the rider turned the bike towards the road exit and waited as his mate walked right up to my passenger side.

He peered in. The nerve of him. His nose barely 2 inches from my window. My eyes never left his face as my finger automatically went trigger happy with the honk. And I didn’t stop making a racquet even as the man walked away, hopped onto the waiting bike and sped off.

Whatever he was looking for he couldn’t find it. I think it was thanks to my mom’s hideous sunscreen blocking his view - a pretty good ‘accessory’ for women drivers to have on the passenger side window.

In no time, my friends came hurrying down, scouting the corners and waiting. But those men were long gone as all quick escapes were expected to.

It could have been something. It could have been nothing. Who knows? Who cares? But one doesn’t walk up to a lone lady driver and expect her not to freak.

How do I feel?

Resignation.

I am resigned to the fact that situations will only get worse in the coming months. The economy downfall is only at its starting point. People are going to get desperate. Desperate people do desperate deeds. Many are going to be looking for quicker ways out. If people are already siphoning fuel out of cars or stealing manhole covers, what else is next?

I am also resigned to the fact that desperate times are also sad times of distrust and deep suspicion. Every stranger could be a threat. Every kind gesture could be a scam. Every call for help could be fake. Fear is the bitter side effect of bad times. For that, we have the media to blame. We have the economy to blame. We have hundreds of those bloody parking-lot crime chain-mails to blame.

Because who is to say those men meant any harm?
a) Maybe he thought I was someone he knew?
b) Maybe he was going to ask for directions?
c) Maybe he was about to welcome me to the neighbourhood parking lot?
d) Or maybe he just wanted to see if my handbag was safely placed between my legs?

But whatever their reasons may be, unfortunately, these are times we cannot take chances.

Be safe.

A silent stance

2008-10-27T12:55:00.002+08:00

One candle for the man who tried to free our fears

One candle for the ones who let go of theirs

One candle for the faithful caged behind bars

One candle for their wives fighting their wars

One candle for those who feel this plight

One candle for the people standing side by side

One candle for those still in the dark

One candle for this journey we choose to embark

One candle for those who don’t really care

One candle for what is just and what is fair

One candle for the future of this nation

One candle for every silent contribution

One candle for the voices that need to be heard

One candle one new light for every birth

One candle for the children who will heir this land

One candle for every woman and every man

One candle one prayer for the righteous to win

One candle for you

One for me

Candle Vigil for RPK and Anti-ISA
Every Sunday 8pm
Padang Timur opposite Amcorp Mall, Petaling Jaya
What to bring - a candle, a friend and a prayer

Ramblings...

2008-10-21T16:57:00.001+08:00

My favourite word of the month – INTENTION

What is your intention? What is mine?
Are we on the same wavelength
Or are you reading too deep between the lines?
Because my smile can be just a smile
A hug is just that too
A helping hand means nothing
unless it means something else to you.
So what is your intention?
When you call me a friend is it true?
And would you put the blame on me
When I call you a mate too?
See, I can smile at strangers
And chat with anyone into the night
I can break ice right away
As long as my intentions are right.
But what others want from me
I cannot control their minds
I can’t guide their intentions
I can only deal with mine.
So what are your intentions?
Coz I am not leading you on
Take it or leave it
But that’s the way I was born.

Paragliding: Taking wings into the wind

2008-09-20T23:08:00.010+08:00

I watched two paragliders try to catch a good wind - both ended up flat face on the ground eating grass. Crosswinds made it impossible to take flight that morning and the more I looked at the failed attempts, the less I wanted to make that leap. So we waited for the right wind to come by and we waited all the way till lunchtime.

The call came right after lunch. The SMS quirkily read ‘Time to fly’. When I emerged from the restaurant, I looked up and there they were, with their colourful wings parading in the skies, teasing the winds. My heart took a leap – it was indeed time to fly.

Bukit Jugra, Banting, is not a very high leaping point. Only 380 meters above sea level. You have the lighthouse right behind you, the Straits of Melaka yonder and then you have palm plantations, dragon fruit orchards, the croc infested river, Chinese cemeteries and the Selangor royal family burial grounds in between.

Paragliding mimics the same flying concept as the eagles - they catch the right wind tunnel and off they glide with grace. For first timers, we do it in pairs. There is a pilot and there is the rider (you and me), right between the pilot’s legs (actually the safest place to be when you’re hundreds of meters up high).

Winds can change unexpectedly so it takes a very experienced pilot to be able to know which wind can take you away and which can have you hanging off a tree branch or skewered on top of the lighthouse.

I had a very good pilot and a good-looking one too. During take off, all he told me was to look straight ahead and run when he told me to. Run off the cliff. Run straight into thin air. Right, that’s assuring.

So there I was, all strapped to my harness seat, ready to jog off the cliff and oddly, I felt no fear. Maybe it was my pilot’s casual confidence (and 500 jumps under his belt). Maybe it was the fact that height never really bothered me much. Or maybe it was my ignorant credo of ‘what’s meant to be was meant to be’.

So when Dale, my pilot, said ‘Run!’ I didn’t have to think twice. I just happily ran off Bukit Jugra. The next thing I knew, those same feet were happily treading air. And there I hung 380 meters above ground, seated comfortably in between the thighs of the man in which my life dangled on. And we let the wind take us further away.

We went high above the lighthouse. Higher than the rest. Dale took me above the tree tops so I could peek beyond the hills. We went up to 500 meters and then suddenly, I was so high, the eagles were soaring beneath me. I watched them glide gracefully, wings spread wide to catch the wind. I noted the patterns on their wings, that sacred pair of eyes offered only to the sun above. I followed them in flight and they did not seem to mind.

‘Do you want to chase them?’ Dale asked me.

I knew he would if I had said yes.

Then half way through, Dale passed the reins over to me - our lives now in my trembling hands. The same hands, that are often so weak they cannot even open canned drinks, were now responsible for holding two lives in the air. Of course he wasn’t suppose to do that but I think it was his way of stopping me from being too trigger-happy with my camera.

So I steered the wings and I did turns whenever Dale told me to. And when I was getting the hang of things, he takes out his camera and starts happily snapping away!

We stayed in the air for what seemed like a very long time and was the last to land. Before I started, it was the landing I feared. But when it came to that very last moment, I wish now I could do it again. We dove gradually, decreasing altitude and touched down with four feet firmly on the ground.

‘Run!’ Dale said again.

And we ran like two pairs of legs in gurney sacks; running away from the coming wings that would have enveloped us. The eagle has landed.

Paragliding details

Paragliding is probably one of the safest altitude sports out there. Ballz Action the sports activities organizer arranges paragliding trips for the public… but I’d advice not to go through them. The agent (Steven) was not only unfriendly, he was very unprofessional too. As a host, I’d rate him 0.5 stars for being on time. And between you and me, they take a very huge cut for doing absolutely nothing. So go straight to the source. Contact Rahman at 013-3434119

Dos & Don’ts

Don’t expect perfect weather

Don’t expect a standard air-borne duration. Flights can range from 2 minutes to 30 minutes, experts can fly for hours

Long pants are ideal

Sport shoes are great too

Make sure your camera or camcorder has a secure strap

If prone to motion sickness, don’t look down and don’t stare into your camera view finder

Don’t smoke near wings

Sun block / sun glasses optional

Location: Banting, Bukit Jugra Paragliding

Ramblings...

2008-09-19T00:53:00.013+08:00

She has the prettiest eyes and when the side of her lips lift, her breathtaking smile reaches those eyes. Then shyly, she dips her head and it is gone, until he whispers something to her and it happens all over again. Sometimes she blushes. Most of the time he does. He, with the cheekiest face. He, who loves to disturb her. He, who gently teases that smile out of her. Sometimes, she pushes his colour paper out of the way and inches over to his spot. And sometimes, she returns his teases with a heavy whack on the hand. I flinch every time that happens. Afraid that she might let the sharp end of her purple colour pencil sink into his outstretched arm. He doesn't seem to mind and just laughs at her. He doesn’t do much with his green colour pencil, as it concentrates on one spot of the paper because he is too busy gazing at her. She basks beneath the glow of his eyes. He is 20, she is 23. And they look beautiful together. Then he turns my way and takes my hand with his good one and he gives me one of his cheeky smiles. I tease him in horrible bahasa, ‘Azri suka kacau perempuan kanan kiri, buatlah kerja.’ And the entire table laughs because they know what he is like. I follow them to the bus and tell them I will see them again next week. He nods, gives me one last smile and waves me good bye.

A little more sunshine

2008-09-13T10:40:00.005+08:00

Someone read my blog and wondered out loud what happened to all my negative writing. ‘Bring back the negative writing.’

I took a good 2 minutes to reply. Not because I was stumped, but because I was laughing my head silly. It’s amazing how people relish in other people’s misfortune. That’s why reality shows still live strong. That’s why newspapers get sold. And why Korean drama has such a huge fan base.

The more dramatic and victimized the person is in the story, the more following it receives. Because everyone craves watching other people suffer a little more than they do. If life’s the shits, it’s always good to know someone has it shittier.

But I’m not negative anymore and I like it better this way. Being pessimistic is like pouring slime into a cup; you can only fill it up so much. And after that, it just overflows. I’ve still got it in me, that nugget of negativity that will haunt me for life. It’s still there. But no more or less than there ought to be.

And it’s nicer this way. It’s nicer to have lived through tough patches and know oneself a little better. Nice to get up each morning, a little more focused, a little more stronger and a lot more in sync with myself. Except for pre-menstrual moments and days when i don't have my coffee fix, my mind hasn't been so clear since…err…since high school.

And it is wonderful to finally look into the mirror and go, ‘Hey there…
I know you…’

Maternal pain

2008-09-09T10:20:00.007+08:00

Sometimes, I tend to ask random questions to strangers or to make random comments at a spur just because something says I should. So when I popped in for dinner at my local restaurant, I felt the sudden urge to ask the aunty working there, one whom I have seen for many years but never talked to, the simple question ‘Aunty, how are you?’

The aunty paused in front of me and I suddenly noticed how tired she looked. Without asking, she took a seat at my table and she replied, ‘Aunty not so good.’ Then her gaze clouded over and a look of intense pain registered in her reddening eyes.

‘Not so good’ is usually not the normal reply one would expect. Usually, no matter how ‘not good’ one is, no one wants to hear about it, because no one knows how to respond. After all, it isn’t often when a friend, an acquaintance, much less a stranger decides to really spill. I guess the aunty at the restaurant just needed to be heard and how could I not grant an ear to the story of a mother’s heartache?

So last night was the first time I heard about SLE and how this mother suffers from the disease through her daughter for the past 15 years. I didn’t know about it then, but I returned home to look it up and this was what I found:

Systemic Lupus Erythematosus is an autoimmune disease that occurs when the body's tissues are attacked by its own immune system which causes painful inflammation of the body tissues.

I’ve seen the daughter around. Usually, she sits behind the counter, looking pale and sickly under the white light. But that night, she was nowhere around. That night, she was in the hospital, suffering from kidney failure from all the medication that has taken a toll on her over the years (the damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t syndrome)

Of course, there is no cure for SLE and that makes it worse because no mother should have to go through watching her own flesh and blood break down slowly. ‘Painful’ was the word she used as she pressed her palm to her heart. ‘Painful to see my daughter in so much pain.’ ‘Painful because there is nothing I can do to help her.’

Then she stared into me, into the healthy (or semi-healthy) me in which state her own daughter should be in, and she tells me that I must take care of my body, I must take care of myself.

There was nothing I could say to her but to utter the meaningless word ‘sorry’. I didn’t even know why I said it. Sorry for what? Sorry because I couldn't help her? Sorry because I can only sympathise but i can never empathise? What does one say to a suffering mother?

Nothing does justice.

So we sat there for a moment in silence. And then, with all that was strong in her, she bounced right back up with a smile and said, ‘Ok, enough about that. Now what would you like to eat tonight?’

Message to the likeminded

2008-09-08T10:40:00.003+08:00

Dear writer, I know you know who you are,

Thank you for sharing your wonderful writings to me. They were such beautiful and eloquent and poetic confessions. Thank you. And don’t stop writing. Because writing haunts you most when you cease to indulge it. Don’t turn away from it, rather, embrace it, let it take control of your hand, then let your hand fill scrape after scrape of paper with string after string of poignant sentences; turning empty whites into accidental masterpieces. Don’t stop letting your hand speak the language of your heart. And please never chuck those scrapes away, they are DNAs of your thoughts and of your ideas, and they are priceless.

Never stop writing. You deserve to be heard. And I will be waiting for more.

From one to another.

Cursed with a cough

2008-09-05T08:58:00.002+08:00

I have the 100-day cough that is moving on to 120 days. And it seems that the virus is so lodged in my lungs, there are probably ghettos of them residing comfortably along my airway.

And I have tried everything. EVERYTHING.

To start with, there were the 8 different types of stoner’s meds 3 months back. 3 more in Sabah. Two more in Thailand. 3 more when I returned. Add a lung X-ray to the list. Some really potent antibiotics. Eastern herbal remedies. Western advice. And the whole works. I did it all.

But the ghettos stay on and the viruses celebrate independence.

So I give up.

I’m not going to the doctor again. And I am choosing to wait this one out.

I am going to cough and cough until those tiny buggers get so sick and tired of the earthquakes in my lungs that maybe, just maybe, one fine day, they will move away.

So while I stubbornly resist professional treatments, mom forces down my throat a vile concoction of cinnamon powder mixed with honey. Rubs hot oil on my chest and feet. And congregates with the aunties for stronger remedies.

Dad begs to pay for my medical. And nags me till kingdom come.

Friends throw All Brand cough drops and Vicks at me.

They swap my ice drinks with a killer stare.

And turban-wrap me when it rains.

I get Vitamin C soluble and lozenges hanging on my gate.

And warm brandy made for me at just the right temp.

My neighbour gives me reiki treatments.

Top those off with daily random smses from random friends saying things like: ‘Wrap up. It’s cold’; ‘Drink your water now!’; ‘Stay outta the rain!’; ‘Better get well.’; ‘Better go get checked.’; and the famous ‘OMG. Are you still coughing?’ line. Now, they may sound like sweet smses, but I can always spot a threat when I read between the lines.

Also, as a last resort, someone even went to the temple to say a little prayer for me.

What a bunch of sweethearts!

If only lungs could melt like hearts do.

Ramblings...

2008-09-03T23:32:00.004+08:00

there was a perfect union
or at least i thought it was
until i heard the news today
that pained me
the perfect union
was not so perfect after all
because there was so much hope
dashed
upon the bond of two that was crumbling
like a crack on the lip of fine china
or a deep flaw in a diamond
or a house on rotting stilts
I didn't see it coming
so how can i
with all my flaws
hope
for the perfect union
when the ones i look up to
start to fall apart?

Berjaya Hills (Bukit Tinggi)

2008-09-02T16:18:00.008+08:00

Honestly, other than watching our government burn our tax money in the skies, there is nothing to do on Independence Day. So my bunch of fun-loving friends packed up three cars and took a trip up Bukit Tinggi for 2 nights.

And honestly, there is also nothing to do at Bukit Tinggi as well. This quiet little hill resort located pass Genting Highlands exit takes 45 minutes to get there from PJ. The roads are windy but not as steep; although plastic bags could come in pretty useful if the driver has bad controls over the car.

Bukit Tinggi is not cold. In fact, compared to Cameron, Genting and Frasers, its one of the hotter hill resorts I have been too. So wrapping up in winter fashion as some do is faux pas if not necessary.

Rabbit park
For RM3 an adult, you get to terrorize those furry cuties all you like. On public holidays, the rabbit park is full capacity, not the rabbits of course. There, I saw things done to bunnies that gave me nightmares that day. I saw them squeezed, tugged, pulled at, spun around, chased about and cuddled till they stopped struggling. I saw rabbits shaking with so much fear you could strap a canister on them and make milkshake. The poor things already have a short lifespan as it is. The donkeys and deer, on the other hand, were left at peace. Funny, the donkey rides don't receive the same hype.

Japanese Garden
They call it the first Japanese Garden in the tropics. To get there, you have to pay RM16 per adult and RM8 per kiddo. Babies enter for free. The ticket also applies to the Rabbit park as well as the Colmar French Village. If you paid for the furball park already, you can still redeem your ticket and get a cheaper entrance fee.

The Japanese garden is pretty nice when it’s empty. But on a public holiday, it’s a pain in the neck to get there. One can opt to wait for the public shuttle bus, but it’s usually packed so the only option is to make that steep climb up from the car park to the garden entrance. The garden is nothing special. It’s set in the rainforest with flowing manmade streams, koi ponds, a Japanese tea house that is a little too expensive to indulge in, a Japanese Spa with a price tag of RM400 for a basic package, a honeymoon suite for lovers that don’t know any place better and a Japanese restaurant that looked pretty ok from the outside. Other than that, the garden isn’t much to shout about.

Colmar Tropicale French Village
If the gardens isn’t much to shout about, the French Village is a total waste of time. The entire area is now under the Berjaya Group but the place actually reminds me of Genting theme park, with its cheap plaster walls and fake domes, although it is probably the only place in Bukit Tinggi to grab a bite at one of their overpriced restaurants. On the weekends, the flea market puts a little atmosphere and noise to the village but the only thing French about this French-themed place is well…its restaurant names: La Blason, La Cigogne, La Flame and la likes. If you spot a La Boulangerie, don’t even expect a decent cuppa coffee or great service either. Also, their cheapest bun is a cheese bun at RM5 with more air than cheese in it.

But to be fair, I did find one thing worth looking at in this village, the beautiful swans and koi under the drawbridge and that’s about it, which is actually quite sad considering the fact that the place and its location holds so much potential. A jazz festival would be great for one. October fest. An international pastry/dough fest. I mean, I am sure the event organizers up there can do more than just a flea market.

Berjaya Hills Horse Trail
I’ve done horseback riding in the outback so I opted out of this one but a few friends took on the adventure. For RM200, they got a 2 hour jungle trail ride. Price is also determined by height and weight. So if you’re going to tax the poor horse with your bulk, you might have to pay a 100% or 50% surcharge which is ridiculous because they should just give you a bigger horse. The horses on the ranch were beautiful and well taken care of though - a much better looking bunch than the donkeys at the rabbit park.

What to do then?
For me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that is just perfect. Just surround yourself with a bunch of crazy people and Bukit Tinggi is the best place to get away for a weekend or from the Merdeka farce. If your apartment has a kitchen, which Meranti Suites did, then get busy with cooking. There is nothing better than to eat and drink and be merry with great company on a quiet resort hill. Best bring up all cooking ingredients, I found no supermarkets or grocery stores around.

Family ties

2008-08-26T00:36:00.006+08:00

You know you're pushing the age limit when relatives start to gang up for secret meetings to matchmake you.

Actually I thought the entire incident was rather funny. There I was getting up early for lunch after a heavy night out. I was suffering from the pangs of a hangover and ready to gobble down tons of food when I discovered there was a stranger at the table.

The moment I saw the guy, sirens flashed overhead. I should have seen the signs. Mom confirming the lunch date with me - 3 times. Aunt reconfiming it again. The constant reminder calls. And my cousin's constant smirk; I should have given that smirk more thought.

Like what the heck? Those scheming twats!

I mean, they could have warned me first!

I would have taken time to get dressed. Or I could have at least taken off yesterday's make up!

Then they start to plan family trips over lunch. Family trips? Match making? 22nd century? Hello!? Ummm...something is not right here.

I mean, the guy was ok. Seems like a decent bloke. Had a cool shirt on.

All the same, I'd like to meet my man away from the family, thank you. I love my family and all, but I shop alone.

But I suppose the family can't help it. I suppose it's all good to know that they care. And I suppose now that the Olympics are over they need that extra excitement.

So I will make my dutiful attendences and sit politely at the table and try not to offend anyone by eating too much. And I'll let the family have their share of fun for the many more secret meetings they have up their sleeves.

But as for following up after that lunch...well...erm...I seem to have misplaced his namecard.

Double standards

2008-08-15T21:36:00.003+08:00

I found myself in a chic bar that was actually a sleazy joint under masquerade. At first, I just thought I landed myself in a place full of very good-looking people. Then, when the spotlights shifted and my eyes started to adjust to the darkness, I noticed that most of the attractive ones were girls.

Girls being pawed all over by drunk businessmen flashing their bottles of whisky, credit cards and shiny wedding rings.

I sat there watching and I realised that it cannot be anyone’s doing. I wasn’t amused but I have come to understand that where there is a demand, there will always be a supply. That is, after all, how the market works. Money attracts pretty young things and pretty young things can always be trusted to turn a stressful working night into hands-on fun.

So I sit there observing and this guy walks over to me and asks me if I was bothered by the scene around me.

I am. Should I not be?

But he says, “No harm done. They are just having fun.’

A valid excuse.

But then, I wondered aloud if the wives were allowed to have the same kind of fun. He, of course, had no response to my question.

So together we watched a businessman with a wedding band hoist a girl onto his lap. She laughs at him and flicks her hair into his face. He necks her and she giggles.

Sure. No harm done.

It’s always ok for men to go about their business doing things that men do in a man’s world. Even women make excuses for men’s conduct or misconduct: ‘It’s a guy thing,’ they say when I ask them what they think of it.

I suppose it is an open secret that this is just how a lot of the working-men work after hours. In the middle of networking and deal making, sits the pretty young things to skilfully mix business with pleasure.

Passing comment...

2008-08-11T22:03:00.001+08:00

When you are attracted to life...
life has a way of attracting love to you.

Ramblings...

2008-07-29T18:13:00.002+08:00

Exit Bangkok and heading south - good riddance to city smog, mobs and scams.

Ramblings...

2008-07-23T20:06:00.001+08:00

'Infection' - such a dreadful word.

Ramblings...

2008-07-23T20:04:00.001+08:00

Ramblings...

2008-07-23T19:59:00.001+08:00

Beautiful Koh Chang... so sleepy yet friendly...it's gorgeous here. Finally a nice getaway from the craziness of Bangkok and into the swaying arms of a hammock.

Ramblings

2008-07-21T15:48:00.001+08:00

Enter Bangkok the big city - of what could have but was never meant to be.

Ramblings...

2008-07-18T21:47:00.001+08:00

Enter Sukhothai the ancient city of Thailand cum cowboy town with mafia dogs. One thing good out of the accident, it really breaks the ice and makes great conversation starters. After all, everyone here has a motorbike scar to talk about.

On the road

2008-07-17T12:56:00.004+08:00

One cannot go to a foreign country and travel like a local without getting into some minor hiccups. So on a wonderful day in the outskirts of Chiang Rai, one moment i was cruising between rolling corn hills and padi fields, then I saw an ALREADY dead green jungle snake lying right on my path, and the next minute, I was writhing on the warm tar road.

I don't remember what really happened except the bike surged forward at my doing and I hit the ground hard. In my blurred state, I remembered a nice motorcyclist stopping by to help us move the bike to the side. Then an old farmer came on his bike and tried to tell us something. It's actually very endearing when Thai people try to go on talking even when they know you don't understand them. So all I could manage was 'Mae Kau Jai' which roughly means 'I don't understand.'

The crash brought out the occupants from the nearest hut. An old farmer lady with the kindest eyes helped me up and her grandchildren, who must be used to farangs or foreigners falling all over the place, just stood around with huge bulging eyes.

So many things happened all at once but I remembered in the most impractical way, the only thing that mattered to me at that time besides the safety of my pillion rider, and that was 'Shit! The bike is gonna cost us money.'

The kind farmer, who did not speak a word of English, managed to get the message across that he would take me to the local doctor. I did not know how I understood him at that time but I did. He even waited outside the clinic just to make sure I was okay. I will never forget the way he looked, wringing his weather-worn hat in his hands, as he sat outside the clinic door waiting.

I must say I am amazed by the efficiency of the local village doctor. Sanitation and cleanliness is top on their list and despite not knowing how to converse, I managed to get my wounds cleaned and sanitized - hip, elbows, shoulder, knee and shin, all for a paltry 100Baht. All I remembered while lying on the stretcher was how funny the entire incident was. I think even the doctor thought I was delirious.

With a packet of Antibiotics and painkillers, the entire clinic staff sent us off, waving and smiling and wishing me good luck. Definitely a moment to remember.

Now I am nursing my wounds in this sleepy town of Chiang Rai before heading to the next place. And I am proud to be a part of a group of travelers with similar wounds, a testament of my adventures and a valuable experience that taught me that trying to seek medical attention in a foreign country is no easy feat.

So I am limping, grazed, bloody and shaken - but hey - I'm definitely in better shape than that poor green snake.

Rambling

2008-07-15T09:31:00.001+08:00

Saw Myanmar through a border gate. Tried our luck to enter but the kind immigration officer said Myanmar charges RM50 just to step in. Didn't bother supporting the Junta.

From Chiang Rai

The beginning of an adventure

2008-07-10T00:03:00.003+08:00

I leave for Thailand tomorrow. The travel may be just for one month but I am leaving a lot behind. Top most on that list is that tonight I just turned down two great job opportunities. It may not be the smartest move right now to say no to a good paycheck but I see no reason to keep people hanging, to give false hope or fake promises. Neither does it seem fair to start a new job with baggage yet unloaded as I told one interviewer (God I would have loved the job he offered).

I suppose there comes a time in life where we all must take risks. And I fear I am heading down the road of too many risky bends. But at the same time, I am enjoying this newfound freedom, perhaps I need this time to take a long well-earned breather. And just as long as I do not check my bank account ever so often, I should get by.

Come to think about it, I don't really need much to get by. I don't need the hippiest LV bag or a monthly handphone upgrade. I don't need the latest i-pod this and i-phone that. I don't need to splurge on fashion or starve for a new car. I may have nothing material to show, but I am silly enough to believe that wealth can come in many other forms.

So, for this extended sabbatical, I'm just going to be this empty jar, collecting the experiences the world throws my way and discovering a bigger world outside my own little cocoon.

Some say I am privileged to act free because I am a girl. I say they are wrong because I have always earned my keep and I know many a man and woman who live life unchained and what better stories they have to tell!

Some have called my decisions naive, but never to my face because most just express envy. And the first thing they say is that they wish they could do the same. But the thing is, they can, we all can. There is always a choice. Life didn't end for me when I quit my job. Life just needed a little tightening with the belt.

But whatever the outcome of my journey during these coming months, I know one thing is for sure, I just turned my life down the bumpiest road so I'd better make it one hell of a ride!

Embershoppe @ The Curve

2008-07-08T03:31:00.006+08:00

On 30th June, I was proud to meet the man and see the hand that rolled the cigar I was to smoke. This happened when Embershoppe @ The Curve invited a Cuban specialist to roll some cigars so that we could sample one of the best freshly-rolled cigars for a fee. The occasion was so rare that even the Cuban Ambassador in Malaysia dropped by this tiny tucked-away shop to lend his support.

This exclusive tobacco place, although niche, isn’t the hoity-toity kind of place with people staring at you from top to toe the moment you walk in. In fact, the owners Jane and CK, were more than ready to accommodate any silly amateur questions while the helpful Embershoppe regulars there were more than willing to impart some knowledge on the art of cigar smoking.

Never have I been in a place where smoking was so extensively encouraged and revered. In fact, smoking seemed to be the only topic that ruled the place. And the day I visited, Cuban cigars were top of the menu.

The one thing great about Embershoppe is that you can walk in as a novice and still be treated as an equal.

Embershoppe may look uptight on the outside, but give it a chance, take a step in and have a conversation with the good people behind the counter just for the sake of curiosity. Cigarettes or cigars, these people know their tobacco and are not afraid to share their knowledge without making one feel like an absolute nincompoop. And if they have the time, they might just roll you a sample.

It is also nice to know that Embershoppe isn’t just any store; it is also a meeting ground for like-minded people with a particular smoking habit – and when I say meeting ground I mean it’s like a close cluster of chimneys enjoying life's finest smoke in good company.

Best of all, the people that frequent this tobacco bar know how to make the act of cigar smoking look less of a 'vice' and more of an art, and they know just how to do it without being too snooty about it too.

Thank you…

2008-07-07T13:10:00.011+08:00

Sabah is indeed a beautiful place and like any beautiful place it has its very own charm. Some seek it to bond with nature. Some venture for its pristine beaches. And some for its many hidden adventures.

I on the other hand, am seduced to that land by its people. And it is because of them that there is so much to look forward to the next time around.

So, thank you to the Kadazan people of Kampung Tombung for making it one hell of a stay.

To my kind hosts for making sure I had warm baths instead of cold river water so I wouldn’t cough them awake at night.

To Sandra for teaching me how to cook her way and for daring to sit down for lunch after.

To Orang Tua Juan for putting up with a bunch of foreign funnies who took pictures of anything and everything - including his vegetables and chickens.

To Sapio, the church elder, who sniggered at me every time I slipped on the jungle trail and then said a beautiful grace at my farewell dinner.

To Miller for showing me how to milk alcohol from the coconut flower but not having the stock to let me sample any.

To sweet Nola for her silent company through the jungle and the wonderful performance she gave at my dinner.

To Orang Kuat for hacking through the jungle to show me the things I can and cannot eat and for offering me the sweetest coolest bamboo water on the hottest day.

To the gorgeous children at the village kindergarten and the beautiful smiles they were so eager to part with.

To Cikgu for letting me sit in and disrupt her class.

To the patient makcik at the pasar and her conversations over mushrooms.

To the ascending or descending Kinabalu climbers for their short breathless salutations and their silent encouragement.

To Larry for guiding me up the mountain with a hangover and for annoying me with his white shoes and speckless jeans even on the muddiest terrains.

To all the Kinabalu porters who inspired me to keep moving.

To Ryan, the mountain trainer, for his captivating eyes and sympathetic smiles.

To Wilfred for keeping me company through the biting cold with many sessions of hot tea and warm conversations.

To Carline Hanson and Rafiq for the support we gave each other during one of the most disappointing moments in our lives.

To the climbers we met at 11,000ft above sea level that took us out partying at ground level.

To Leonard for his inspiring travel stories and passion for action.

To Hendry and Peter for their kind escort through the dark streets of KK.

To Osman the Pirate who somehow knew my name.

To the flight attendant for playing tricks on tired passengers.

And to Lewis for trusting me enough to take his brand new DSLR into the jungles, up the mountain and down to the sea.

But most of all, to Willigon Conrad from Borneo Native Homestay and Tours - our local friend, native encyclopedia and constant companion, for making the trip more than just a learning experience; for teaching me very useful Kadazan bad words; for engaging me with his many travel facts and stories; for making sure I would never catch pneumonia; and mostly, for keeping me sane on my solo hike up Kinabalu.

So, unlike what the village people predicted, I did not find my jodoh (soul mate) in Sabah, but I did find so much more than that.

To the Land Below The Wind

2008-06-30T10:35:00.005+08:00

Pic stolen from http://www.stanford.edu/~siegelr/borneo/kinabalu2.jpg

Tomorrow I’m off to a 4095-metre knee busting, ankle twisting writing assignment up the tallest mountain in Malaysia and on the Borneo island. GULP!

They call Kinabalu a once in a lifetime experience. I bet. With it being such a tough trip, only the insane would want to make it a more than once in a lifetime experience.

After a quick surf, I found a small checklist on medical and physical advice for people attempting the climb:

1 You need to be in decent physical condition.
But...but...'decent' is very very subjective here

2 You must not have heart or lung problems.
Does a broken heart count? And does whooping cough constitute as a lung problem?

3 You need healthy knees and ankles.
How does one gauge healthy knees and ankles?

4 Take your time and know your physical limitations.
And have my photographer cum paymaster verbally abuse me for dallying?

Consult your personal physician if:
5 You are taking any kind of medication.
I’m taking 8 different drugs. Where do we start?

6 You have any other health problems.
Mental weakness.

Apparently, at 3000 meters, I’ll only have 70% oxygen. That is when altitude sickness might kick in.
The last time I experienced altitude sickness, every step felt like I was lugging the weight of a bull on E.
Also, on average, every year one person gets into severe difficulty out of the estimated 20,000 people who attempt the climb.
Maybe I would make that quota this year.
Temperature ranges from a comfortable 20-25 degrees Celsius at the main park to something approaching freezing near the top.
Ummm...I think this is where the doc warned me that my cough might turn to pneumonia.

Last advice: Note that your legs may ache for a few days after the hike. Don't plan any rigorous activities afterwards for the following few days.
Within 3 days, I’ll be off to Thailand for one month. Does that mean I am being overly optimistic?

Yes I am shit scared of the mountain and would rather look forward to the experience of staying at the kadazan village.

Girls just wanna have fun

2008-06-30T01:55:00.003+08:00

My perception of a Malaysian bar: Dodgy, smoky, rowdy and filled with older liquor girls trying to keep the older men busy drinking. Occasionally, some bars have poles.

The expected aside, there is one bar that stands out from the rest. Online at Damansara Kim is one of those friendly neighbourhood bars you can’t miss out on. Online is also one bar that every single woman would find it safe to have a drink in and every male companion wouldn’t mind their other half nursing a pint in.

What’s not at Online

Not a single rowdy bar brawl for the 19 years they have been open.

No harassment, no judgement when it comes to lone ladies wanting their liquid diet and nothing more than that.

No liquor girls trying to chat up men to keep them drinking. Staffed by four brothers, online is sinfully family oriented.

No pole dancing unless someone is generous enough to act as one.

What’s to be expected

Expect to be given a merry welcome and all round big bear hugs from the owners once you pass the regular/frequent boozer status.

Ladies expect to be walked to your car after your drink by the owners themselves just for that extra personal touch.

Expect to stroll in as strangers and stumble out as friends.

Expect one of the greatest conversations in your life. (Of course this depends on your approachability)

Also if a guy wants to buy a lady a drink, expect the owners to ask the lady first if she is ok with that. I find this a very smart filtering process because sometimes a lady at the bar isn’t waiting for anything else but her drink.

Owners

Brothers Xavier, Lawrence, Raymond and Collin are said to be amazing characters. I did not have the fortune to meet Xavier the eldest one, but Uncle Raymond mesmerised me into hours of conversation, Uncle Collin plays a mean blues harp, and Uncle Lawrence the house chef apparently makes the best Thanksgiving Turkey to go and also a signature dish called something like ‘The devil riding on the demon’s back’. Also, everyone raves about their Hokkien Mee.

Music

What can I say, they are old school. The band comes in Wednesdays and Fridays. With a list of singers like Jacqueline Victor, Reza Salleh and Isaac Entry, you know the music is going to be good.

In short, Online is a ladies watering hole. Not to say the men don’t enjoy it as much because they do, but it is the ladies that keep the bar open till late most of the times, like we did until 5am behind the closed grilled gates.

Hey, it’s probably the only place we can actually have a decent glass of Guinness or Kilkenny and not expect to be harassed or picked up…unless we wanted to.

And it is probably the only place that I, a pub amateur, actually felt safe in. Those big burly brothers behind the counter, you know they’ll watch out for you. And it was quite evident that this personal Online protection works because I had over many hours observed the various ladies that strolled in, propped themselves at the bar, had a few drinks and a chat, and then departed with hugs and an escort to their cars.

It’s assuring to know that at Online,
chivalry is no longer a myth, it is a practised rule.

Thoughts...

2008-06-29T05:58:00.004+08:00

Tonight, at a cozy bar counter, an old man looks at me.

He studies me in silence, and without me saying anything about my life, he tells me:

'Whatever journey life throws at you, young woman, you take it. And good things will come your way. You will find what you are looking for.'

I look back at him, dumbfounded.

'But I don't even know what I am looking for.'

'Trust me,' he says, 'You will know when it happens.'

'I hope so,' I say.

'Don't say 'you hope so'. Say 'you know so'. Because it will come your way soon, I guarantee it.'

Well...whatever this man saw in me or in the future, I really do hope he is right.

Basil Leaf, Jalan Damai

2008-06-25T11:22:00.005+08:00

Travel the back streets of KL and one often comes across hidden gems gleaming with the promise of a good meal. Basil Leaf, tucked in Jln Damai, Off Jalan Tun Razak is one such gem.

The restaurant was empty after a working-Tuesday lunch hour when the last guests were trickling out. I stepped pass the pebbled pavement, over the koi pond and into the calm gardens of what used to be an old bungalow lot. The fence of young Japanese bamboos shielded the world outside and kept the serenity within.

Love this ancient bird cage in the garden

In the daytime, I tried to imagine what the place would look like at night and I liked what my mind drew up. With its South-east asian deco, brightly painted red and orange walls and dark wooden furniture, Basil Leaf would make a very romantic setting for a perfect evening.

Still, I was grateful for the mid-day peace and emptiness. The staff courteously gave us the freedom to explore the entire bungalow before having us settle down at a nicely laid-out table outdoors.

I would have to give praise to the staff at Basil Leaf, which were a very diligent, polite and proactive bunch, ever observant to any slight decrease in glass water level and always ready to serve without seeming too intrusive – the there-but-not-there kind of service.

Our waiter recommended the Papaya Salad with Fragrant Sticky rice and sun-dried beef for starters. The sticky rice came in a quaint woven basket but the plastic bag that the sticky rice was steamed in looked rather out of place. Other than that, the dish was as refreshing as it was unique to the palate and would make a complete meal on its own.

Another good salad choice was apparently the Cambodian Banana Flower Salad. Having been to Cambodia and never once hearing about the dish, I decided against it. Maybe I have that Chinese superstition about Banana Tree flowers too deeply ingrained in me.

The Seafood Tom Yam Soup was also an excellent recommendation. Those with a liking for clear and spicy soup would find this a little too heavy on the santan side but I found it rich, not too sour or spicy and was a rather good accompaniment to the fried rice that followed.

Well, one can’t go to a Thai restaurant and not try the Pineapple fried rice that arrived in a deep saffron hue with plenty of prawns, cashews and pineapple cuts. Thank goodness the dish was not served in a fresh pineapple dug-out mould; I do have my silly suspects on how many times those moulds are reused from one table to the next.

The Fried Rice with Laichee was another unique fusion. The aroma and sweetness of the Laichee made this otherwise blend dish a treat on a hot day.

Didn't go for the desserts, in fact we could barely finish the huge portions served, but they do have a good selection. An odd un-asian option was the Haagen Dazs ice-cream.

Would I return to Basil Leaf?

Well, I happen to know many Thai/Asian diners with a tastier menu but for the ambiance and the friendly service alone, yes, I would revisit Basil Leaf especially when I need some place to disappear for a bit.

Dishes range from RM11 - a rather affordable Thai/Cambodian/Lao fine dining experience – ambiance FOC.

Stoner's corner

2008-06-24T12:15:00.005+08:00

I have been successfully stoned for the past five days - two of which I never once stepped out from home. Stricken with a killer whooping cough, flooded with a dreadful flu and what the doc also diagnosed as exhaustion, I surrendered to drugs of the most potent kind; potent only because I told the doc to give me all that he’s got.

And give he did – rather too generously too. So I went home with 8 different kinds of medication. EIGHT. Three types of ultra drowsy cough remedies, one for phlegm that causes palpitations and trembles, one for that eternal itch in the depths of the throat, one relaxant to ease the mind, one antibiotics, and one for the more common symptom of flu.

That was Tuesday when I first got the meds and then what happened for the next few days went by in a hazy fantasy. I remember getting up to do the usuals. I remember taking my next lethal doze. And then I would remember…absolutely nothing at all.

And the ritual continued.

In fact, 'stoned' is too slight a word to call a cocktail of 8 different medications swimming in my system. But there was one good thing that came out of it – I stopped thinking. In fact I don’t think my brain cells were even in the condition to dream.

If I was not snoring away in lala land, I was staring into outer-space; staring through the ceiling, pass the thick unhealthy layer of asbestos lining, pass the tiled roof and wooden beams, and into the clouds beyond. And what a wonderful thing it was to do away time on hazy cloud 9.

Anything that required basic functions such as to read a book, watch some movies or do some writing usually ended me in a state of blankness or blackness.

Of course when I did attempt to have a little social interaction in my drug-induced state, I failed miserably at the basic effort of stringing together a perfect sentence. Driving to meet friends was half the fun (when you’re high on 8 drugs, every traffic light has a rainbow effect), having my friends laugh at my utter dimness made up for the rest of the ‘fun’ outing. Of course the pills that made me tremble didn’t help much either.

And of the two days I never saw the sun, it was quite an enlightenment on a smaller scale when I finally stepped out into it. I stepped out my front door after maybe 36 hours of bed-hogging; I took a slow look around and suddenly remembered that there was a world outside.

It was beautiful how the world looked then. Somehow next to the dreariness of my room, the world seemed a brighter happier place. The clouds were brilliant on that fine blue-skied day. There was a bird chirping on the telephone wire right above the gate. The yellow daisies were too bright to stare straight into. I could even hear the kids laughing in the school nearby.

The world was such a wonderful place to step out into so I took a slow deep breath to soak it all in, then I turned around, shut the door and went back under my covers for the next 8 hours. Perhaps my drugged out mind was somehow rationale enough to know I was not ready to face the world yet.

I think after that spat, I feel almost myself. I’ve had the best rest in weeks. Yes, I relied on outside stimulants…but…but…what wonderful stimulants they were!

And the ritual continues.

Numbness

2008-06-15T15:04:00.002+08:00

Like the feeling of getting too stoned on drugs, numbness has a way of creeping from the subconscious to enter and infect every sinew, every fibre and every single cell of the body.

Numbness has the ability to shut down entire systems without cause. And soon one experiences an almost-out-of-body weightlessness.

Eyes look without really seeing.
The ears hear but they do not listen.
The mouth chews but does not taste.
The mind lags further away from comprehension.
Smiles stretch the lips but do not touch the eyes.
The feet are weighed down by emptiness.
The skin dulls to every sensation.

But what about the heart where the poison struck first?
The heart, tired and torn, continues to pump away.
Pounding for life or the want of it.
And it does not stop doing what it does even if it hurts.

Ramblings...

2008-06-14T10:52:00.001+08:00

When you believe in someone or something so much, you can be blinded by the kind of things even a third party can spot half-blind.

Ramblings...

2008-06-12T17:53:00.001+08:00

Lunch with a hyper bunch of 20...yet the loneliest lunch of my life. Funny.

Mall of memories

2008-06-11T23:01:00.001+08:00

I took a walk through Megamall today and it ended with a meal of my favourite dumplings at Esquire.

It is funny how things come around one full circle sometimes. I think some time ago, an entry on this blog talked about Esquire as well. Same dumplings, same Esquire, a younger me.

Now 3 years have gone by and tomorrow I work my last day here.

Sure, it may be just a workplace but 3 years walking through the same mall, blinded by the same noise, the crowds, and the goods; 3 years of wondering if P2 parking will actually flood one day with my car in it; 3 years of watching sale after sale after megasale go by… 3 years of critiquing each festive decoration…what can I say? It is hard to say goodbye.

One would think I have more attachment to the mall than to my colleagues, in a way yes and no, but that is a different story all together.

So as I took my walk today, I noticed that nothing ever changes in this mall. That lonely Mat salleh behind his laptop at San Francisco will continue to sit in his spot every single morning. The guard that smiles at the entrance will still be around smiling. That Nepalese Watsons staff with his huge water bottle. The kuih aunty. Even that waiter who served me 3 years ago and who served me tonight will continue doing so perhaps for many years to come.

And despite everything that looks, feels and smells the same, nothing ever is. I, for one, am different. Right now, I have no job, no aim and no other. So the only thing I can look forward to is the journey up ahead. And just as I am excited, I am also a little apprehensive about what is to come.

So tomorrow, I will pack up my box of dusty mementoes, say my good byes and leave - leave my job, and the mall, and a part of my heart behind.

MAYA ANGELOU'S 'BEST POEM EVER'

2008-06-11T10:14:00.004+08:00

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....

a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal, that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

a feeling of control over her destiny....

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to fall in love without losing herself...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without; ruining the friendship...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that she can't change the length of her calves, the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. ..

whom she can trust,whom she can't,and why she shouldn't take it personally...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

where to go... be it to her best friend's kitchen table...or a charming inn in the woods...when her soul needs soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

what she can and can't accomplish in a day... a month...and a year...

Reflections of a feminist

2008-06-06T09:55:00.002+08:00

Today my mother apologised to me. Actually, her exact words were, ‘I am so sorry I abused you.’

Of course ‘abuse’ would be too cruel a word. If I were really abused as a child, I would be visiting my mother through a bulletproof glass window right now. No, my mom did not abuse me, but i think she just could not find a way to describe it better.

I admit it, I did not have a very happy childhood. How many people actually remember happy childhoods anyway? Especially when the household was constantly screaming at the top of their lungs or dwelling in cold silence? Or mom was always angry and frustrated at life? Or dad was well…being a man?

I suppose that was the time when I learned how to tip toe around people and how to be as inconspicuous as I could be. Because in a home where I had to constantly prepare for the next wave of assault, one has to learn a little stealth and grow a little thicker in the skin.

But I don’t blame my mom. I could but I didn’t. Even at a young age, I understood why she needed to breakdown once in awhile. And why she needed to release some of her pent up frustration. I understood.

During the 80’s era, my mother was young with no one to turn to when things got tough. She did not have friends or a support group. She did not have experience or education. At a time when the world was conservative and traditional, she was not raised independent or strong or bold. She was raised to accept her karma in life. And I understood that.

But when mom continued to say, ‘I know I was a bad mom. I always try to make it up to you now.’ This was where I had to stop her. Because in all justice, she was not a bad mother and she will never be. She did not neglect her motherly duties. She did not run away from her troubles. She did not speak unkindly about anyone. She was just very angry and I just happened to be always in the right place at the wrong time.

So I grew up never wanting to be like my mother. I never wanted to be meek and afraid and dependent like she was. So I was rebellious and stubborn and adventurous.

I never wanted to live my life bitter from sacrifice. So I made choices that would never turn me resentful.

And I never ever want my children to go through the kind of childhood I had. So being in constant control of the reins in my life was never an option; it was an inbuilt shield.

But tonight, I noticed as I sat across from mom, with mosquitoes feasting on our bare legs, that even though I am everything my mother is not; even though we are at opposite ends of the personality chart; I am still not the stronger one at the table.

Give me my mother's life and I would have disappeared at the nearest exit. After all, doing a Houdini act is, sadly, second nature to me.

As I looked at mom looking back at me, I was struck with respect. Because despite everything my mother had to endure; despite everything she had to give up; she was still there, sitting on the other side of the table, making sure I had company for dinner.

Another milestone...

2008-06-05T11:33:00.003+08:00

Yesterday, the world looked like it was about to end.

When I hit the streets at 6pm, that was what I imagined in the bubble space of my car. The streets were in utter chaos. Most of the traffic lights were shut down by the thunderstorm and with that the entire road system collapsed.

People were mean. It was the right of everyone’s way. But no matter how they nudged and tailgated, no one got anywhere.

The clouds overhead hung like an omen. The rained kept pouring down. Puddles of disappointment everywhere.

And of course, the petrol stations were the hotspots of the day. Everyone had to get that very last tank of relatively cheap energy - 78 cents cheaper yesterday.

And all this while, our government continues to tell us that we are still enjoying cheaper fuel compared to the rest of the world just as they continue to compare our state of economy to the likes of Myanmar.

Jaded yet hopeful

2008-06-03T15:45:00.007+08:00

‘Men cannot be relied on.’ That was exactly what my 90-year old grandmother said to me this morning. I don’t know why she said it like she did but it really got me thinking about what she really meant.

We all have our dark secrets, our disappointments and our skeletons neatly stacked in alphabetical order in our secret closet. My mother has them; my aunties do too; my friends’ mothers; my friends; I am no exception and as I discovered, neither is my century-old grandma.

We all have things that we don’t want to talk about because they are lodged too deep that we want to forget except we can’t. After all, the past, while dormant, still finds a way to disturb us. But sometimes, the darkest things about our lives are not as horrible as they seemed once brought out and shared.

And that was what happened tonight, while sitting amongst friends, some of that darkness came out.

As a group of girls (ladies now), I have to admit that we are all fucked up in our own little way. Hey, I’m not embarrassed about admitting that. We all have very stubborn ways on how we want our lives to be and we won’t settle for less because if one thing is common in all our lives, it is the way we were brought up – and so, on the table tonight, stories piled upon stories – a raped past, a mother or father or both who went astray, an abused childhood, a neglected youth…

Geez…no wonder we were screwy in a way.

In the past, we each watched and we never understood why families stood together despite all the bitterness. Why mommy never packed and left, or why daddy stayed on to house the family. We never understood why the fights in the master bedroom happened. Why mom or dad would come creeping into our rooms to share our bed in the middle of the night. Why we were punished or beaten because one parent was stressed at the other. Why the kids had to suffer. Even till this day, we still don’t understand because if we were our parents, we would have reacted very differently.

And after we got through the hesitation of surfacing that darkness, we wanted to trace back how it has affected us thus far, or to put it bluntly, how it has fucked us up thus far.

We realised that each of us react differently to the ‘same same but different’ circumstances in our upbringing. Some of us carried and still carry that burden in silence. Some of us harbour mistrust. Some resentment. Some rebelled. And some managed to stay so goddamn annoyingly positive/naive.

But as human beings first and girls second, there is still one thing we all shared in common. And that was hope. Maybe hope is what makes us continue our irrational pursuit for perfection.

Despite our fears, our resentments, our hesitations, we each still harbour hope for our journey to end well no matter how jaded or scarred or embittered we are.

And as human beings first and girls second, we all still desire that fairy tale ending we always heard about but never witnessed simply because those before us never gave us a reason to believe or because we are too afraid to put ourselves in harm’s way.

After all, there is never a way to fully discard that mould we were shaped from. Our past shaped us and it will continue to shape us, be it into bliss or ruin.

And so by the very end of that night, I remembered what grandma said in the morning. I started to wonder about her skeletons and if it was too late for her to air them out.

Mega too-busy Mall

2008-06-02T17:20:00.000+08:00

The old man stood, dazed, in the middle of the mall.

He sees the blood but he didn't know where it was gushing from.

A burst vein from his elbow; old age does that to the capillaries.

Busy holiday shoppers buzz by. No one stops to wonder why there are spots of blood on the floor.

Thank god for a pack of tissue and the ever-handy Handy Plaster.

Cute replies...

2008-06-02T17:15:00.002+08:00

Q: What wine do you normally prefer?

A: Usually red or white.

Ummmm...

Ramblings...

2008-06-01T11:54:00.002+08:00

Sometimes... the hardest thing about a decision is making it.

GodDam Kuala Kubu Baru

2008-06-01T11:16:00.008+08:00

A lost heritage underwater

I’ve always had a fondness for KKB. Always loved how everything in nature comes together perfectly in this place and how going back again brought me a little closer to who I was before. KKB has not changed much since the last time I visited, but this time I met with some locals who told me a little bit more about this area.

When two photographer friends of mine wanted to head down, I immediately agreed, because they were going to meet with some orang asli. I could not pass up a chance like that.

The story of the orang asli of KKB is a tragic one. Despite heated protest, the spot where the asli village once was is now lying at the very bottom of the infamous Selangor Dam. Many spoke out strongly against it but as with many decisions of modern times, nature lost.

The goddamn dam was approved by the then Selangor government to ease the water shortage crisis back in 1998. Despite resistance, the government went ahead and flooded 600 hectares of pristine rainforest.

The villagers, on the other hand, were moved up, up to an arid hilltop and into concrete low cost housing with a little more money in their pockets but no lush nature at their doorstep.

We met a young asli, let’s call him K, who was frustrated at the living conditions provided in the concrete wasteland, so he decided to uproot and move out. He found a spot a little off the main highway that overlooks the dam and pitched up house in the middle of the jungle.

K's hut - built in one day with a constant running pipe from fresh river water

Now, K is his own man. Game is better in this spot and fresh water runs right up to his home. Back in the low cost housing area, villagers were smacked with electricity and water bills, a burden they never had to encounter before. Imagine being moved from home, placed far away from your ancestral homeland with no game and no fresh running water, then be surprised with bills at the end of the month? First ‘they’ steal their land, then ‘they’ steal from them.

When speaking about game, K admits that wild boar or babi hutan are hard to come by but when caught, there is always a happy Chinese businessman eager to buy. Here’s what happens…

K tracks deep into the jungle, sets traps and returns every single morning to check. And this is not the kind of tracking with a beaten path - K beats that path. Then, on lucky days, he has to lug the carcass out of the wild, and what a huge carcass it is! He then has to dissect and clean the boar, keep and eat whatever the Chinese man doesn’t eat, then sell the entire carcass for nothing more than RM40.

My jaw dropped. As did our party of 4. The middleman would not pay more than RM40, and if they did not buy the boar, it rots. When there are no takers, no one gains – not the asli, not the boar. But we know how much wild boar meat costs in town because the market man always says it is much harder to come by. But RM40 for all that work? Someone is benefiting from this, and it is definitely not the asli.

Because the common man cannot do what the asli does; because we have no way of accessing the heart of the jungle to pluck out from it the resources we desire; the orang asli is called to do that task. They know the land like the back of their hand. It is their land after all. They know the seasons and the temperaments of the wild. They know the taboos that can cost lives. But what they do not know is how much greedier and wilder the world outside their jungle can be.

So the story of exploitation continues, and it is a sad story indeed.

"When the Orang Asli (Original People) are no longer visible, the world will end."
-Temuan legend-

Mechanics of the heart

2008-05-31T09:42:00.004+08:00

They made me cry,
those idiot friends of mine
They knew just how to yank at the heartstrings
By saying the nastiest of nasty of things
To make me cry
Buckets.
‘Let it out’ they say. ‘Let it out’
In public? In public!
‘Who cares anyway?’
So I did
In full view
I did
Such a waste of tissue
But it was, my god, a relief
A relief to cry
Finally…
like a leaking dam
in the arms of my friends
and they made sure I cried more
more than I ever had before
and they said more nasty things
that woke me up
and you know what?
It was a flood of relief
To show I was human
That I was also just a girl
Vulnerable
Emotional
And broken
But ‘mend-able’
And you know what?
It worked
And I feel great
And I feel blessed
That god granted me them
My friends
Blessed
Revived
And geared for life.

A Midnight Soliloquy

2008-05-30T00:17:00.002+08:00

In the darkness of the night
There is you
In the hum of the ceiling fan
The midnight breeze
The fading stars
There is you
In every thought
In every dream
In every memory
There you are too
Or the ink of your shadow
And of what used to be
Yes it was I
Who made the stand
When times were rough
And I let us go
Before one had enough
Because two of hearts can stay
But two of minds will drift away
Gradually…
So I am thankful
We took it in stride
Life gave us some time
And we lived
Like doves on first flight
We lived
And we loved
Oh how we loved!
Then we took wings and parted
So thank you
For your presence
For your laughter
For your love
For your chances
They were all beauty of sorts
And because of this
Because of us
I will never be the same
As will you
Thank you.

Sexy when the sun shines through

2008-05-28T12:59:00.007+08:00

“The white blouse is too transparent for girls and it becomes a source of attraction,” National Islamic Students Association of Malaysia vice-president Munirah Bahari said in a statement.

“It becomes a distraction to men, who are drawn to it, whether or not they like looking at it,” she said, calling for a review of uniform policy so that it did not violate Islamic ideals.

Munirah said that “covering up” according to Islamic precepts was important to fend off social ills, including “rape, sexual harassment and even premarital sex. This leads to babies born out of wedlock and, to an extent, even prostitution,” she said.
http://thestar.com.my/news/story.asp?file=/2008/5/22/nation/21326822&sec=nation

If a school girl’s uniform is seductive shouldn’t a baby’s diaper come under the spot light too?

In fact I find babies in diapers much sexier than our blues and whites.

There’s always that perpetual perk in the butt that gives them the kind of strut much like a tiny tot on catwalk. Gasp! Maybe diapers are to be blamed for incest and infant rape! I know! Let’s ban all Malaysian babies from wearing diapers!

And what about the girls in our infamous NS uniforms?

Now ladies in uniform have always been on the top 10 sexy list, one cannot deny that. Complete the NS look with a cute beret, a gun in hand, then make them crawl through mud and you’ll have the perfect playboy setting.

So why didn’t that come under scrutiny too?

The way I see it, the group that made the comment about our school uniform, well, I think that something went awfully wrong with their noodle and their innocence.

Blue and white uniforms have always, ALWAYS, been the colours of our youth. No one ever thought to change it. No one ever thought to see through it…until this ‘group’ came by and pointed out its sex appeal.

And how did that happen? Perhaps because they looked too closely? Or perhaps because their minds were looking beyond what was purely innocent? Hey, I can take a look in the clouds right now and spot boobs and phalluses everywhere if I choose to.

And because of their hours of tasteless eye-balling, they made a comment. Maybe it was just a passing comment but it nevertheless became national news. Only in Malaysia can a passing comment be made into national news. In other countries you would probably have to kill someone to grab a spot on the cover.

In fact, isn’t it about time the local media learned when and how to filter useful news from passing comments? Although making ‘smart’ statements are part of our culture, not all statements should make it to the front of the papers. I say the ‘Sexy White incident’ falls in the same folder as the ‘Woman Travel Curb’, and the ‘Change Lifestyle To Suit Inflation statement’ and not forgetting the ‘Let’s Send A Malaysian To Space event’.

These LOA (Lack-Of-Attention) groups do not even deserve one sec/word/mention of limelight because their statements are often nothing more than childish or totally out of context. In fact the only people who are delighted to receive such news are standup comedians and the foreign media.

Ramblings...

2008-05-28T09:54:00.004+08:00

It’s funny that just when you decide to take one step back in life, suddenly, everything falls into place; all the loose ends come together; the jigsaw puzzle comes closer to closure; and you realise that by taking that one small step back, you have, in fact, moved three paces in the right direction.

Ironic.

Gab to blab

2008-05-27T16:40:00.002+08:00

I’ve met people with the gift of the gab. And I’ve also met people who love to blab.

While it is always intellectually stimulating to listen to those with an engaging persona, I suppose all of us, at one point in our lives have spent some time with a gulping goldfish. A gulping goldfish is a conversationalist who only takes 5 minutes to switch off our minds and ears so that every word they utter looks like nothing but gapping lips going blurp…blurp…blurp…

That is one of the first things I normally take note of during my many interviews this month. If the person that was interviewing me just blabs on and on, it gives me a pretty good impression of how it would be like to work for him/her. If I can’t even get two syllables into someone’s bullet train of words, like maybe a short ‘uh uh’, I can’t think of how this person would be able to listen to my ideas on a job. And I know the interview is going to fail because when these people are so hooked on their vocal cord vibration, by the end of the session, they will know zilch about me except for the fact that I can nod and nod, a lot.

Then there were also highly intriguing interviews where the employers just sat, watched and scanned me like a price tag. They challenged me, waited for me, coaxed me and drilled me. And together, we dance to the tune of their tango.

But I particularly love those that dumbfound me with spot questions. The one question I can’t seem to get over was: If your ex-boss were to sum you up in one sentence what would he say about you? That question left me gapping like a baby searching for a nipple.

So interviews are a great place to see a lot of different lips doing different things. And I love it. I love the mind games and mental sparring. I love seeing the character-gauge working. I love the professional courtship. I just need to bag me something good and soon.

Is being different so different?

2008-05-25T04:49:00.004+08:00

We all reach a time in our lives where the decisions we make reflect heavily on us. Such is my time. And it is during this time that I took a good look at the people that surrounded me with staunch support…

- A single mother too jaded to know a good thing even if it passed her by…

- A lesbian on a constant hunt to settle…

- A gorgeous gay guy with a life ticking away too fast…

- A metrosexual Mr. Always Nice

- And a simple girl just desperate for attention…

These were my friends during the darkest of hours; holding on to me just when I feared I might crumble…

It took this week for me to really take a good look at them…and I realised how these very same people were a summary of who I really was…

And I felt blessed.

Blessed to be able to share a part of my life with them.

Blessed that they were able to share a part of their dramatic lives with me…

Blessed because even when they lead unconventional lives, they were at least true to themselves.

And I realised, just now, that I don’t need to be conventional, or traditional, or normal…

That, probably, none of the sum of us was made in this life to follow the masses.

I used to think - was it so wrong to be different from others? Was it so bad to not meet the conventional quota?

Because being different in the past would have meant that the single mother would have been burnt at the stake for a birth out of wedlock. The gorgeous gay guy would have been castrated and left to die. The lesbian would have been reconditioned or beheaded. The metrosexual would have been forced to prove his manhood. And the simple girl who was desperate for attention would have had to settle for much less than she deserved.

But those were times of the past because now we all can make choices. And all it took was the strength of the sum of these few friends to make me smile.

So I sat among my friends and I realised today that I don’t have to and should not be a part of the masses. Perhaps some people’s lives are built to follow the cycle; certainly not mine. Maybe I wasn’t made to follow the rules. Maybe I wasn’t made to live by other people’s expectations of me. Maybe I shouldn’t need to change if change was undeserving.

And after battling the dilemma, I realised that maybe being somehow different from others should not be something deserving of punishment. I am who I am. And I should never compromise that for anyone if it meant losing my own identity.

So as my friends, dearest to me, hugged me for strength…

Nothing felt impossible…

Just a passing thought...

2008-05-23T18:05:00.001+08:00

Guys are suckers for beauty

Girls are suckers for charms

Toying with politics

2008-05-23T10:33:00.008+08:00

From Malaysia Kini - 23rd May 08

S'gor opposition leader Khir Toyo's first day in action

Dr Mohd Khir Toyo kicked off his first day as state opposition leader by pounding the new Pakatan Rakyat state government over its 'unfulfilled' election promises.

It's amazing how some politicians in Malaysia have more balls than the common man. I thought that after bull-dozing his way out of office, destroying all his corrupt files in the process, this man would have been smart enough to stay low.

But no...he came back stubborn as a bull and raving like a lunatic.

The old corrupt state government had years to syphone money from its citizens. Yes! that's my god damn hard-earned money! And now, the new 2 month old government is being lambasted by the very person our new government should be hauling to court.

But I guess there is karma, not in Malaysian politics, but on the internet. I googled Khir Toyo and if I were him, I'd find a hole like Sadam Hussien.

Wikipedia has a great summary of his practices, and if what it states are true, he should really start thinking about finding that hole.

WIKIPEDIA: Controversies and criticism of Khir Toyo

[edit] Zero illegal home mission
It was a mission set by Khir Toyo himself to make Selangor 'zero squatters'.[1] Toyo has been criticised for approving housing project in squatters' area and forcing the residents to move out from their illegal homes. Some of the illegal homes had been built before independence in 1957. Most squatters are left homeless and received low compensation. The majority of the squatters are forced to rent or live in low-cost flats.[2]

[edit] Luxurious Exco Village
The Selangor State Government had spent an estimated RM40 million to built an “EXCO VILLAGE” which comprises 10 bungalows and a clubhouse in Section 7, Shah Alam exclusively for the use of Selangor executive councillors. State Opposition member questioned the rationale for the estimated RM40mil project of public funds .

[edit] Housing Project
Many of the land which belonging to state government is been sold for housing project during Khir Toyo admistration. Some of the land which suppose to be reserved land for jungle or garden. Among the land which been sold to developer is the Batu Tiga Speedway Circuit in Shah Alam which is the first circuit in Malaysia built in 1968.

[edit] Corruption and bribery
Khir Toyo had been accused of corruption for approving a construction project which trespasses Bukit Cahaya Seri Alam in Shah Alam, a forest reserve.[3] To prove his innocence, Toyo had asked Anti-Corruption Agency of Malaysia to investigate the incident.[4] No answers were raised about the matter.

[edit] Zakaria Mat Deros illegal mansion
Zakaria Mat Deros, the Klang assemblyman (UMNO) in Selangor built his illegal mansion without any proper construction permit from the local government. He built the illegal mansion in an urban poor district in Klang which is supposed to be used for low-cost housing. Under the Selangor law, his illegal mansion should be seized and Zakaria should be prosecuted. However, Toyo has been criticised for forgiving Zakaria's mistake and did not take any action against Zakaria.[5] Zakaria died of a heart attack in his home on 11 March 2008 at about 1.30 am Malaysia time.[3]

[edit] Balkis Accounts Scandal
After the March 8 Malaysian General Elections, Wives of Selangor Assemblymen and MPs Welfare and Charity Organisation (Balkis) transferred out the RM9.9mil from its coffers a few days after the state fell to the Opposition. Khir Toyo said the money was “temporarily transferred” to the Association of Wives of Ministers and Deputy Ministers (Bakti). Defending the money transfer, then president Datin Seri Zahrah Kechik said she had the legal right because her husband Datuk Seri Dr Mohd Khir Toyo was still the caretaker Selangor Mentri Besar at that time. The state government, however, is questioning the transfer of the money and seeking legal advice. It has also asked the Registrar of Societies to put on hold the dissolution of Balkis.[4]
Auditors for the Wives of Selangor Assemblymen and MPs Welfare and Charity Organisation (Balkis) yesterday said the charity's accounts for 2007 were never audited or finalised, contrary to claims by Datuk Seri Dr Mohd Khir Toyo. [5]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khir_Toyo

Cherating in a nutshell

2008-05-13T09:57:00.009+08:00

Ok, I have to admit that Cherating is EXACTLY what the internet reviews said it was. Those reviewers were right, it’s a dead town. I should have listened. But I went anyway. And guess what? It wasn’t actually that bad…not entirely.

If anyone is as defiant as I was, you’ll find that Cherating still holds a certain charm. Well, it’s no longer a paradise. Backpackers have bypassed it. Foreigners are opting for the more isolated islands. Those with a little more cash to spend would rather spend it a little further from its shores. And things are a little more rowdier than it used to be. But Cherating still holds some stubborn characteristics of its own.

Places to stay
The Shadow of the Moon at Half Past Four
Here’s an oddball. It’s called The Shadow of the Moon at Half Past Four. Why that name? Well, here’s the story. The first half of the name was inspired from an old book called just that. Unfortunately some idiot stole that book from the establishment’s library. The ‘Half Past Four’ part of the name came as the owner, Steve, and his partner were drinking themselves silly at that exact hour and saw the moon rising over the trees and decided, in their mist of alcohol, to add that into the name as well. So with that name introduction to start off with, one can expect nothing ordinary from such a place.

Tucked in the forest, ‘The Moon’ or rather ‘The Shadow’ or rather ‘Half Past Four’, whichever you want to call it (It really don’t matter because not many people in Cherating knows it exists anyway) is a beauty to look at. In fact, from afar, the entire place looks like a witch’s lair. Deck it with carved pumpkins and it’s the perfect Halloween setting. It has a quaint and cozy front. The ‘lobby’ is filled with books and well-used sofas. The kitchen churns out some pretty good stuff. And all around, tiny wooden cabins dot the forest and perch high on the hill slope.

But be warned though, the kind of lodging it offers was not made for fussy travelers. In fact, travelers that are used to roughing it out will also find it quite a challenge because the cabins are basic to the point of being barely there. For 16 years, the price has never changed, so for only RM35 a night for an entire cabin, one cannot expect much in terms of added luxuries.
While staying here was an experience by itself, the unexpected torrential rains tripled that experience when everything, even the cabin, the loo and the lobby, started to leak and the problems with electricity made it a night I would never forget.

(An indoor leak)

Aside from the lack of living comfort, I miss that place. Steve is a wonderful weaver of stories. In fact, his life is a story book waiting to be published. And if you were lucky enough, he’d invite you to lunch to tell you all about it, so make sure you check-in just about that time and you won’t regret it.

Address: Watch out for milestone 167 to Kuala Terengganu. Turn right after the milestone and turn left into a tiny path. Good Luck!

Tanjung Inn along Cherating’s Beachside
Tanjung Inn boosts one of the best landscaping in the area. Everyone will tell you that. But note that is boosts the ‘best landscaping’ and not necessary the ‘best beach’. The beach is public which means bikini-baring is not a good idea unless one craves the ogles from groups of youngsters and happy campers.

Cabins range from RM45 for a cabin with a fan / RM90 with air-con / RM120 for a bigger lodge. All cabins surround a pond and guests can fish and eat what they fish. The staff are polite but distant. And the place is also a breeding ground for frogs, giant monitor lizards, hornbills and fiery red ants.

After The Moon/The Shadow/The Whatever, this place is heaven on earth, mosquitoes and all. But it’s one of those places I’ll unpack, stay, pack, then forget.

Holiday Villa Cherating
Now, next to The Moon/The Shadow/The Whatever and Tanjung Inn, this place is the peak of paradise in terms of modern day comforts. Pool side chalets are only RM240 but they do leak in certain places. (in fact the entire Cherating seems to be one big leak) Staff, again, are cool and distant but efficient. The buffet breakfast isn’t anything to shout about. The ‘private’ beach was filthy, while the resort pool was murky and left a rubbery texture on the skin.

It’s not perfect but if you can’t deal with The Moon, and you think you want more than Tanjung Inn but can’t afford the snobbery of Club Med, this is the place.
No pics. Didn’t leave me enough of an impression to bother.

Grub
Any food in Malaysia is good food. So when all else in Cherating comes short of impressive, the food in and around the vicinity definitely was a good pick-me-up.

Matahari Café along Cherating’s Beachside
The grill fish is mouthwateringly crazy! The friendly cook with great humour makes it even better! A definite must try even after a full seafood meal. Sorry no pics, delicious grilled fish with sambal looks like a bleeding train wreck victim on photo.

Payung café along Cherating’s Beachside
Food isn’t great. Leave the pasta but try the Curry mee RM5. The atmosphere is definitely the beachy, laid-back, Bob Marley kind. Located by the river, it’s got the views, the music, and even the WIFI! Good place to open a book and not move for hours until the mossies get ya!

Babi hutan at The Shadow of the Moon at Half Past Four
EVERYONE raves about the food at this place especially the dried wild boar curry. Again, if you can’t bear to stay here, at least venture forth for the food. Oh, by the way, the restaurant is called The Restaurant at The Edge of the Universe. I love these little quirks!

Hai Peng Coffee in Chukai, Kemaman near Public Bank
Any internet review praises Hai Peng coffee. But apart from the legacy it claims to represent, I think the coffee is over-rated. But since there is nothing much to do in Cherating, taking a 20 minute drive to Kemaman will help kill time. Hai Peng is as much a tourist hangout as it is a local’s place to gather. The turnover is swift which means it’s not the rustic kind of kopitiam to chill and sip away and contemplate on the day, well, not on peak hours anyway.

Hai Peng Coffee in Kuantan, also near Public Bank
The lesser known Hai Peng café in the middle of Kuantan town is less glamorous than its twin but apparently they are from the same mother although the store interior is different, the logo is different, and gasps! the coffee is different! In fact, it’s better. It’s also a quieter place to chill.

Kemaman Kopitiam in Kuantan town
Ok la! Anything that is registered on the GPS can’t be all that authentic but it can’t be all that bad either. I didn’t have a good impression of the place because I noticed that the Vietnamese tin coffee drip casing I bought for RM4 in Vietnam was selling in this place for RM23.90. Ummm… I wonder what else they hiked up?

Duyung Restaurant on Cherating beach
One of the few places you can get a beachside view while you gorge. Food isn’t too bad and it is pretty cheap too. Try the Steam Crab and…well…the Steam Crab.

Pak Su, Jalan Beserah, Kuantan
Stuffed crabs. Everyone promotes the stuffed crabs here. It’s not too bad for a first try at RM5.50 per piece but I wouldn’t have gone gaga over it. Their specialty seafood noodles is another good option. But try not to sit near the beach. It stinks.

Hoi Yin Curry Mee near Hyatt Kuantan
Any place always filled with people is always a good place to go. Must try curry mee. Not bad. Not bad at all!

Booze
The Deadly NightShade Bar at The Shadow of the Moon at Half Past Four (I swear these guys should be copywriters)
They claim to serve warm beer and lousy food but they lied! Although… their drinks menu is as minimalistic as their lodging. Beer and very selected booze but no wine…yet. Great atmosphere to drink with strangers and leave as friends.

Little Bali on Cherating’s Beachside
It’s a new place so it stands out from the other rundown joints. And it is right beside the river where the firefly colony lives (only viewable when there is a blackout). The Blues Band imported from KL starts playing at 10.15pm and they sound good. Nice riverside bar that’s out of wine too.

Things do to
Cherating Cultural Village
Let’s see…when I visited, the much acclaimed Cherating Cultural Village looked like a ghost village so I decided against walking in. Local folks call it another government White Elephant and they also think that the government’s NEW tourist information office built right outside The Shadow of the Moon at Half Past Four (I’m getting tired of typing this really long name) will also be another White Elephant Jr. Anyway, despite the billboards advertising things to do at the cultural village, there were not kite flying activities, no monkeys plucking coconuts for all to see, no batik drawings, no nothing happening! Just another rundown gov. project at the end of the rundown dead-end road – there could not be a worse tourist ‘trap’ than this.

Turtle Sanctuary
The sanctuary near the entrance of Club Med was closed on a Friday afternoon. Ummm…next please…

Fireflies boat trip
Didn’t try this one but it’s only RM15 to RM18 for a ride down the river at 8pm. Run by individual tour groups, at least it’ll never be closed like the turtle sanctuary, and the fireflies will promise more action than the cultural village.

Beach bumming
It’s definitely not Lang Tengah or Perhentian. In fact it’s not even Port Dickson in terms of cleanliness. There are still some secluded beaches that are quite nice but all the main strips have now become public dumping grounds. The never-ending dispute that hotels cannot claim beaches as their private property, ironically, seems to be the only way for hotels can actually maintain and protect the shores.

In a nutshell
Unfortunately, Cherating glory days are over and what is left is a dying town. The more foreign and local tourists turn away from Cherating, the more it falls into ruin. When that happens, resorts change hands or shut down, prices fall, and this in turn attracts a different group of holidaymakers who have little regard for the trail of junk they leave behind after their picnic/camping sessions or their beachside BBQ fiesta. Public consciousness 101 is obviously lacking here.

Cherating, I fear, is a preview of what most Malaysian tourist hotspots will look like in the future if nothing is done to protect scenic destinations from over-exploitation. The government keeps on promoting and shouting about the beauty of our country; Tourism Malaysia spends millions in advertising to draw foreigners to travel hundreds of miles here, but they do nothing, spend nothing to preserve these sites they so proudly claim as a Malaysian heritage.

And when it comes to the local government, the only money they spend is on white elephants that tourists have nothing to benefit from. They built good roads and massive highways that lead to no impressive destination. They bring in big hotels to starve the local tourist trade. They do all the puffing and the promising to draw in the crowd but when the masses arrive and continue to do so in droves, the ecosystem is left with no time to recover and no one to protect it.

So even as a tourist in my own country, I’d like to say skip Cherating if you are looking for a day on the beach. I’d like to say go somewhere else and let this poor rundown place recover just a little bit more. But I’d also like to turn around and say, give the place a chance. If the crowd comes back again, maybe this time, hopefully, HOPEFULLY, the locals and the post-election government will do things a little differently.

They call it the Cheras Berlin Wall

2008-05-09T16:53:00.003+08:00

http://www.malaysia-today.net/2008/content/view/7151/84/

May 8th - The residents of Bandar Mahkota Chera were doused and gassed. And they probably got what they deserved. When you stand up against what is wrong, when you decide to defy the presupposed law, you can only expect the one and only way the authorities know how to react – with unrestrained brutally.

I have spent the entire morning surfing the events of 7th and 8th May and I have been shocked countless times over by the use of unnecessary force by the authorities. But I suppose, this should no longer be a surprise. In the wake of Bersih and Hindraf rallies, giving the people a chemical wash and a teary farewell seems to be the latest tactic on how to deal with large groups of unhappy people. ‘Sterilized them off the streets!’ seems to be the automated order of the day.

But can we blame these people for being unhappy? Can we blame them for being defiant? When someone enters your home and suddenly builds a wall to block your doorway, then asks you to exit through your backdoor each time, and to add to the sting, they charge you every time you have to use their exit, isn’t it your right as owners of the place to have a say?

But they did have a say. They said it in parliament. They said it on the news. They said in by forming a committee to take this to the higher authorities. But when all else failed, who could blame them when they decided to take things into their own hands and to remove that wall by themselves for the second time. If it were my house, my residence, my private township, don’t I have a right to protect it?

Apparently not.

So what happened? The authorities took the easy way out. They happily went dousing and gassing. For god’s sake, there were women, babies and elderly in the crowd. They whacked an MP. They arrested the chairman of the residence committee. And all for these violence for what? So that a private company called Grand Saga can collect toll money by forcing the residents to use the only alternative road to get out of their own home.

Now, didn’t our state government say that Grand Saga has no jurisdiction in that area… in fact, since when does a private company have jurisdiction when it comes to public road-works? And if this is between a private company and a township, shouldn’t the enforcement officers act as intermediaries instead of trigger happy loonies?

What has become of Malaysia?

What has become of our rights?

Love Thy Neighbours

2008-05-08T17:03:00.000+08:00

and if you don’t love them enough, call them whores, curse their future-future generations, say they have big butts, tug their hair off their scalp, and inject the word ‘fuck’ between every two words.

When two neighbours started a street brawl right in front of my eyes, that was exactly what happened.

It all happened on a TV commercial shoot. We needed a house for the commercial and so we rented one renovated just for filming purposes. The owners were a warm gentle-spoken couple, the contemporary and artsy kind of people who just decided to make a living out of the house they loved. And their home…their Semi-D home, which they intended to move in, was a WOW! The moment I entered, I was in love.

Unfortunately, every beautiful façade has a shadow. Their neighbours, Mr & Mrs Left and Mr & Mrs Right and their entire clan, hated Mr & Mrs Right-in-the-Middle because they were different.

They hate the fact that this modern, advertising cum filming house had grey walls instead of the customary brown ones they were given (such trivialities).

They hated the fact that their neighbour in the middle did not fit the traditional Chinese family profile.

Perhaps they also hated the fact that celebrities, actors and actresses grace the halls of their most despised neighbour.

But I think they especially hated the fact that they did not understand anything about the world of filming and advertising. They probably did not like the fact that once in awhile the house next door and their street would be filled with all sorts of weird film people.

I admit, production and advertising people are a little daunting to look at. We are weird. We’ve got big tattooed crew guys to carry the heavy equipments. We’ve got people who look like (no offense intended) rempits, people who look like gangsters, people who look like druggies, people with weird fashion sense, we’ve got gay people, straight people, bisexual people, dubious-looking people - all these people make up on big film crew, and all of them including myself, are just there to make an honest living.

Ok, if I lived where they lived, I probably wouldn’t like strangers walking around and clogging up the streets. But whatever their reasons for hating, it was still wrong to bring it out in the open like little gangsters-wanna-be instead of settling things like adults should. Hence the street fight which was started by Mr & Mrs Left and clan.

The young couple were subjected to the cruellest of neighbourly reception in front of a group of strangers – us. Here’s the scenario – on the wild side there was a grandma, mother, father, young man, young lady and a boy (a boy of no more than 15) and then on the opposite side, there was the husband and wife. While the young couple tried to fight back, there was no way to fend off the fanatical Brady Bunch from hell, which was geared on settling things the only way they knew how to - the dirty childish way.

So the mother and grandma screamed and scratched. The sons cursed the foulest languages (barely 15 years old and using words so foul even I felt offended). The daughter did the catfights and the name calling (I think big butt, mistress, kept woman, slut were used). While the father continuously snapped pictures as ‘evidence’.

All these happened outside while the cameras continued to roll indoors. And we, the outsiders, just wanted to wrap up and get out as quickly and as quietly as possible before curfew time at 10pm. This dispute had nothing to do with us. Our involvement would only give the family more evidence to shut the entire place down – we were after all guests in a gated and guarded township.

Most families generally instil good values of filial piety, loyalty and protectiveness towards one’s members. I believe the Brady Bunch from Hell had all those values, what they lacked were the social and community ethics, and more importantly - basic humanity. Somehow, despite their nice big house and cars, their territorial obsession exposed how uncouth and irrational they really were.

To be able to let loose a torrent of verbal abuse; to tug at, scratch, slap and kick at the defenceless wife; to surround her like a pack of hungry wolves before her husband could get to her to protect her; something must have driven Mr & Mrs Left-Side-Clan-From-Hell to the point of barbaric violence. I don’t know what that something is; I don’t know their side of the story; I don’t know who started what, but violence amongst neighbours is not something we learn in school. In fact, as I recall, we were taught the exact opposite.

Today is Earth Day…

2008-04-22T16:08:00.003+08:00

Today, we talked about saving the earth. So what is earth day really about? And how can we make a difference? I noticed how the Yahoo logo has gone green and that Google has sprouted mould. Other than that, there seems to be nothing much happening in KL. Whatever earth day is about, it’s not hitting Malaysia yet. Oh I am sure there are pockets of movements and small steps taken, but is it big enough tip things over?

And I find it funny that we only dedicate one day to the earth when the earth dedicates 365 days to us. I also find it funny that people talk about using less resources today just because it’s the earth’s birthday. So when I ask some of my colleagues what they were going to do for Earth Day there were some pretty cute ideas. Some say that today they will eat nothing that comes in Styrofoam. Some say today they will go vegetarian and stay away from meat because meat produces more green house effects. Some say today they won’t pack food in plastic bags, or buy anything that is in plastic wraps. Some say they are wearing green to make a stand.

So today is not only Earth day

It is also car pool day

Plastic-free day

Save water day

Go green day

Wear green day

Save electricity day

Flush less day

Drink less day

Shun Styrofoam day

But shouldn’t today be every day?

Semi-Not-Buying-It - Day 2

2008-04-09T18:51:00.002+08:00

I have failed.

On the second day of the project I have failed.

And after I failed, and after I pouted and sunk into my 5 minute state of depression, tjer bought me sushi to calm my growling stomach. I was hungry not because the home-cooked stew couldn’t be eaten; it was actually was pretty good. I was hungry because I undercooked the rice. Undercooked it or underfed it with water. Either way it was the silliest of silliest mistakes. It tasted like bits of plastic capsules. You could swallow them as pills or make them skip above the water or feed them to the birds and watch those fluffy things choke.

So on the second day of Semi-Not-Buying-It, I stuffed my face with sushi.

And then, I stuffed my face some more with donuts.

Oh well, tomorrow is a new day. I’ll just have to start over again.

And…and there was these ear-rings…and they were only 3 bucks…and …and I was wondering that since the rules were already broken today…maybe…just maybe…

Sigh…

Not spending is not as easy as I thought it would be.

http://weiyein.blogspot.com/2008/04/semi-not-buying-it.html

Semi-Not Buying-It Day - 1 cont.

2008-04-08T23:07:00.006+08:00

Tonight, I burnt tomorrow's lunch.

How is it that I could have burnt stew is beyond me.

Stew. The idea of stew is ridiculously simple. Chop it all up, pour the stock, pile the spices and it is done! I got everything right except the 'done' part turned out overdone.

I should have snapped a picture of the bottom of the pressure cooker, but I was sure any one can imagine what the black hole of a burnt pot looks like.

That's the thing about cooking. Cooking is not like riding a bike or learning how to swim. Once you learn how to do those things, they stay with you for life. Instead, cooking is like learning to speak a foreign language, the less you do it, the more out of touch you get.

We managed to salvage most of the stew, except it looked more like fried lamb. Good news is that it can still be eaten. Although...there is that unmistakable carbon aftertaste that I find rather appealing much like the attraction of semi-burnt toast or the darkened crust of fried chicken, and as long as, by lunch time tomorrow, I forget that it was supposed to be stew, all should be well.

Semi-not-buying-it – DAY 1

2008-04-08T18:06:00.002+08:00

Rm40 counts down today.

If I can just make it last for one week; if I could just quell my caffeine addiction; if there are no ambush sales; I just might be able to make that four red notes last.

What has happened:

I scavenged the three pantries in the company and stashed whatever 3 in 1 coffee I could find. It’s all MINE!

Breakfast. Skipped it.

Lunch. We had sandwiches (Got up bloody early for that one). And we walked the Pet shop for free entertainment. Then stood in front of Haagen Dazs to dream and salivate.

Dinner, leech off wonderful mommy.

Why go through the torture?

Actually it’s all for a bit of fun – a sadistic sort of silent challenge against my natural consumer instincts. It’s not that easy especially when I work at one of the biggest shopping malls in Malaysia but that just puts more weight on the game.

I suppose it is good to go through some days being really prudent. In the days of Credit Cards, ATMS and SALES, I hope this tiny restraining order would make me think twice about what I have but don’t need, what I want but don’t use, what I like but can’t afford and what I can afford but shouldn’t.

It’s not that I have never been prudent. In fact, I am downright stingy at times. But I do have stashes of books yet flipped. So many bottles of body lotions and shampoos I could open a pharmacy. A wardrobe of clothes that have gone out of fashion but never saw the light of day. And a lot of food way past the expiry date. So yes… I don’t really spend but I do waste. A lot.

And finally, just in case I don’t find a job that suits me or if I ever decide to bum around for endless months, I‘d like to know if I can survive.

Ironica

2008-04-07T16:53:00.002+08:00

And just when everything seems to be bleak enough to start a one month starvation project, the company finally decided to release two months worth of commission. ARRRGH! With money rolling into the account, this self-imposed budget will be harder than it seemed.

Semi-Not Buying It

2008-04-07T10:07:00.002+08:00

What must it be like not to spend in Malaysia – at all. After reading this book called Not Buying It by Judith Levine, a diary of a couple who decided not to buy anything for an entire year, I started to wonder what it must be like to do the same, not for one year of course (I'm not that crazy), but for just one month. Being in Malaysia, that is about as hard as trying to change the government, perhaps even harder.

KLites are driven by consumerism and honestly, if you do not have money in this city, you would mould. Everything has a price. Unfortunately, unlike other cities, we don’t have a beach to spend a penniless day in. We don’t have a nice clean river to sit by and watch the day flow away. We don’t have free entertainment that is worth watching. So what can one do in this wonderful city that does not involve money. Well, I suppose I am about to find out.

My boyfriend and I have embarked on a semi-non-spending journey that will last as long as our willpower will take us. I’m banking on 2 weeks. He says 3. Right now, we have a stash of food that will be our breakfast and lunch. For dinner we will leech on my mom - which means direct route home right after work everyday. Yes, I plan to cook and ta pao food where ever we go. Eating at Megamall for 3 years has been a bore, I figure my choice of cooking for the day would not be any worse.

So Semi-Not Buying It starts this Tuesday. And it is going to be tough. But the good side of the coin is that we get to save money. And we hope to save loads of it considering the fact that our company has not only refused to release our commission but has also in fact cut it. This slight hiccup in cash flow and other disenchantments are the root cause of such drastic measures.

Rules of the game are simple:

1) We are each allowed only 40 ringgit a week for emergencies. I could do well with RM20 but he has to smoke and kick balls every Sunday. When I think about it, some families probably survive on RM40 a month anyway so by comparison, we should count ourselves lucky.

2) Emergencies would include gastric, sudden spell of nutrient deficiency or zombie attack from lack of caffeine or nicotine. Other than that, all expenditures are strictly off limits.

3) All ATM cards and credit cards will be left at home.

4) Everything that is not a necessity would be deemed unnecessary.

No movies, no dining out, no BOOZE.

GOD! Please don’t have a sale now.

Moving the masses

2008-04-07T09:28:00.001+08:00

On a spur, I took the public transport home from work yesterday. It has been years since I took one in my own country, so I went the full course – KTM, LRT and a cab. Taking any Malaysian public transport system is always a gamble and this was quite evident when I entered the KTM at Megamall station. Although there was a healthy crowd at 10pm, the place looked intimidating with its dim lights, narrow stairs and dark floors. I read somewhere on ‘Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell’ that the brighter and cleaner a place, the more orderly things would seem. I think Tipping Point called it the Broken Glass theory where one broken glass in one building can spark a chain reaction of unruliness. No one would even think about causing a racket in a holy Singapore station, but in KL, anything looked like it could happen anytime.

I wondered what it must be like to wait around any later than 10. The trains did not come as frequent as the LRT so people just sat on the floors everywhere. Most of them were after work crowd and they looked in no good shape to put up a good fight if anyone were to harass them. When the train finally came by, I met a nice boy who lamented on the travelling time it takes to go by KTM. Trains were never on time but most people don’t have the choice. I felt bad just telling him that I usually drove.

He showed me the way to the LRT transit station and left me there where I decided to try hailing a cab. The one cabman that spoke to me laughed when I asked if he ran by meter. Apparently, cabbies at Station Sentral do not run by meter, they run by self-judgement. And then he launched into a complaint about how the government had promised new cabs but never got around to it. I didn’t quite understand him much. My Malay being at a sub-zero level but he was rather nice about my declining him, he even walked me to the front gate to make sure I got to the right LRT entrance. I would have loved a quick escape on a cab but a RM15 short cut was not how I wanted to end my adventure.

So I took the LRT, the one transport that I can proudly say I was rather familiar with from the days I spent riding to town for my internship. Come to think back on it, I rather liked my LRT rides then, being sardined against a mass of strangers at 7.30 in the morning did make me feel more in touch with humanity.

On the LRT, an old man opened his mouth and asked if I was from China. And no matter how many times I said no, the mother with the two kids down the aisle kept frowning at me. Right. A lone girl should never be too friendly but I was not about to steal someone’s grandfather away so keep on open mind please. But anyway, back to the old man, he was saying that I did not look Malaysian but then I asked what does a Malaysian really look like. Oh Chinese, Malay, Indian. Apparently I looked neither to him. Then he met another old friend and they started talking about DAP in hokkien and then returned to the topic of me and why I looked nothing Chinese. I found it all rather entertaining and I suppose everyone around thought the same including the ever-disapproving mother of two.

I left the two chatty old men and had to walk some distance to find a metered cab where the young Indian driver started telling me about his 5 year old daughter’s deworming problem. Now I know that Uncle Cab’s daughter puked on the first and second wormy dosage and that she was taking her third try that night. I also know that because of this puking dilemma, Uncle Cab couldn’t bring the family up to Genting although his relatives where there baiting him with a bottle of booze. He kept repeating, ‘Children need to be dewormed, they eat a lot of sweets.’ as if trying to give me some subtle future parenting advice.

So I got home safely without any major hiccups. What usually takes me 8 minutes by car took me 45 minutes by public route. But I realised that although we do have a rather poor transportation system, the many wonderful, eclectic souls that rely on it everyday certainly puts the wealth back into it.

Politicians will be politicians...

2008-03-13T14:24:00.006+08:00

Maybe I'm not so proud...

The opposition’s brave front of solidarity has evaporated less than one week into its momentous sweep.

And now I am left with doubt: can the opposition rule? Can they actually get pass their differences? Can they live and let be? Apparently DAP or rather Uncle Lim is having problems doing so. And the age-old problems of PAS vs DAP have finally bubbled to the surface after all that pre-election talk about working together for the good of the nation.

I say who the fuck cares who takes the higher seat. As a Chinese, as a voter, as a woman, I don’t care what PAS gets, what DAP gets, what PKR gets. I care about what WE get. Watching you boosting, bickering and boycotting was not what I had in mind.

So dear Uncle Lim,

you now have four years to work on things. I take that back. We, the public, have given you four years to work on things, and fighting over tiny issues of power is just wasting our time. So for the good of all, for the good of this bedridden country, stop this power struggle. Move on. If it is the Chinese population you are trying to protect, protect Malaysia and semua anak Malaysia first. Because if you don’t, BN is going to pounce on you and strip you bare. Then they are going to turn to us, the public, and say ‘We told you so.’ As it is, the national press are have a field day.

But what BN will do to your divided party is far less severe than what the public will do to you four years from now. If the opposition doesn’t buck up, they might as well close shop today.

People's voice

2008-03-10T00:09:00.002+08:00

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Today, I am proud to be Malaysian.
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Cerita Ceramah

2008-03-07T12:46:00.008+08:00

This week, I have been to two different ceramahs. Let me sum up the differences:

Monday, SS2 – opposition

It’s drizzling yet the crowd grows bigger. The speakers speak in intervals of English and Mandarin or Cantonese to a mixed crowd of Malaysians. Their words echo the truth of matters dearest to us all and the masses respond. When Raja Petra spoke, the heavens really opened up. The umbrellas came out and no one budged. He shouts through the din of the rain and the crowd strains to listen. Strangers share umbrellas and people cramp the mini five foot way at the SS2 square. The wet donation boxes continue to fill up. Then Tony Pua went up, pulling numbers after numbers from his head. And we listened to the figures that did not make sense. And we were reminded of the projects that never took off. And we wondered aloud where our money went. Then Chilli Padi Fong went up, and we listened to the fire in her voice and the desperation of her words. And her call for change for our future generations. There were no seats for us, there were no tents to stay dry under, there were no goodies handed out. But we chose to stay and we chose to listen.

Thursday, SS2 – BN, Seapark Apartments

Nice big tents. Stools for all. And food, glorious food from Kayu Nasi Kandar. Hot curry, rice and vegetables and packets of water. Then a lion dance. And a late night karaoke session followed. Other than that, there was nothing much to shout about. I will not talk about the speeches. Nothing said struck the heart and based on the mild response from the crowd, nothing struck theirs too. And I will not talk about the crowd’s attendance, it does not seem fitting to criticize people who just wanted to makan. After all, it is their taxes that paid for the food and the tent and the late night entertainment. So it is only right that they enjoy what is theirs in the first place. In any case, it’s only five years once that we can leech off BN. It’s only five years once that they grant us anything we need, like the permission to build Chinese schools or Indian Temples or the permission to have a holiday during Thaipusam - a request granted after decades of rejection only because this year is a crucial election year and the party had made a booboo with HINDRAF. And it also leaked out during an introduction speech that night that the office of the Seapark Apartments received new air-conditioners from BN. Ummm… if that isn’t a downright bribe, I wonder what is?

It is sad that BN has to resort to such tactics to hold the attention of the people. The harder they try the more hard-up they seem. And why have they not been showing such generosity for the many many years they have been in power? Why give now? Why listen now? Why try now?

And why, under the threat of rain and thunder and infamous flash floods does the public continue to gather by the thousands with empty stomach and open hearts to listen to what the opposition has to say?

Someone out there is sleeping, and this time, it isn’t the public.

Click 'Search' for the truth

2008-03-05T18:49:00.007+08:00

I am so hooked on the internet. I love it!

I’ve been zipping through the cyber highway of information, from blog to blog, clicking between YouTube, Malaysia Today and Malaysia Kini. (Kudos to the latter for allowing us free viewing for one week!) And after hours of scanning the web, I am more liberated than I have ever been.

Ok, one would assume that I have just discovered the wonderful benefits of the world wide web, that is not the case, I am just relishing each and every moment our sleeping government is hating its very existence.

While BN has always splurged on expensive commercials, advertisements and radio campaigns, the opposition parties of prior elections had to rely on buntings, banners and the might of their voices over microphones. But today we have the internet. And today we can choose to hear, read, view and review whatever we want.

We can visit any rally anywhere online and discover all the things we were never told by the national media.

We can find out the true headcount of any opposition campaign or public rally turnout even when our local papers report a no-show.

We can choose to shut out the word of the national press and instead, choose to listen to the word of the people who have been there, done that and are waving the banner of truth.

We can now listen and view un-edited, un-manipulated speeches and clips as and when they really happened without a skip in time.

We can re-view online the ‘Monthly Leaking case’, the ‘Keris Waving parade’, the ‘Go Back Home We Don’t Need You insult’ or the ‘Water Cannon Assault’ a trillion times if we want to, as a constant painful reminder.

So to Barisan National, you can keep your iron grip on our television, radio and the papers, because with the wonderful, limitless, liberating WWW, we can now give the media- who thinks they can pull the wool over our eyes - the finger. We can now have the power to switch you off whenever we have had enough of your bullshit.

And to our national-media, good luck to any redemption on your conscience. I sure hope you can dig yourself out of the mud you have been wallowing in for so long. I hope the daily lies you feed us keep you awake every night. I hope every mirror you gaze into breaks upon your shameful reflection. I hope the pledges you took to be objective and unbiased, i hope they haunt you. So blatantly you peddle your integrity. So easily you betray our trust in you.

Are you so naive to think you can sustain on lies when all we have to do is to 'Search' for the truth? Are you so blind to see that we can filter your fabrications? Your deception is getting harder and harder to swallow, better you change tactics.

Have you forgotten that there is no government today? There is no parliament. The circus has closed, and who knows, maybe it will be closed for good. So when are you going to stop churning tall tales and start giving us some substance?

Joke of the week

2008-03-05T12:18:00.002+08:00

The Malaysian government is afraid of a little dab of black ink.

March 8

2008-02-25T18:38:00.000+08:00

I am a legitimate voter in this country called Malaysia
And this will be my first vote
On March 8
My voice will be heard
My resentment known
For I am a voter
With one vote
And one voice
And one count
In one big sea
But nevertheless
I am going to do my part
I am going to wake up early
Line up early
play a part for my country
then pray for change
And wish for transparency
And equality
And true unity
And hopefully
my voice
my vote
will be counted
Now, that is my gung-ho speech
My motivation and inspiration
But when it comes down to the act
On March 8
When I stand before that non-transparent box
I have one dilemma
Of the biggest kind
Who will I vote for?
Who can I vote for?
Not the government
With their empty promises, bloated egos and all the silly little things they say
And that growing pile of problems they try to hide or blast away
Not the opposition
With their tug-of-wars and messages of hate instead of peace
Along with their never-ending exhumation of problems we Already know exist
Please…
For once…
Give me a party not For problems but For solutions
Give me an alternative away from the alternative
Give me new blood, fresh blood, good blood
Give me anything that really means something
And in return
I will give you
My
One
Vote
That won’t change a bloody thing.

Wishes on water

2008-02-21T23:58:00.004+08:00

I saw hopes float tonight. I saw hopes in tiny little boats of white rectangular styrofoams, crucified by a satay stick and a sail made of paper with one solitary candle as its heart. Tonight was that one night in the lunar calender where wishes are made on makeshift sails and then, taken by the current or ushered by the wind, it is set free.

Some hopes never made it very far; the light of it kissed away by the gentlest breeze.

Some try to navigate the uncertain undercurrents only to end up congregating in each others' brilliance.

Some refused to even leave the shore as if harbouring dreams too heavy to take flight.

And yet, there were some that caught the right winds, passed that little bay and headed on a sojourn of no return with the weight of their owner’s desires on them.

I read those wishes as they passed me by.

One wished for good health, peace and all the nicest things.

Another simply contained two lovers signatures against a light burning bright.

Then there was one with the word ‘JACKPOT’ in capital letters.

And even though they will never journey far in that tiny man-made pond, I hope each and every wish comes true.

Happy Chinese Valentines.

Not of, not by, but for the people

2008-02-19T12:51:00.012+08:00

I can’t remember his name. But I can remember his face. Just 5 days in Bangkok and his face is firmly etched in my mind - this revered King of Thailand. I can’t help if I remember him so vividly; Bangkok after all has his portrait everywhere: on billboards, on office buildings, on banners, on little shrines in tiny respectful corners of various shops, on desk calendars, on the news, everywhere.

While the Thai King enjoys millions worth in free publicity, here in Malaysia, we have Amber Chia.

During my time in Bangkok, I simply could not comprehend why the people loved him so much. And he wasn’t just loved, he was idolized, he was iconized, and he was cherished. How was it that this man could command the respect and adoration of an entire nation? I wondered.

Then I went to the National Museum and I understood. This imperial figure was not any normal king contented with royal regalia, stately protocols and granting titles. By getting off his throne, he helped change the lives of his people. By the humility of monkhood, the generosity of his creed, and by his many unofficial visits to the back-lanes of his own country, he helped shape the path of his nation.

Being born high up on the pedestal has not stopped his good influence from reaching ground level. Royal involvements are seen in various sectors ranging from arts, to music, religion, education reforms, engineering innovations, to helping rural communities and personally funding development projects for the betterment of his people, and once in a while when the voice of a true leader is needed, he intervenes in the politics of his country.

From his inauguration more than 60 years ago, the realisation of his pledge "to reign with righteousness for the benefit and happiness of the Siamese people" justifies why the people adore him and would die to defend his good name. And I am awed by this respect; this respect that he receives from almost everyone I met in Thailand, from the cab driver I spoke to, to the young masseurs not old enough to vote, to store owners in the Chatuchak maze, to all the people clad in yellow on a Monday.

While the rest of the world are well in love with public figures of today that come in the likes of football players or booty touting singers, the Thais have their own living monarch to look up to, and to feel secure under.

Looking south, Malaysia has 13 states, 9 of which have hereditary rulers; an elite group born with enough royal powers to shape a better Malaysia. Sadly, I can remember the face of my neighbour’s king more than I can my own.

gong xi FA CAI

2008-01-31T17:45:00.004+08:00

Someone asked me today why Chinese New Year ‘seemed’ more celebrated than the rest of the Malaysian festivals. This question was asked just as two people walked by us; one carrying a beautifully wrapped basket of oranges and another, a towering hamper of junk food.

My own deduction was simple. CNY is all about cashing in on the Chinese mentality. And the Chinese mentality is, unfortunately, materialistic. And our crafty marketers know this all too well. So the more marketers hype up CNY, the more we buy. The more we buy, the more we feel festive.

I simply cannot imagine Chinese New Year without a shopping list, can you? And that goes with every other Chinese festival there is.

Let’s see…

In recent years, mooncake prices have soared, and the more they bring up the prices, the more absurdly complicated their packaging has become. It is as if we are paying a heftier price for the same old ingredients that now come in a better packaging.

Dumpling festival is one other such example. It is no longer a simple rice wrap with a meaningful history hidden behind it. Now dumplings can fetch up to RM180 for one megacone filled with all the goodness of certain endangered species.

I have wondered how festive accompaniments such as mooncakes, dumplings, and even the humble Tong Yun reach such preposterously over-commercialised states? I suppose it is due to a basic demand supply situation.

But back to the festive jubilation of Chinese New Year. Just take a walk around any shopping complex and it’s a close competition of red hampers of any shapes and sizes. People change cars just for the New Year (then they go out and buy their new car numbers). They change wardrobes too. They also change their underwear for good luck. And if everything must be NEW NEW NEW during Chinese New Year then why not a new home? Housing developers have Chinese New Year promotions that aptly shout “New house, new start, new year!”

And why not? Everything is after all face value, and we Chinese value our face to be as thick as our wallets. Harsh? Well, I’m lashing out at myself too. It’s an indisputable fact that the one important thing to Chinese is money, money and more money. And we have it because we work hard for it and we save hard for it and because most of us have so much of it, some people hate us for it.

Fortunately, we will continue to collect more of it because that is why we celebrate Chinese New Year in the first place. After all, it seems that everything we do during Chinese New Year has one aim and one aim only - to get richer.

Examples: Almost every dish on the Chinese menu is linked to wishes of prosperity, riches and wealth. Mandarins signify gold. Bamboo plants bring prosperous luck. We decorate homes with gold nuggets even if it is just plastic ones. We don’t sweep the floor on the first day for fear of throwing out luck and offending the God of Prosperity. Every New Year card practically has the same line, “Wishing you PROSPERITY and happiness.” We gamble during the New Year as a get-together activity. Even the simple ‘Gong Xi Fa Cai’ greeting sums up our deepest desires.

But perhaps I am being rash. I am sure our festival has some good attributes such as family unity and togetherness and a long long holiday. It’s just that with all the mass marketing and materialistic gains, it is hard to focus on what the New Year really means if it means anything at all.

It’s that time of the year

2008-01-16T16:46:00.000+08:00

I just received the dreaded Borang BE for 2007. I got it on the first week of January and honestly, it put a dampener on the New Year. Maybe the government should have waited awhile before sending such a form out. Maybe they should have sent it in November so I could drink myself silly through December celebrations to forget about it. But January? That is such a cruel joke.

Nevertheless, for the past 4 years, I have been a responsible taxpayer. Responsible because, although I do pay the taxes, the government will not support my livelihood if I suddenly decided to bum around.

Let's say if I was an Australian citizen and I stopped working, I would still be able to live on welfare like a king. But over here it's different. So I have to work, and because I have to work rain or shine, in sickness and in health, I have to pay the taxes.

But that is not the issue. As Malaysians, we ALL have to pay the taxes because we are all part of this land (or so they tell us during tax collection time) and we all enjoy the bountiful benefits the country has provided: like the immensity of our public amenities, the wonderful health benefits, the superb road systems, the friendly government services…

Okay. One can tell that I am being sarcastic.

Because this is also the time I pay my road tax. I pay toll for the highways I drive on, and then I also have to pay for the roads that I drive on. The only difference between a private highway and a public road is that the latter would only result in more payment to replace my car tires and suspension.

So I am doubly bitter.

It is, after all, that time of the year that I hate. And although I am not taxed as much as some high earners, I have a right to know that my contribution doesn’t go to waste.

Like…will my hard earned money be wasted on yet another steel monstrosity in another roundabout?

Or perhaps on more redundant road signs? (Have you noticed how ‘beautiful’ the road signs have become with their black and gold metal trimmings? I have one just like that outside my area and it states… PETALING JAYA. Oh really?)

Or maybe on more new palm trees to doll up this city? They uproot the old ones and replace them with new ones that look pretty much the same.

Or maybe my tax money goes to all those fragile little flowers by the roadside that need to be changed according to season?

But those expenditures are only a pinch on the surface. I really don’t know what they do with my money, in fact I don't think they have a clue as well, but I do know a huge part of it goes to those who bite the hands that feed them.

I have often noticed that the taxation department is the only government service with people that are truly nice. They actually care. They speak differently. They smile differently. They seem to really love their job. They are polite. They are sensitive and understanding. They even speak great English. And no matter how many silly questions I ask, they listen.

Why?

Is it because we are more respectable as citizens during this collection period and within this particular department?

We go to every other government department and we get imbecile treatment simply because we want something from them. We want our passports. We want our IC done. We want to make a complaint. We want. We want. We want.

But here, at the Lembaga Hasil Dalam Negeri, THEY WANT. THEY WANT. THEY WANT. Which is fine by me, because I am a responsible citizen and I will not skirt my taxes. But after I have done my payment, no matter how big or small, to the nice smiling tax collectors, will the other departments remember my contribution?

Tax me if you must, it's part and parcel of belonging to a country. Only... I sometimes feel that my money isn’t being put to good use. It’s being used alright, but not necessary in a good way.

Maybe I am just ignorant but I really wouldn’t mind some money being channeled into the education system to buy stationery, books, furniture, even a new coat of paint. Just don’t hike up the prices by 500%. If the future generation gets the education they deserve no matter where they are, rural or urban, then perhaps we can have future youths that know how to think before they speak, and future leaders that know how to lead.

I also wouldn’t mind my money going into the local art scenes because art breeds culture; art opens minds and hearts; art transcends boundaries; art educates and gives us back the humility we are so lacking of. So instead of dragging our street artistes to jail and haggling with local craftsmen, give them a little support, a little love.

I especially wouldn’t mind giving the police, firemen, hospital staff, street sweepers, rubbish collectors, school teachers, scholars, and anyone that matters (which means everyone), a bigger paycheck so that they can do their jobs better, faster and with more fervour. The more they get paid for what they do, the better they will be at it and the more satisfied I will be as a tax payer. It’s a simple math I suppose…or perhaps I am too boldly ignorant.

But no matter how ignorant I am, this is what I know for sure…

I know that right now my tax money helps put guns into the hands of our children so that they may know how to defend our country but we can’t even protect the poor, the weak, the minority.

I know that right now, my tax money goes into putting a very small population of TWO in space when half the nation can’t afford a decent holiday.

I know that right now, my tax money is being used to build bridges that crack and buildings that will never be completed when there are families on the street without decent shelter.

And I also know that right now, my tax money is being used to set records on what’s bigger, faster, taller, longer, grander, flashier without keeping in mind of what’s better for us all.

And I suppose the main source of my bitterness also comes from watching Sicko, one of Michael Moore’s famous documentaries. It shows how the French, Canadians and even the Cubans protect and care for their tax payers. Watch it and be awed.

After this life-changing documentary, I, as a taxpaying citizen of Malaysia, am bitter.

And I am compelled to ask, WHERE IS MY MONEY?

5...4...3...2...1...

2008-01-09T18:54:00.000+08:00

What does the New Year bring for me? I suppose that is something everyone asks. And according the tread of popular bloggings, no one seems to have a very jolly view of the New Year. And why should they?

The government is a playhouse.

Racial gaps are more clear and present in the parliament than on our streets.

Political scandals are turning all newspapers into ludicrous tabloid reads.

Crime prevails no matter what ‘new’ emergency number we call.

Peaceful rallies for a better country are considered a threat to society.

Floodings are no longer prevented, they are prepared for.

Our Malaysian flag can no longer be soiled, worn, or quartered into creamy cubes of cake to be served on paper plates.

The word used for God is now a copyright (so I don’t think I am allowed to spell it out).

The upcoming elections will just be like another gamble at the slots coz you’ll never walk away a winner, the machine always wins.

Poverty isn’t being stopped, it just gets relocated.

Haze is now considered a seasonal norm.

Cooking oil is out of supply and petrol prices will go up, again.

But I suppose something good must come out of this New Year…

I’ve just given up trying to find out what.

Written on stone

2007-12-18T15:12:00.000+08:00

Writing is my nature, as it is my passion.

But advertising writing is a sort of washing-machine-writing to me. You pile in the dirty, smelly stuff and after a few rounds, it comes out smelling good and looking somewhat presentable. Advertisers weave good stories out of products which often start out without benefits, without a name, or recognition, or market value, then we add in the sugar, spice and colours, throw it into a nicely wrapped package, and lo and behold, there is something worth taking home after all!

Well…sometimes.

I’ve written for many products. Restaurants, funeral parlours, unwanted property, cancer, eye wear, scar serums, fake eyebrows, and once, even an 80 year old’s birthday invitation. I’ve written for different mediums: Radios, press, television commercials, leaflets, postcards, button badges, even the words you read at the back of the taxi.

It’s all a bit of fun, frustration and loads of imitation (the ad world calls it improvisation). And that’s the best thing about being an advertising writer. I get to slip on different shoes, try different things, live different lives.

Then last week, I was asked to do something totally different - an epitaph for a good friend who just lost a mother; a husband who just lost a wife; and an entire clan who just lost a loved one before her time was due. And I have to say, it was the toughest job I agreed to do.

Because suddenly, I was asked to write something that truly mattered to the heart, something selfless that did not have to meet the sales quota or the demands of clients trying to fit 1000 words into a small overpriced space that no one will ever read.

I had to put in the final words that would do justice to someone wonderful, someone I used to know, someone who took care of me once a long time ago. And it was tough because I was in charge of putting the truth about this person’s life down and to turn an untimely parting into an occasion of hope and remembrance – all with the simple play of words.

It was the shortest, hardest thing I had to write and for the first time, words did not seem to be enough. And I wished there was space for 1000 words because there was just so much to say. Every word I penned, I feared. I feared for its failure to describe this wonderful person.

But a ‘job’ had to be done and so I wrote with my heart instead of my head. And I wrote and wrote and rewrote countless different ways of saying what needed to be said; words that will sing the song of an extraordinary woman; words that will comfort the living as they try to move on; words that will fill in the silence when tears take over; words that will be set in stone, forever.

And now that it is done, I still feel the urge to go back and reword it, make it longer, make it shorter, change it, or make it better, because that is the nature of writing when it comes from the heart.

My mom washes plastic bags.

2007-12-14T15:21:00.000+08:00

Yes. My mom washes plastic bags. I saw them flapping on the clothes line where our wet clothes would normally hang. My family is quite a hippy flower-power lot. And although I do my part in being environmentally conscious like - saying no to plastic bags at counters, not buying anything that comes in Styrofoam, reusing plastic bottles and recycling, I’ve discovered that they will always be one giant leap ahead of me.

Someone once compared my family to the way Mormons lived. In what little I know about that culture…perhaps.

Although we live in the middle of Petaling Jaya, mom grows her own vegetables and we have a year-round supply of papayas and pineapples, pandan leaves, serai, ginger, chilies, spring onions and such. She even has a dubious looking herb plot with all sorts of plants used for all sorts of ailments from ridding mosquitoes to soothing chicken pox and curing kidney stones.

We also have our own fish pond where dad used to breed catfish and tilapia for dinner until we grew out of the ‘lets-eat-our-PETS-phase’. Now the fishes live threat-free, thriving over our leftovers, so nothing goes to waste.

And for the leftovers that do get wasted, we turn it into compos, which isn’t a really cool thing actually when one allows it to manifest in the kitchen. All our food scrapes and leftovers along with all the soap-free water used to wash vegetables or rinse plates are piled into a bucket under the table and left to soak in its own goodness - ‘Waste not’ is a true motto of the family. This bucket is emptied once a day and buried in our gardens, which sort of explains how and why our veg and fruits get so sweet.

And if compos is not enough, my grandma goes about spraying her golden liquid from her morning’s collection onto the blooming orchids, vegetables and fruit trees around the garden. I have always been amazed at how much a little old woman can produce overnight. And its extra ingredients like that that remind me never to eat home on those organic nights.

On my dad’s part, he throws nothing away. He rips apart mattresses to reuse the foam and will find some nifty use for the springs. He took apart grandpa’s old TV and mom’s old vacuum and found a way to reuse the motors. Even the old speaker frames made it as a table stand. Air-con filters, leaky pipes, old generators; there is always an idea for dad to work on, so NOTHING ever leaves the house without some sort of weight deduction.

Dad even makes the family soap from vegetable oils and his very own recipe. He’ll throw in some Vit E capsules and pounded neem leaves (from the garden of course) or orange peel (from our dessert leftovers of course) and then he’ll tell us that it’s great for the skin. I don’t mind the organic feel and I love his enthusiasm but I do prefer not to smell like a patch of wet grass or yesterday’s fruit platter.

Of course normal recycling is not beyond us. We also do the standard recycling of plastics, glasses and cans which the garbage collectors are ever grateful for. Mom even recycles little plastic bits like the plastic rings on the bottle covers and the thin plastic egg cartons or vegetable storage boxes.

So, for KL standards, I think my family is a little out of the ordinary, which in turn makes me sort of weird. But it’s great to know we are doing our bit.

Although…there are awkward little moments that do make me think that maybe we are going a little too far. But this only happens when I bring my friends home and they happen to catch a whiff of the evening breeze combing through my gardens and when something pungent hits their olfactory senses, I always get the same question, “What’s that smell?” and I will always give the same answer, “Oh that? That’s my grandma.”

On the road

2007-12-10T10:39:00.000+08:00

Last night i saw a dead man, lying in the middle of the highway, lying in the cold rain, lying among the pieces of his motorcycle. Cars had to switch lanes to avoid going over him. Ironically, if the same had been done while he was alive, it wouldn't have ended up this way. And all i remembered thinking was whether his family was waiting somewhere for him.

Where I lay my hat down...

2007-12-04T12:18:00.000+08:00

Since coming back from Australia, I have always been asked the same question:

Did I never consider staying down under?

Yesterday night, a distant relative from Perth asked me the exact question. And like all other times, my answer was no.

Yes I loved the land down under. Yes it was one of the best years in my life. And to live the life they have, well, that would really be something because everything seemed so simple there. So organized. So clean. So free.

But for me, Australia seemed a little too simple, too organized, too clean, too free.

4 years ago, when I got on that plane heading back to Malaysia, I never once looked back. I never lamented my choice simply because when one is in love with their homeland the choice is never difficult.

I love the chaos of my country. I adore the colours of our people and of our cultures. I love the scents and smells of our streets. I miss listening to different tongues churning mysterious words. All in all, I miss the very essence that makes everything about Malaysia unique.

So when I said no to his question, I do not think my relative understood. In fact, he looked confused and somewhat sad. I know what goes through his mind. He reads the papers. He received news from family here. Malaysia is not what it used to be anymore. And it will probably get worse. In fact, the early morning ethnic Indian rally at the British Embassy was probably still troubling him.

So from his point of view, why would I want to be a part of all this?

Well, in truth, I do not want to be a part of this mess we are in. In truth, it must be easier to walk away from it all. But is it really that easy?

None of the places I have travelled to can reach out to me in a way that my country does, simply because Malaysia is the only place I feel I belong.

Sadly, there are some people who do not think so. There are some rules that make me feel second rated. There are some incidences that disturb me and others that discourage me. The chain of events happening now, the rallies and silent protests, the massive bloggings and silent papers are probably just a warm up session for a bigger eruption. And looking at how dictatorial our government has become, it won’t take long for peaceful rallies to become civil riots.

But despite it all, my answer to the question above will remain the same.

This country is for me. This is where I grew up, this is where my parents and my grandparents grew up, but sadly, I have come to realise that this may not be a country I would want for my children.

Good grains

2007-11-15T18:47:00.000+08:00

I have just come across the most ingenious website ever.

http://www.freerice.com/index.php

Whoever came out with the idea is a genius! I think that if I keep at it every day between my self-proclaimed breaks at the office, I'll be able to bombard this blog with all sorts of fanciful words.

It's great to know that I'll be stretching my vocabulary as well as someone else’s tummy but I sure hope my hard earned grains get to where they are supposed to.

BRILLIANT!

It didn't happen.

2007-11-13T15:30:00.000+08:00

40,000 people turn up at the 10th November rally for election transparency.

Thousands of policemen were deployed to intimidate them.

Traffic in Kuala Lumpur was at a standstill for hours.

The police attacked its own people on the streets.

Women, children and innocent pedestrians were caught in the midst of tear gas and chemical water cannons.

The street violence reaches the ears and eyes of CNN, Al-Jazeera, BBC, etc.

YouTube floods with scenes from the peaceful mass gathering and the chaos that followed.

And not as much as a squeak from our local news people.

On this day, our country's lawyers stood up for the people.

On this day, opposition parties joined forces.

On this day, tens of thousands of citizens turned up in defiance of the government's ban on the rally.

I wonder when our country's reporters will do the same.

A disturbing statement

2007-11-13T15:16:00.000+08:00

PRESS STATEMENT

BERSIH Gathering: Police blockades and use of force unnecessary

The Bar Council sent a team of 40 lawyers to monitor the BERSIH gathering on 10 November 2007.

The gathering despite being attended by tens of thousands, was disciplined and peaceful contrary to recent statements by Ministers and the Inspector-General of Police. It proves once again that Malaysian citizens are rational and responsible people capable of exercising their rights of expression and assembly with mature restraint.

There were nevertheless several worrying features in the conduct of the police:

a.. The large number of police personnel deployed to man blockades, to inspect and detain vehicles and persons, and further to prevent persons from entering the city to join the gathering was unreasonable. It was also a disproportionate use of resources which could have been channeled to other initiatives of crime-fighting.

b.. The barricades around Dataran Merdeka with heavy police and FRU personnel aimed at prohibiting persons from entering the square forced large groups of people to be concentrated in the immediate vicinity of the square such as Central Market and Masjid Jamek. This caused more inconvenience to those who did not wish to be at the gathering, and strengthened the spirit of those who did.

c.. The use of force around the areas of Masjid Jamek, Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman and Jalan Raja Laut to disperse unarmed and non-provocative crowds without prior warning was unnecessary. Deploying physical aggression and violence, and spraying chemically-laced water and tear gas are measures of last resort, not of first instance. As a result, it was unfortunate that several people were injured and many others including bystanders hurt by the chemicals in the water and gas. It is noteworthy that the authorities initiated physical force on the crowds, and caused blockades and 'stand-offs' on the roads to prevent anyone from walking to Dataran Merdeka on to Istana Negara. Unsurprisingly however, and due to the sheer numbers of participants, the majority if not all of them found their way by different routes to the Istana Negara road.

d.. The deployment of several police helicopters flying very low to the ground was extremely dangerous in addition to being provocative and a form of intimidation. Further, the noise the helicopters created interrupted essential communications for those who were at the gathering and the authorities on the ground.

e.. Despite the recent introduction of section 28A of the Criminal Procedure Code, the police refused to give the Bar's Urgent Arrest Lawyers Team access to those who were arrested and detained. No accurate and adequate information on the detainees and their grounds of arrest was forthcoming. Our lawyers had to force their way into the police station to seek further information. A police report has been lodged, and the Bar Council trusts the police will investigate the complaint immediately.
At about 11.00pm on 10 November 2007, 34 persons were arrested and released in separate batches. There were several who needed medical treatment and were sent to the hospital by our lawyers.

The Bar Council reiterates its position that citizens must be allowed the right to peacefully assemble in exercising their democratic and fundamental human right. We urge the authorities to facilitate this fundamental right of freedom of expression and assembly.

The BERSIH gathering is clear evidence :
(a) that attempts to block assemblies would create greater unintended chaos than had the same be facilitated to proceed expeditiously and
(b) that large yet peaceful gatherings may be organised in our country without the necessity of obtaining permits from the police. This requirement in section 27 of the Police Act 1967 that permits must be given before an assembly may be held must be repealed immediately.

by Ambiga Sreenevasan
President
Malaysian Bar
12 November 2007

No loose change?

2007-11-12T15:41:00.000+08:00

We were in a car at a highway toll one wet Sunday night. And like any polite, law abiding citizen, we waited our turn in the ordinary chaos of our toll system, where street lines do not direct cars to where it should and where the cashiers can never keep up.

It was not a long wait to get to the ticket counter and just as we were about to pass through as a reward for our 10-minute patience, sirens blared from behind.

Fire truck?

Ambulance?

No. it was a police car trying to butt its way in to the front of the line.

An emergency we thought.

Wrong again. The police car was followed by a shiny Mercedes-Benz spotting a royal emblem. I am not at ease naming the royalty but if one has traveled the long journey from the northernmost state of the Peninsular down to our fine city, I suppose one thinks they own the right to cut queue.

So like any smart citizen heeding the flashing sirens and the warnings from the police speakers, we backed off to let the blue bloods through. It was the one gracious act we could do given the circumstances.

When both cars zoomed pass the toll booth without as much as paying the usual rate, a sudden sense of unfairness crept through me. Our hard earned tax and toll money goes into paying for and upkeeping these roads. Therefore, I would like to think that the roads of Malaysia is one place we can be treated as equals. Apparently not.

Sadly, in a land that claims democracy, we are still slaves to hierarchy. But it is something we are accustomed to when it comes to VIPS on and off wheels.

You don’t want to wait. It’s ok. We’ll wait. Our business cannot be as important as your stately affairs.

You don’t want to queue. It’s ok. We’ll give way. It is our responsibility to be more courteous.

You don’t want to pay. It’s ok. We’ll pay for you. After all, we, as citizens of Malaysia, are generous.

But the least you could do, as a leader of the people, is to apply for a SMART TAG – it would really do us, lesser folks, a really big favour.

Jeju island, South Korea

2007-10-23T13:40:00.000+08:00

The island is beautiful.

Jeju island. An island throbbing with life and passion. An island built on heat and flowing fire. An island whose foundation rests on age-old rocks cooled by the earth's gentle winds millions of years ago. Where nature thrives close to the sea; deep blue and inaccessible except for the eye. Jeju island - this is where I am. They call it the honeymoon island of Korea. They call it the most beautiful island in Korea. I am at the southern most tip of Korea in its most scenic horizons. And i miss my home.

Weak and beautiful

2007-09-14T11:29:00.000+08:00

There comes a time in any woman’s life when she starts to question the point of her existence in a male dominated world. Granted, our world today is not as bad as it used to be. And that we happen to have more rights than our grandmothers or our mothers did. Yet, more rights do not necessarily mean equal rights. But I digress…

The fact is that as a female, I am bound, by an unwritten code, to be a passive witness as my female friends run through their lives like an impending train wreck. I see the signs of doom up ahead, but there is nothing I can do to stop them because they do not want to be stopped. They just want an ear witness to their lives.

On one side I have a love struck friend, totally way over her head, head over heels in love, obsessed, possessed, crazed, voodooed… If Cupid struck any harder, she would be dead from an open wound. And all this for a man who made sweet love to her then left her cold, citing irreconcilable differences as a lame excuse for wooing, bedding then leaving the girl. But still…she thinks of him, does things for him, loves him.

On another side, I have a 38th (now 40th) week bloated mother-to-be due to give birth any second. A week before her delivery date, THE man, THE father of her child, walks out on her life. He packed his bags, took his modem and ciao! Her next step? Forcing the man to give up all parental rights. Then slapping on a restraining order to add to the sting. Or so she says. But you know what? When the man comes back begging on his knees, if he does, I bet my bottom ringgit she will let the father of her daughter back in, simply because she still has the heart to.

Then there is this wonderfully smart woman who has a wonderfully gorgeous baby out of wedlock. She ‘escaped’ back home to Malaysia to have the child, knowing very well that her lack of rights as a woman in a foreign country could overshadow her basic right as a mother, thus adding to the risk of losing her baby to a man who, incidentally, is so eager to be a dad, yet is so horribly bad at it. And what of this man? He is safely Down Under, too busy drinking and gambling his flight ticket away.

Un-perfect scenarios of what used-to-be perfect lives? Perhaps not. Although no woman would want to be caught in any of these situations, I cannot help but feel a sense of pride, at their strength and perseverance, at their confidence and resolve to see things through, at their ability to shift blame and take on responsibility.

When men back out from the game, I find women stand in as much stronger players.