In The City

In the city. On weekdays, streets turn into gigantic parking lots twice a day; and nothing short of a fuming mess on weekends. Tension builds by the minute as traffic police redirect vehicles at junctions that don’t require any attention. The honker is the average Joe’s police escort siren as they squeeze into 6 inches of a bus and a side walk. 1 plus 1 equals 3 and 3 equals 5 as you navigate with astronautical accuracy through 5 lanes of vehicles on a 3 lane road that bottle necks into 2 lanes. A fender-bender is never your fault whatever way you look at it because every single driver on the road is stupid. Truck drivers are Gods, bus drivers are druggies and motorcyclist are the little dots on a Pac-man game. Upgrading your car is more important than a Rm5 meal cause the car gets you “booty”. So imagine how urgent it must be when a revved up Fairlady is squeezing in and out of traffic, flashing and honking on your tailpipe at 10 o’clock in the evening.

In the city. You party all night to relax after a full week of hard work. Mondays are a drag. Tuesdays are date nights. Wednesdays and Thursdays are Lady’s Night; when both liquor and women are supposedly free. On Fridays and Saturdays, you load yourself with alcohol to the brink of poisoning while pumping smog down you lungs because you can live forever; getting so trashed that you cannot walk 20 feet to your car but you can drive 20 kilometres home. Cops spoil the fun while accidents are caused by other stupid drivers who think they can drive after high consumption of liquor. Sundays are for quality time with the wife and kids, running errands and portraying good citizenship, and all the while recovering from a hangover from drinks you did not have the night before.

In the city. Hormones are an ever rising commodity even when the stock market crashes. Sex is an aftertaste from partying if it’s with someone who wears Oakley’s sunglasses, Giorgio Armani jeans and drives nothing short of a 2-year old Honda Accord with 15 hundred dollar sport rims for starters. Sex is a horrible and morally distasteful act if you wake up in a stranger’s rented room and realise that you had hit the town with your boyfriend last night. Your best buddy’s lover is always a potential scandal; just ensure that you fuck him where it’s most likely for the “innocent” party to walk in. A one night stand is getting drunk and going home with a “mat-salleh”. An affair is fucking a rich old man who pays your bills. A relationship is fucking the same person more than once and not getting paid. Going out with an average Joe is for one who is young dumb and full of cum. Going out with a guy whose father is a rich tycoon is a free ticket for luxury. Going out with the tycoon himself is preparation to settle down. Going out with a rich “mat-salleh” makes you elite. No classification for guys cause they fuck anything on 2 legs and stilettos.
Every woman aspires to be Paris Hilton, Jessica Simpson or any other sluttishly clothed white-trash-female-sex-bomb. A guy gawking at your tits as they bob around through your transparent tank top while you pump away on the podium is a dirty minded sex fiend. The guy not drooling at your front-end bumpers must certainly be gay. Women at night clubs are not sluts. They don’t fuck just anybody, only strangers who buy them loads of whiskey.

In the city. The line between Metro-sexuality and Homo-sexuality is becoming a blur as Transsexuals become more appealing as guys come to terms with their feminine side; ladies dress to kill for other ladies; and the lady selling you the latest in Paris Hilton’s must have perfumes is not a woman. Once again, guys fuck anything on 2 legs and stilettos.

In the city. Love is the refined art of buying the most extravagant gift your credit card can afford you. Valentine’s Day is the day restaurants get to charge you extra for visiting them. You don’t spend Rm50 for a bouquet of flowers all year rounds because love is roses at 50 a pop on Feb 14. Chocolates are a poor man’s gift to a woman unless it is followed on with a diamond necklace. The wine list is for style because neither of you know the difference between a Merlot and a Pinot Noir.

In the city. A General Relations Office (GRO) is a good job to meet highly successful businessmen. Clubs pay them to spend time with customers and coax them to spend on liquor; customers pay them for their time and an excuse to spend on liquor. GROs are not prostitutes, however they are willing to give you a blowjob at Rm80 and fuck you for nothing less than Rm150. This is called Value Added Service.

In the city. Lifestyle magazines are informative and books are for boring nerds. Conversations are only seen over the Short-Messaging-Service (SMS) or online messenger software. You meet new people through social community websites where you can display the 1191 friends you have but do not keep in touch with.

In the city. Individuality is the art of being noticed. You can be yourself and yet never truly be you. You can be yourself by being like others. Be you but never show the real you cause you never know who you can trust.
Indians are African Americans who have never lived in the States, aspire to be the next Tupac and think the Chicago Bulls and L.A. Lakers are Hip-Hop gangs. Chinese are Chinese still; only this year they are Koreans. Two years back they were Japanese and before that they were Hongkies. I think next year they are going on Hindis. Malays; well, they listen to Indonesian music and live in the eighties rock era. A motorbike is great for picking up chics, a Proton means “married and responsible” and a family van says you are important. Anything more than that means you are rich. Punjabis are a powerful people in the nation because they all know the richest man in Malaysia, the biggest gangster in Brickfields and are all related to the most powerful lawyer in the country. The Ex-pats have it best: Earn in Pounds, spend in Ringgit and everybody wants to know you.

In the city. Candy can be spelt Candi, Candie, Candii or simply replace the “C” with a ‘K’. Soon Q4nd13 will be the accepted version. A formal email from an executive today would go something like this “D meetin wif d MD wil b Monday 9am @ d confrnc rm. Pls hv ur reports rdy n spell chk. Dun b l8. C4nd13”

In the city. A place where one can shop aimlessly for things the idiot box told you to buy because you could not live without; or that if you wanted to be as successful as Donald Trump or Angelina Jolie, you’d never leave home without it; or that if you wanted to look like a supermodel such as Tyra Banks or Haeley Berry, you’d just die if you did not have it. A shopping mall is a trophy for every growing city; two makes your city worth mentioning in a conversation; three or more means it’s a weekend destination. A city tour in K.L. is never complete without Suria KLCC, Mid-Valley or The Curve on the list.

In the city. Every major fashion apparel company pays advertising agencies millions every year to get ads, billboards and a hundred other ways of throwing their names at you. Then stupid consumers spend at least that same amount every week at malls and boutiques to do the same thing for them cause your chances of picking a woman increases with more expensive branding. Everybody walks around town wearing Rm2000 outfits flashing its individual brands as a declaration of independence. Don’t be surprise if a total fashion misfit introduces himself to you think your name must certainly be Valentino.
“Hi my is Adam. I’m wearing an Armani shirt, Dockers pant, Calvin Klien briefs and Nike shoes.”

“Nice to meet you Adam Armani Dockers Calvin Klien Nike. That’s a very long name. I’m simply Victor.”

Untitled

It’s been too long since I have had a friend to confide in. It has been too long since I have felt the touch of another human being, the air of breath that mist on the window panes in winter, the conversations that eases the mind. Months have passed since I have felt the skin of a woman pressed against mine. Months have passed since I have heard soft whispered white lies in my ears. I have forgotten the scent of a woman. I have forgotten the sweet smell of passion. I have forgotten the warmth of love. Now as I stand facing the most vexed and troubled times of my life and I cannot but feel a greater sense of loneliness than ever before. But I cannot love either. I cannot love because I cannot trust. What is love without trust?

Once I was hurt. I bled. But I forgot.
Then I was hurt. I bled. I remembered.
Then again I was hurt and again I bled. I remembered too.
And again and again and again I was hurt. And I bled and bled and bled. And I remember still.

I remember the steel against my skin, splitting my flesh. I remember feeling the dagger pierce my heart many times over. With each thrust more painful than the previous. I remember the heartless faces that stared at me with hollowed sockets of darkness. I felt its anger. I felt its hatred. I felt its scorn. And I felt the presence of Abbandon, Belial, Legion and Sammael. I cowered in its shadow. I bled love! I bled trust! I bled everything good within me!
Now I am left with pain; with hurt; with misgiving. Fortitude eludes me.
No longer do I stand before God. No longer am I accepted at the gates of Heaven. Now I stand at the barren dessert gates of Hell in the hope that at least this final place may accept me.

“Anubis! Hades! Pluto! Lucifer!” I called. I called again. And again. But nay even here I am refused entry. Even in Hell where all are welcomed all year around, I am refused entry. I stood there and watched the hounds of hell sniff at me and turn away in disgust. Even as flesh I am left like a rotting carcass on a forgotten trail, sneered on by ugly vultures. Maybe purgatory may accept me. Maybe the Cenobites will take me. I now know that there is nothing left for me. Never could I have envisioned a deeper sense of rejection. Standing there in the dessert; refused by Heaven and Hell. I have nothing left to loose. I have no one left to account for or be accountable to. For I can bleed no more.

I am beyond lonely.
I am beyond abandoned.
I am living death.

Demons in Us

We all have our demons.

Good people or bad people; civilized or barbaric; beauty or beast. We all have something that taunts us and keep us awake at night as we lay in the darkness staring into the black void. Call it guilt; call it remorse or simply mea culpa. We all have something that makes us weak and frail; something we don’t want our friends to know about; something that leads us to take stupid unreasonable actions. We all have things we regret, some more than others. We all have at one time or another fallen from grace. Mistakes made intentionally or unwittingly. Ill-decisions from the best of intentions or from the darkest recesses of our minds. Some of us ignore them and reward ourselves for each tiny little nuance of virtuosity. Some of us create our own delusional reality convinced that we already are angelic and can do no wrong. Some of us rationalize and believe it was all someone else’s fault that we did what we did. Some of us attempt to create more order, perfecting things that don’t need perfecting in an effort to make up for past errors. Others repent through punishment, sending themselves deeper into the pit of remorse.

We all have our demons.

However you may look at it, we are after all simply human. Whether that is a reason or an excuse is entirely up to you. For if you think it right or if you think it wrong; you are right. But as humans we are prone to make mistakes, learn from it and move on. We have a gift that no other creature on Earth has and that is the gift of compassion. We have the ability to forgive. We have the ability to choose if we would free ourselves and the ones around us of the mistakes we make. We have the ability to choose if we would live in the past or work towards the future. And that is a choice we make every single day of our lives.

We all have our demons.

Have you never lied? Have you never hated? Have you never left a friend in need? Have you never lusted for your friend’s girlfriend or boyfriend or spouse? Have you never broken a promise?
Jesus said, “Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone.”

We all have our demons.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

Thomas Jefferson

Burn The Boats

It all started with what seemed to be a great job offer with a friend of mine who was venturing into a business of his own. I was at the time planning to leave my employment as things were not going as smoothly as I had hoped. I was working with the promotion arm of an international advertising agency where I had to coordinate and monitor promotional projects, and conduct training for promoters for several brands. My department was putting in 25 hours a day 8 days a week. In my two years with the company I never had an opportunity to take any real holidays and so I was on a head on collision to burn out. My new employment was offering me a 30% increase in wage and 60% less hours. It was to be a meditation gymnasium or so to speak with a rather interesting approach combining old and new methods of achieving Nirvana. I thought (and still do) that it had potential but unfortunately things did not work out as planned. First like many young and inexperience entrepreneurs who venture into business he swore with absolute certainty that he had three investors pumping in close to RM200K. Much to everyone’s surprise we never saw the initial capital, the investors or Hailey’s Comet that year. Not wanting to loose any dignity after announcing his great plans for world domination; he proceeded to open office without any real funds. Like most business people of today, their main objective in starting a business is to be in control, to be the “Boss-man”, "da Big Kahuna". The office took two months to get into gear and when it finally did we had no funds to proceed for even the simplest classifieds advertisement to hire a sales team. The product was never really conceived as he had a different structure to it every two days and although he was advised to do so in order for Marketing to promote the product, he never came into grips with reality. So everyday he comes in at about lunchtime, gets as much work done as the cleaning lady on a Friday afternoon and leaves at 6pm for a so-called important business meeting at a local Indian restaurant. Just the same, everyone was expected to take him seriously while he insisted that his somewhat non-existing sales team sell imaginary products to real customers. Every marketing plan that was agreed on was perfect until datelines crept up his back and then like an epiphany he would discover a whole new approach – this eventually became a weekly affair. This made marketing about as useful as watching a pair of dogs sniff at each other’s butts. About mid-February, my ex-boss from the previous company offers me a job to run a promotion project that was not going as smooth as he had anticipated. Due to yet another unforeseen financial circumstance coupled together with the lack of expectation management that too was cut-short of its run.

It was in this period when it was brought to my attention that I should start a company of my own and at about that same time I came to realise there were two major epochs in my life which eradicate a large portion of my cosmetic friends. The first was during the reign of my Cleopatra that took me down like she did Julius Caesar and Mark Anthony in 1991. The second time was during my recent financial destitution that I had previously mentioned. During the second epoch, I have had to approach friends for some financial help until I got back on my own two feet. Most of them got very busy very fast - déjà vu. I had to seek for alternatives and I had to find it fast.

Over the next two years I had managed to get myself into a reading habit – a habit not very common of Malaysians. I got into reading self-development books and I discovered that from one book to the next there is not much difference. I was warned about this by friends who were trying to save me from the onslaught of brain-washing that these books supposedly took. Imagine that, a book that controls your mind. I mean – what would a book command of you? As I read these book that repeat themselves, I also realised that as many friends I had known who had ever placed their ocular implants on these taboo books just as many have never practiced anything they read; if at all they had read them. From books I eventually evolved to audio material, and that was a short drive to seminars.

In all this, one story caught my attention.

In the sixteenth century General Hernando Cortés left Spain with an army of less than 600 to explore the Yucatan Peninsular. He was told of great treasures held by the Aztecs but they had a formidable army. He knew what he wanted and he knew where to find it. Now, there were many who had tried to conquer this nation for their gold and just as many had failed. Having only a small naval force, Cortés understood that he had to change his approach in order to achieve his goal. So when they beached the Mexican shores, General Cortés stood before his people just as many Generals had done in the past before a great battle to give an uplifting speech before battle. But he also knew that a great motivational speech was not going to be enough to defeat a strong Aztec nation on their home ground. So, he said three words that would change the outcome of this battle and forever etch his name into history. He said, “Burn the Boats!” Yes, he had his boats torched. “Why?” you would ask. Well if Cortés’s army had lost the battle they would not need their boats anyway. However, if they won the battle they could build new boats or they could stay and reap the fruits of their victory. Burning the boats gave them no choice but to win the battle cause they could not run. And they did win.

Where am I going with all this?

After spending countless hours on self-development book, motivational seminar recordings and a small dive into the biographies of the successful, I have discovered that they all preach the same thing. Now why would so many successful people in unison preach something that does not work for over the last several centuries? Maybe it is how they keep the masses in check so that they stay rich and we stay mediocre and poor – a conspiracy that spans the books from Alexander the Great to Napoleon Bonaparte, from Stalin to JFK, from Ghandi to Bill Gates and from the White House to the lecture Halls of Robert T. Kyosaki. They were all in it. Come on. Get real. They are successful because they had a set of principle that they followed without compromise. A set of principles that is different from ours. There is a very clear line that divides the successful from the mediocre. And the only reason we are where we are is because we covet our existence so much that we never see the big picture. Those materials brought to my attention a habit that I thought was only distinguishable of my own nature and that was embarking on a journey of change but never achieving it. It was frustrating. I know many people who start a diet they never follow through, or an exercise regime that falls short of a ship wreck. We talk about changing our career paths to get better paying jobs and better opportunities but we end up right where we started. Smokers constantly claim that it is impossible to quit smoking because they have tried and failed miserably. Friends saying that they’d love to develop a reading habit so they’d learn new things but can’t seem to get past page ten. I have had that “No Way Out” conversation with too many people.

Someone once quoted that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. Understand this – the laws of physic do not change. If you throw a ball into the air it, will come back down – it’s the law of gravity. Throwing it again and again will never keep the ball afloat. You have to change your approach. You need to leave behind the things that you had known and learn new things. Think about it – not more than a century ago, the idea of sending a man into space was considered unreal and childish but today we are planning manned missions to Mars. My teachers used to tell me that I could achieve anything I want if I only set my mind to it. For many years I misunderstood that, and so have many of you. Most of us just think and dream of the things that we want but we hardly ever think about how we are doing it – setting a course to your destination. Most of us set our minds on the things we want (the destination) but never set our minds to it (the path or method). We don’t want to change what we are comfortable doing on a daily basis – rushing to work, chasing deadline, kissing asses, cursing drivers, getting drunk, crashing cars. If you want great things, you have to do great things. Do things differently and you will see different results. That may even include changing the people you spend most of your time with. I’m not saying that you have to leave your friends behind, you might but you don’t have to. Ask yourself, “Who is it that I spend most of my time with and what influence do they have on me?” Yes, thinking about it may sometimes result in leaving certain friends behind, changing your work environment, moving house, or even moving to another city. If you actually spend the time to think about what is important in your life and not flock to the bars like little sheep to their shepherd’s call, you may find a need for drastic changes. So drastic that you may need to ensure a “No U-Turn” sign is firmly placed in order to force yourself to do something different, something that is not normal of you, something that might even scare you but most importantly – stick with it until it is done.

“Success is the gradual realisation of a worthy ideal” – Earl Nightingale

Change will not happen over night but it will happen. It could take weeks to annihilate a bad habit and develop new better ones but you will need to get on with what is necessary not what you have been doing for the last two thousand years. Give up that evening drink at the bar and spend it jogging at the park. Instead of eating fried, oily and hi-carb meals at the mamak, try some wholemeal bread, a thin spread of butter, tomatoes, lettuce, and two slices of ham twice a week. Pick up a book and spend fifteen minutes reading it everyday before you sleep. Cut back on those cigarettes gradually. If all else fails – tell your friends that you’d buy them dinner at La Bodega for a week if you don’t achieve your goal in a given time.

We all want change; but are we willing to take that leap of faith and burn our boats?

Banging Down The House

I was sitting at Starbuck on a Monday afternoon, regurgitating my futile attempts at downloading the non-Malaysian commercial junk music on a bad P2P connection. Sicken with non-progressing music theft, I logged on to my yahoo account and notice an interesting email request from a friend. She works with a local magazine and was writing an article on the topic of how some couples these days living with their parents have sex without waking the household. An interesting topic. I wondered how it never came up in any conversations before. Anyway, for those of you who may be fortunate enough to have a place of your own, you may be wondering why on earth would anybody still live with their parents after marriage. A good question. Well as a 30 years old failure at relationships, I for one still live with my parents and know many who still do. It is interesting to know that there are still some non-MTV generation people out there.

I have had many conversations with friends about living out and being independent and to each his/her own. I have however, come to a conclusion that in majority the driving force is sex and nothing more. Yes, I hear the “I need my independence and privacy”, “I cannot stand sharing my house with other people”, “I need my space” and “I have to show that I can stand on my own two feet” excuses, but it always and most certainly ends with “it’s easier when I need a place to bang” and “to bang” being the operative street term for “after party sex with people I can choose not to remember the next morning”. It seems that in our growing Neo-Roma society, one night stands is an “in-thing”, it’s trendy to have sex with different partners and decide who you’d like to go steady with later. At one point in time, in my adolescent mind, I thought that it was a “guy-thing” to have one-nighters but in recent years it has come to my attention that it is ever more common with women. It used to be just guys having a black book, now women have red books, and it’s an even longer list than the what the guys have that some have discarded the book altogether. Since the “burning of bra” in the sixties, the female liberation has gone far beyond equal pay checks and job opportunities. It now includes equal sexual opportunities and it’s evermore blatant when you take a walk down Bangsar, Hatramas, or Sultan Ismail on a weekend night. Most of the time I can’t tell the difference between a hot chick on a prowl and a prostitute; actually I can – the prostitute is not as hot or sexy. Then there is the long term one night stands; a form of interview to see if you can have sex with this person on a long term basis. Need we explore this?

So, when you come right down to it; living it out is simply a sexual drive. So what happens after fifty, sixty sexual partners, when one does meet the right person and settles down?

Well it starts off with fancy dinner dates. Then not-so-fancy dinnerdates. “The-tarik”. Party at a friend’s place. First night of passionate love making. More passionate love making. Sex on the weekends. Her shag-shack becomes redundant; she gives-up her place and move in. Sex every night. Contraceptive awareness. Two years later, the question is popped and the shag-shack is no more. It is now a home to be. Six months later is the expensive wedding ceremony, inviting people you don’t like but are related to, colleagues you don’t care about who can gossip about how great your wedding was, and some friends; the irony of a celebration. Then it’s of to a wonderful honeymoon in some faraway common holiday destination that everyone in your office have been wishing to go to and all fully paid by Mr. Brand New Husband; there goes the independence and equal-opportunity seminar. A week later it’s “welcome home to reality”. The bills start to pour in and Mr. Brand New Husband is getting stressed out evaluating his financial situation. It’s overwhelming. We need to rent out that house we just purchased in Kiara Mas just to pay off the wedding. So where do we live?...

Mum? Dad?

Yes, we fall back on the one couple that can and should never turn their backs on us in our time of need; should they want to see a grandchild. I have actually witnessed mothers asking their daughters when they would see a progeny of their daughter and fathers asking their sons if they plan on continuing the family bloodline. Yes, and there my friend is the key to having sex at home, with your parents next

door. Now, I am certain that you are asking yourself, “How could anyone possibly have sex with their parents in the next room?”

Well, think about it. Several months after the honeymoon, no sex, you can’t go out for a one night stand, no shag-shack, parental pressure for an offspring, friends questioning your fertility, the wife is planting baby pictures everywhere and asking if she is still desirable to you, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It is just a matter of time before the idea that mum might have her ear on the base of a glass over the adjoining wall become as important as faecal matter. Some six months down the road, this hogwash goes down the drain and the decision is made to jump the wife and have wild sex. The pressure is on. Now it’s just a matter of timing – when should Mr Husband do it and what is the excuse? You don’t want to come off desperate but you are and you don’t want it to look like it’s a matter of reputation cause it is. The answer - Valentine’s day, the greatest excuse ever created to buy roses at ten times its value only to watch it die three days later and having consenting sex after an overpriced dinner. Valentine’s Day is the mating season for Homo sapiens and a money maker for fine dining restaurants the world over. The only time of the year when you can actually feel the sexual heat while sitting alone in your apartment twenty floors from ground zero, watching reruns of “Sleepless in Seattle”.

So hubby calls the local florist and sends an extravagant bouquet to the eagerly anticipating wife at home. He reconfirms the restaurant reservations he made last week. He calls home and asks his darling to dress up for a surprise. Mr Husband leaves work early to beat the traffic and fetch his wife who is half way across town only to drive back into town to that fancy fine-dining restaurant. They arrive at the restaurant at half past seven. He is looking smart and melancholy. She is looking divine and perky. The waiters are scurrying all over the place. The maitre d' is extra polite. The couple have a lovely candlelight dinner for two as soft jazzy music channels through the speakers. He has a conservative well-done sirloin while she selects the fresh Scandinavian Salmon Steak Tarragon, the most expensive dish on the menu tonight. He glances over the wine list and selects a 2003 Pinot Noir – fruity, floral, lightly spicy, a little dry but most importantly, affordable. After dinner they have casual conversation, she does most of the talking while he compliments her through the night and agrees on everything she has to say. At half past nine he calls for the bill, a slight shock hits him but then he remembers the credit card. By ten they are at a bar, having more wine and adding dance to the night’s escapade. As eleven passes through, she whispers into his ear that she is tired and would like to go home. A soft lingering kiss on his cheek tells him that he has done well and a reward is well on its way. They head home with a passionate revival in their relationship. He enters the house with a slight clumsiness and she signals him to be quiet and another kiss hits his lips. They make their way as quietly as possible to their room upstairs. They take their turns in the washroom; her first then him. The heat is on. He starts off with soft nothings like how he loves her and how beautiful she is then he tells her how much he desires her. He kisses her gently on her lips, she kisses back. His hands start to slide down her back for the first time since the honeymoon and she lifts her body over towards him in surrender.

That night you’d have the best sex you have ever had – passionate, soft and mostly silent. Mum and dad heard nothing but the creaking bed and the two a.m. shower. You'd think they didn’t know, but mum passed down the hallway an hour ago and noticed the candlelight flickering through the door of your room. The next morning, honeybuns is up early and cooking breakfast for you. Your body is aching but you are still raunchy from last night. Mum notices the smile on her face and gives her a nudge; you try not to notice, half-finishing your breakfast you dash out with a flush on your face. That night you come home and find your wife waiting over dinner, you get control of the TV remote, a bath is drawn, she give you a rubdown in the bedroom, and it’s round two. By the forth day, you have gotten used to mum’s flamboyant remarks and dad’s nonchalant manly advice. It’s now acceptable. You are a healthy, proactive, productive couple on your way to family-hood. By the end of the week, you are both exhausted and together you decide to slowdown. Let’s do it on the weekends. Then it goes down every fortnight and eventually only once a month. You and your wife master the art of quick and silent sex, but mum and dad are not stupid. The unscheduled three minutes wash an hour after you had gone to bed is a dead giveaway.

And there you have it – sex next to your parent’s bedroom. It’s all about getting past the first night from shear desperation, being nonchalant to the idea the mum and dad are next door and remembering that the passport is the grandchildren.

Ritualistic Holidays

It was September 2002 – the first year anniversary of the 9-11 tragedy. For a country that was viewed by the rest of the world as a terrorist haven, our nation seemed to have openly joined in the mourning of the thousands who have died on that dreadful day. Widely publicised over air, print and local ISPs, I was beginning to wonder if I was still in Malaysia or that somehow unwittingly I had been teleported to the United States. Radio deejays spoke of 9-11 and terrorism throughout the week repeating themselves in a thousand and one ways. Bill Clinton and Osama jokes wore my ears out. Emails flooded my Microsoft Outlook with comical graphic depictions of Clinton’s rage and Osama’s hiding places. Just for that week I wished I was Osama – underground somewhere far, far away from media bombardment.

Towards the end of the year, three holidays passed us by without even a littering sign on the streets that they had been in town. The Hari Raya went by without a trace even after the Muslim celestial Ramaddan month (the ritual fasting for 40 days much similar to the Christian’s month of Lent). Then came Christmas the week after, and that was more like an extra long shopping spree weekend that spanned a week into New Year’s. There were bargains on every corner as retail outlets attempted to clear their eight months old stocks that have been sitting on their shelves collecting dust due to the economic downturn. Even during the holidays, people are still working as hard as ever. It was almost as if Santa had gone on vacation this year. You’d be a lucky buzzard if you saw Santa Claus rushing on the local electric rail commuting from last minute Christmas shopping to the office because his boss wanted the report which Santa was going to present to the clients the week after New Year. Damn those clients. New Year’s Day was not far from different, as the most exciting thing to happen was a two to three hour traffic bout to watch fifteen minutes of fireworks extravaganza. And after that, another couple of hour’s worth of traffic to get home to catch the next soccer game on the local cable. The only other exciting thing on New Year’s Day was going out onto the night spots and paying an extravagant three times the usual entrance charge for the same amount of rotten music mixing by a half drunk deejay (reminiscing the radio deejay) and booze you’d get on any other weekend. The way I see it, New Year’s countdown is just an excuse to hug and feel up the girls you never had to guts to talk to on a regular night. A few hours later we’re up and fighting a Wednesday morning traffic and it’s not so bad as all upper-management took the week off in Europe. The rest of us have to meet deadlines set just before Christmas day. Don’t upper-management and clients ever realise that it is simply inhumane to set a deadline within a week of New Year’s. My annual ritual like most and in no specific order mind you, is:

1. Christmas eve dinner with family;
2. Christmas Mass normally ending at midnight;
3. Fight traffic heading to night clubs;
4. First Christmas party right after being a good Christian;
5. Avoid police roadblocks while trying to find my way home;
6. Entertaining guest on Christmas day with a hangover;
7. Christmas dinner with friends which normally ends up being Christmas at the bottom of a bottle;
8. Christmas parties and post Christmas parties that span the week into New Year’s;
9. New Year’s eve dinner with family and semi-hangover;
10. Fight traffic into the city to watch senseless fireworks;
11. Fight traffic again heading to night clubs;
12. Give up night club idea and call all friends to find out who’s having a house party;
13. New Year’s party that most will never remember;
14. Avoid police roadblocks; and finally
15. One week’s hangover recovery period.

That is one busy schedule. And yet like sheep we all flock to the offices and pretend that we are actually doing something useful while management lazes around Orchard road drinking beers thinking they are being very intelligent by not giving out a paid holiday week to their employees and hence being very efficient. Everyone else knows that hardly anything ever gets done during this time of the year and yet we waste it rushing into the office only to drool over the keyboard recovering from a hangover, having two hour lunches cause it took half an hour for everyone to decide if anyone’s going out for lunch then another half hour to get up and walk over to the elevators and finally spending the remains of work time discussing yesterday’s party or planning tonight’s. Nobody seems worried as we all know that the bosses will return next week and spend the next fortnight screaming their head’s off from the stress of having seen the itemised bill of the supplementary credit card that their wives’ so happily busted while playing Julia Roberts on Rodeo Drive.

Ah, the holidays. It just brings out the best in us.

If You Don’t Know Me By Now

I am sitting here in La Bodega with two of my best friends on a cool Wednesday evening listening to an excellent live band entertain the mundane lives of the citizens of Neo-Roma who have come to take a breather from the long day’s toil at work as I fork through an overpriced whipping of Caesar Cardini’s most famous dish, sipping off a glass of ice lemon tea and chatting about the weather. The service is laudable and the cute petite waitress tickles my fancy. The slices of lemon arrive at my table and I squeeze them over the salad to neutralize the salty chicken pieces. A group of young ladies sitting at the table next to us were revelling over the unfamiliar melodies of songs from around the time they were born. A gentleman politely approaches the bonny lass in the blue halter top. A brief exchange of words and soon enough he was back in his sofa seat sipping off his one yard Danish brew telling himself, “No sweat. At least I tried” while his euphoric lady friend takes humour with the situation. Shortly after, the band arrives at the end of the first session as I forked at the last piece of crouton on my plate. The lead vocalist joins us with a glass of beer and lights up a cigarette. We have casual conversation, as the bonny lass in the halter top, unwittingly listens in. A couple of passing remarks were exchanged between the debonair middle-aged vocalist and halter top. The waiter drops by to exchange the ashtray for a fresh one. An order of ice lemon tea and coffee was made. I excused myself and treaded my way to the lavatory. I get a lovely smile from the hostess as I pass the doorway. A dozen or more souls were laughing away at the high tables by the bar. I look around for familiar faces but familiarity eluded me.

I return to the table and pull out my computer to update my blog site. Michelle and Namita were not too pleased, but I have been rather busy of recent and have hence neglected my blog for sometime now. At the back of my mind, a constant concern for a certain young lady that I have only recently commenced a journey of companionship with. A lady of twenty-nine, independent, strong-willed, determined, and most of all caring, a lady with whom I have developed a deep fancy for. We had a tiff on Sunday and I have not seen her since, we only spoke briefly over the phone and her troubled voice disturbed me. There were things brewing inside her mind that eludes me, things she has chosen not to speak about. So, somewhere in between my Caesar Salad and Vijay’s flamboyant elocution with the three musketeers of Neo-Roma, I gave my lady a call and lo to my pleasant surprise she was in a chirpy mood. Her interview had gone well and she was feeling good about herself for the moment.

Just as Vijay lights up his next cigarette, it was time for the band to play their second set. So he takes several quick puffs and he was off to the mic. They start off with a slow number from Lionel Ritchie, followed with another slow one from Simply Red. One of my favourites, “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” – a song that always stir me deep and often makes me wonder about how my relationship with the people around me has been. It’s a song with a deep meaning that many have heard but few have listened to. As the lead vocalist sings the lines, I reminisce on my past – relationships that have long become history and had moulded me much into the person I am today.

All the things, That we've been through
You should understand me, Like I understand you

How we tried to understand each other.
One might think that after going out with someone for many years you may know them. Unfortunately this seems almost as rare as seeing live pandas in the wild. Too often I encounter relationships that lack the basic level of understanding, relationships that have reached a comfort level where blindness takes over logic as frustrations seeps in and takes over the relationship like moss.

Cos we only act like children
When we argue fuss and fight

And then the arguments start and it continues because it was never resolved and it goes on and on until we forget what we started fighting for. We say things we don’t mean and overreact towards each other’s actions even when the intentions are true and noble, we overreact.

We've all got our
Own funny moods
I've got mine,
Woman you've got yours too

We forget that we began as individuals from different experiences, likes and dislikes. We have each had our share of happiness and pain that altered our perception of thing that are, things that were and things to be. What was once a painful experience, we now laugh it off and what was once an idyllic memory can now bring tears to our eyes. Yes, we’ve all got our own funny moods.

Just trust in me like I trust in you

What pains me the most in my relationships was the lack of trust, and how can trust be built if we don’t first communicate with each other, and that my friend is the foundation of a relationship. The root word of communication is “commune” – to be intimately receptive, to share and to live with each other. Acceptance. Yes acceptance of each other’s nature – thoughts, believes, likes, dislikes, fears, and everything that makes each and every one of us who we are. We need to share these things with each other instead of separating them as these are the very fabric of our being, past present and future. Take the water away from the boat and it is no longer a boat.

As long as we've been together
It should be so easy to do,

Not as easy as it sounds. In fact most people I know would rather a car wreck over communication. The sight of a bar brawl is ever more interesting than listening to our partner’s dreams and desires. The displacement of 1.6 million live and the death of over 180,000 strangers, thousands of miles away worried our tiny little brains to sleep for months but we cannot spend thirty minutes of our time to listen to the person we say we love.

What good is a love affair
When you can't see eye to eye

I just want to say to the people that I love, particularly my darling, my sweetheart, my rose – I cannot love you if I don’t know you. I cannot know you if you don’t let me listen. I cannot listen if you don’t talk. And you cannot talk with your mouth closed. Your past is yours to keep and cherish and regret and so is mine. Each day of the past can build us or destroy us. That choice is entirely up to each and every one of us for the present and the future has nothing to do with the past unless we take it along on our backs. Everyday of our lives is a present from God and that is just why it is called the “present”. Each sunrise and each sunset is God’s message to us reminding us that it is a new day. So stop, and smell the roses. As for the future, who is to say?

If we are to have a relationship, let us embrace each other’s past and know that if it were not to have existed we may never have met. Let us greet each morning with the love and knowledge that we are still alive with yet another second chance. And finally let us build a future together – family, friends and lovers. Our future is ours and ours alone to make.

The choices have always been in our hands.

Burn The Boats

It all started with what seemed to be a great job offer with a friend of mine who was venturing into a business of his own. I was at the time planning to leave my employment as things were not going as smoothly as I had hoped. I was working with the promotion arm of an international advertising agency where I had to coordinate and monitor promotional projects, and conduct training for promoters for several brands. My department was putting in 25 hours a day 8 days a week. In my two years with the company I never had an opportunity to take any real holidays and so I was on a head on collision to burn out. My new employment was offering me a 30% increase in wage and 60% less hours. It was to be a meditation gymnasium or so to speak with a rather interesting approach combining old and new methods of achieving Nirvana. I thought (and still do) that it had potential but unfortunately things did not work out as planned. First like many young and inexperience entrepreneurs who venture into business he swore with absolute certainty that he had three investors pumping in close to RM200K. Much to everyone’s surprise we never saw the initial capital, the investors or Hailey’s Comet that year. Not wanting to loose any dignity after announcing his great plans for world domination; he proceeded to open office without any real funds. Like most business people of today, their main objective in starting a business is to be in control, to be the “Boss-man”, "da Big Kahuna". The office took two months to get into gear and when it finally did we had no funds to proceed for even the simplest classifieds advertisement to hire a sales team. The product was never really conceived as he had a different structure to it every two days and although he was advised to do so in order for Marketing to promote the product, he never came into grips with reality. So everyday he comes in at about lunchtime, gets as much work done as the cleaning lady on a Friday afternoon and leaves at 6pm for a so-called important business meeting at a local Indian restaurant. Just the same, everyone was expected to take him seriously while he insisted that his somewhat non-existing sales team sell imaginary products to real customers. Every marketing plan that was agreed on was perfect until datelines crept up his back and then like an epiphany he would discover a whole new approach – this eventually became a weekly affair. This made marketing about as useful as watching a pair of dogs sniff at each other’s butts. About mid-February, my ex-boss from the previous company offers me a job to run a promotion project that was not going as smooth as he had anticipated. Due to yet another unforeseen financial circumstance coupled together with the lack of expectation management that too was cut-short of its run.

It was in this period when it was brought to my attention that I should start a company of my own and at about that same time I came to realise there were two major epochs in my life which eradicate a large portion of my cosmetic friends. The first was during the reign of my Cleopatra that took me down like she did Julius Caesar and Mark Anthony in 1991. The second time was during my recent financial destitution that I had previously mentioned. During the second epoch, I have had to approach friends for some financial help until I got back on my own two feet. Most of them got very busy very fast - déjà vu. I had to seek for alternatives and I had to find it fast.

Over the next two years I had managed to get myself into a reading habit – a habit not very common of Malaysians. I got into reading self-development books and I discovered that from one book to the next there is not much difference. I was warned about this by friends who were trying to save me from the onslaught of brain-washing that these books supposedly took. Imagine that, a book that controls your mind. I mean – what would a book command of you? As I read these book that repeat themselves, I also realised that as many friends I had known who had ever placed their ocular implants on these taboo books just as many have never practiced anything they read; if at all they had read them. From books I eventually evolved to audio material, and that was a short drive to seminars.

In all this, one story caught my attention.

In the sixteenth century General Hernando Cortés left Spain with an army of less than 600 to explore the Yucatan Peninsular. He was told of great treasures held by the Aztecs but they had a formidable army. He knew what he wanted and he knew where to find it. Now, there were many who had tried to conquer this nation for their gold and just as many had failed. Having only a small naval force, Cortés understood that he had to change his approach in order to achieve his goal. So when they beached the Mexican shores, General Cortés stood before his people just as many Generals had done in the past before a great battle to give an uplifting speech before battle. But he also knew that a great motivational speech was not going to be enough to defeat a strong Aztec nation on their home ground. So, he said three words that would change the outcome of this battle and forever etch his name into history. He said, “Burn the Boats!” Yes, he had his boats torched. “Why?” you would ask. Well if Cortés’s army had lost the battle they would not need their boats anyway. However, if they won the battle they could build new boats or they could stay and reap the fruits of their victory. Burning the boats gave them no choice but to win the battle cause they could not run. And they did win.

Where am I going with all this?

After spending countless hours on self-development book, motivational seminar recordings and a small dive into the biographies of the successful, I have discovered that they all preach the same thing. Now why would so many successful people in unison preach something that does not work for over the last several centuries? Maybe it is how they keep the masses in check so that they stay rich and we stay mediocre and poor – a conspiracy that spans the books from Alexander the Great to Napoleon Bonaparte, from Stalin to JFK, from Ghandi to Bill Gates and from the White House to the lecture Halls of Robert T. Kyosaki. They were all in it. Come on. Get real. They are successful because they had a set of principle that they followed without compromise. A set of principles that is different from ours. There is a very clear line that divides the successful from the mediocre. And the only reason we are where we are is because we covet our existence so much that we never see the big picture. Those materials brought to my attention a habit that I thought was only distinguishable of my own nature and that was embarking on a journey of change but never achieving it. It was frustrating. I know many people who start a diet they never follow through, or an exercise regime that falls short of a ship wreck. We talk about changing our career paths to get better paying jobs and better opportunities but we end up right where we started. Smokers constantly claim that it is impossible to quit smoking because they have tried and failed miserably. Friends saying that they’d love to develop a reading habit so they’d learn new things but can’t seem to get past page ten. I have had that “No Way Out” conversation with too many people.

Someone once quoted that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. Understand this – the laws of physic do not change. If you throw a ball into the air it, will come back down – it’s the law of gravity. Throwing it again and again will never keep the ball afloat. You have to change your approach. You need to leave behind the things that you had known and learn new things. Think about it – not more than a century ago, the idea of sending a man into space was considered unreal and childish but today we are planning manned missions to Mars. My teachers used to tell me that I could achieve anything I want if I only set my mind to it. For many years I misunderstood that, and so have many of you. Most of us just think and dream of the things that we want but we hardly ever think about how we are doing it – setting a course to your destination. Most of us set our minds on the things we want (the destination) but never set our minds to it (the path or method). We don’t want to change what we are comfortable doing on a daily basis – rushing to work, chasing deadline, kissing asses, cursing drivers, getting drunk, crashing cars. If you want great things, you have to do great things. Do things differently and you will see different results. That may even include changing the people you spend most of your time with. I’m not saying that you have to leave your friends behind, you might but you don’t have to. Ask yourself, “Who is it that I spend most of my time with and what influence do they have on me?” Yes, thinking about it may sometimes result in leaving certain friends behind, changing your work environment, moving house, or even moving to another city. If you actually spend the time to think about what is important in your life and not flock to the bars like little sheep to their shepherd’s call, you may find a need for drastic changes. So drastic that you may need to ensure a “No U-Turn” sign is firmly placed in order to force yourself to do something different, something that is not normal of you, something that might even scare you but most importantly – stick with it until it is done.

“Success is the gradual realisation of a worthy ideal” – Earl Nightingale

Change will not happen over night but it will happen. It could take weeks to annihilate a bad habit and develop new better ones but you will need to get on with what is necessary not what you have been doing for the last two thousand years. Give up that evening drink at the bar and spend it jogging at the park. Instead of eating fried, oily and hi-carb meals at the mamak, try some wholemeal bread, a thin spread of butter, tomatoes, lettuce, and two slices of ham twice a week. Pick up a book and spend fifteen minutes reading it everyday before you sleep. Cut back on those cigarettes gradually. If all else fails – tell your friends that you’d buy them dinner at La Bodega for a week if you don’t achieve your goal in a given time.

We all want change; but are we willing to take that leap of faith and burn our boats?r

I Eat Therefore I Am

Some eight years ago I stumbled into the advertising industry. I was job hunting when I received a call from a friend saying that his company was looking for someone to coordinate a project for three months. I walked into the interview with not a shred of knowledge of the industry and what exactly it was that I was going to be doing for the next three months. The three months turned into a career of nearly eight years and since then I have seen more of Malaysia than most Malaysians twice my age have in their lifetime. My car has burnt rubber in every state except for Perlis.

The breath taking scene of our Rice Bowl in the North is a must. Padi fields stretching beyond the horizon in all directions. The beautiful mountainous view of the Titiwangsa range as you cross from the West-coast to the East-coast. The awesome beaches of the East Coast are evermore complimented by friendly locals and take-it-easy beach bars. Batu Caves and its giant 42.7 meters high gold statue of the Hindu god Murugan. The historical architectures of Malacca and Penang; reminiscence of the Western powers that once controlled the nation. The modern architectures such as the Penang Bridge, The Petronas Twin Towers, Putrajaya and the Federal Territory Mosque. Let us not forget the countless number of super-sized shopping malls. A friend of mine from the US said that he wouldn’t be surprised to find such a mall in the middle of our nation’s forest reserve – Taman Negara.

Having seen most of Malaysia, I am usually the chosen tour guide for friends and relatives visiting our great nation, and it is great. We have no major political issues, very little natural disasters, a booming economy and a peaceful blend of cultures that would rival any other country in the world. Where else in the world can you casually call an Indian “Keling”, a Chinese “Ah Beng”, a Malay “Natha” or a Punjabi “Bai” without getting sued or bashed in the face. However in all this I have discovered that there is one thing that makes Malaysia what it is. Forget the cultures and the sights, that’s a given in any country, some more than others and in Malaysia it’s a whole book. I am talking about the food in Malaysia. I have on every trip sought new adventures for my taste buds and they have never been starved of it.

Recently my cousin and two of his friends from Germany spent almost a week here with me. They were awestruck with the experience as it was beyond their expectation of Malaysia. Just as those who came before and many that will come after, they loved the food. They have never had so much to eat in such a short time. It was of course a plus that they were willing to try spicy food, as most of our local dishes taste better with that touch of chilli or curry. The general first impressions that Malaysian food gets is often of hesitation, but the overwhelming experience their taste buds go through is often more pleasing. Imagine the first impression of a roadside hawker serving coconut milk, with floating green stuff topped with shaven ice and a dark liquid of sort. As the first sip of Cendol hits their tongues they have the expressions of wine connoisseurs attempting to dissect the taste of coconut and palm sugar. Taking foreigners for Indian Banana Leaf Rice is ever more entertaining. When first served with the array of Indian cuisines on a banana tree leaf, you can see the “O My God! What am I getting myself into?” look. Then with brave hesitation they pinch a little bit of everything while registering what taste palatable and what may not. As curry floods over the rice, their faces turn Christmas red from merely imagining the spiciness of the dish. What follows is sweaty foreheads and upper lips as they clumsily eat rice with their hands, gulping gallons of water while saying, “This is really very delicious”.

Do you know what else is amazing about this country of ours, you can find foods from all over the world – from Asian countries we have Korean, Japanese, Taiwanese, Vietnamese, Thai, Burmese, Sudanese, Iranian, Chinese (but of course), Northern and Southern Indian cuisines; from other parts of the world you can find Italian, French, Greek, Spanish, German, British and of course the ever-all-favourite American cuisine (burger, fries and Coke).

Three weeks after taking my German friends around, this finds himself in little old Setiawan for a wedding. For those of you who remember the name but not the place, it’s that little town you’d have to pass on your way to Lumut to take a ferry to Pangkor Island. Anyway, we were at the bride’s parent’s place being stuffed like a turkey on Thanksgiving with the 5 dishes that were already served. Just I was about to declare the end of my meal with a belch or two, the bride’s mother comes strolling out with a big pot of Tong Hoon Red Wine Chicken Soup. Apparently it is a rather famous and sought-after dish in Setiawan. So there you have it. As much as you may think that you have tried all kinds of food in Malaysia there is always something waiting for you around the corner.

Here’s a tip – Never. Never bring a Caucasian to a fast-food restaurant or for Western cuisines. You just don’t fly half way across the world to have the same thing you can get back home at less than half the price just outside your front door. That would be the definition of insanity.

Here’s another – Two shopping malls is more than enough. If your itinerary reads, “KLCC, Mid-Valley, 1 Utama, The Curve, Ikano” then you need to read my Tips For The Blind.

“As your mother tells you, and my mother certainly told me, it is important, she always used to say, always to try new things.” - Hannibal Lecter

Tips for the Blind

• Bah Kut Teh in Klang, Jinjang or Kepong
• Cendol and Rojak Pasembor opposite the ss15 Shell in Subang Jaya
• For Indian cuisine – Nirvanas at Bangsar
• For Indian vegetarian cuisine you must visit Annalakshmi at the Mid-Valley
• For a good array of Chinese food, the only place to go is the hawker’s stalls at SS2, Petaling Jaya. The best Leng Chee Kang is also located here, between a very delicious chicken rice stall and chee cheong fun stall, all on the end facing the AM Bank. Then get some Chinese sweets and pastries from the two stalls in the middle of the stretch.
• Best Mata Kuching drink – catch the guy at the end of the night markets in SS2, Bangsar and Subang Jaya. You can also find him at Subang Permai in the afternoons.
• Come down to Taman Eng An, Klang for really good Leng Chee Kang, steamed spring rolls, chee cheong fun, Pan Mee and steamed chicken served on garlic.
• The best Ipoh’s taugeh chicken rice can only be obtained from Ipoh in Ipoh town.
• Go to Bawang Merah in Subang Jaya, opposite the Shereton Hotel for some really good Malay cuisines.
• If alas you are limited with time or just indecisive, take a trip to Asia Café in SS15 Subang Jaya.
• A trip to a night market is also a must:
  • Sundays: Bangsar, SS13 Subang Jaya, TTDI.
  • Mondays: SS2, PJ
  • Wednesdays: SS13, S.Jaya

Any other suggestions?

Place in the Klang Valley

• Pertonas Twin Towers – Get to KLCC before 8:00am and obtain some tickets to view Kuala Lumpur from the sky-bridge. Have lunch at the Suria KLCC food court and then take a stroll through the KLCC Park.
• Dataran Merdeka & the Sultan Abdul Samad building (the Malaysian Supreme Court). Do this at night.
• Federal Territory Mosque along Jalan Duta.
• The Blue Mosque in Shah Alam
• Putrajaya
• Sunway Resort Hotel & Sunway Theme Park (FYI: it was built inside a mining pool)
• Central Market & Petaling Street (a.k.a Chinatown).
• National Monument on Jalan Parliament
• Jalan Masjid India
• Batu Caves

Listening To The Wind

Ever so often you’d find yourself lost in the wilderness of a concrete jungle, one that you have chosen to live in. Some of you may have wandered off from your small suburban cities where the local provision shop is a stone throw away and the football field is no larger that the corner house’s yard. Now you live a 5-minute drive from the local 7-Eleven and the football field consist of electrons slamming on a 15” phosphorous screen. You walk aimlessly through an unforgiving city like zombies whilst seeking treasures for Lords and Kings you offer no loyalty to. Your noble quest for the Holy Grail is no longer noble nor is the grail holy. You sweat and toil everyday like slaves for pharaohs of a post-industrial age. You become part of a new history of humankind building an empire for a society of walking dead and while you take your seat in the halls of a Valhalla built by Vikings in designer suits, your friends and compadres become a distant memory. Yet others choose to live their lives feeling sorry for themselves spending every extra Ringgit on the 4-digit lucky draw hoping hopelessly for that strike of a lifetime. Beggars on the sidewalk become more common a sight than birds on the wire. The smells of the city fills your lungs until you become immune to it – immune to the smell of carbon monoxide and uncollected garbage. The graffiti on the wall sometimes remind you of crayons but before you get carried away reminiscing the past you turn to greet a vending machine.

And when the silvery sheets of the moon has risen, you paint the town red in a disco or a pub or any other place of relaxation that neither gives you peace of mind nor rest. You dress yourselves with Dolce & Gabana, Calvin Klein, MNG and the sorts with a spiff of Ralph Lauren – Kent & Barbie’s night out. You will feast like Kings of old and drink mead to your heart’s content and discuss pressing matters of the New Kingdom with the sensibility of a drunken monkey. Sometimes you will plot like senators and play a game of chess where the city is your board and your colleagues are the chess pieces. This is the hustle and bustle of everyday life in a metropolis of the Neo-Roman Empire.

You mentally plan your day ahead and realise that you have not had time for yourself or for the people that you would like spending your time with. You find yourself staring at that digital clock on your dashboard, wondering what time it is. You wanna smack that stupid radio deejay that you listen to every morning and evening on your five thousand Ringgit car audio system. Then right there in the middle of rush hour traffic, caught between a crazed driver of a six-wheels public service bus and the impatient zipping of mosquitoes on two wheels, you say to yourself, “I’ve had enough!” And you’d decide that things must change. From tomorrow onwards you are gonna do things different.

Tomorrow morning arrives and before the cock can sing the song of dawn, the alarm clock rings. You drag yourself miserably away from Elizabeth Hurley just as she was about to unbuckle that black lacy bra and before the hour is up, there you are again caught between that lunatic bus driver and the motorcyclist from hell, listening to that same stupid radio deejay.

So what happened?

What happened to change?

What happened to “I’m fed-up! I want things to change!”?

You probably told yourself, “Not yet. Let me make my money first and then I will live happily. I’d settle down, have a couple of kids and I’d teach them the right things. We’d never have to worry about money anymore.” Or maybe you decided to wait for that promotion in June, and if that doesn’t happen there is still December to look forward to. Caught in the middle of rush hour traffic, you console yourself with pleasant thoughts of owning the latest gadgets and designer clothes, and let’s not forget that fancy dinner at La Bodega.

It’s not that easy. No, Lucifer has a price on your head and he ain’t letting you go. He’s gonna squeeze your juices dry before you ever realise that you have sold your soul to an forgiving, self-centred railroad tycoon named Eddie.

Does it ever bother you?

It bothers me. Sometimes it just wears me out.

It was 2002 – the year of the Horse. I was sitting at the coffee area during lunch one afternoon when I overheard a conversation about the Malaysian economy and how it is affecting the company. Here were two typical colleagues who were about to dive into a bitchin’ session about some unsubstantiated hearsay concerning the company’s status and the effectiveness (or lack of) of their immediate bosses. So I eavesdropped on their speculations of the country’s future economics and their two years British educated solution to the company’s apparent mismanagement. It was rather interesting listening to the two of them go on confidently about things they sparsely knew about. They seem to have derived their conclusions from the expert speculation of people who took no real notice of why certain things happen. Like why would a certain person in upper management make an unjust decision to lay off a couple of employees who have been in the company for too long and are as productive as two stray dogs sniffing at each other’s butt. Not that anybody will miss them anyway. Or what about the reduction of company privileges such as free parking or mobile phone allowance.

But there I was sipping on a cup of hot coffee, controlling myself from asking them, “Why is it that you never suggested your evidently sound solution to management and maybe save us from the unavoidable economic onslaught?”

Several days later I received on the company’s email a somewhat important message from upper management to all employees. Management has decided that we needed to make up for the several hundred thousand dollars our clients have slashed from their budget cuts, by saving up on coffee and electricity (duuhh!!). And so there was not a day that went by that we weren’t overworked or over unappreciated for the efforts that were forced onto us for the benefit of a company that we had not a penny’s worth in. Much to my surprise, those two colleagues of mine continued to play a minor part in the company’s battle with economic uncertainty. To this day they’d have their weekly ritual bitchin’ sessions. The company’s mentality have neither deteriorated nor improved since they have not yet made any severely damaging loses and have re-employed their faithful butt sniffing relatives of the wolves. It does make me wonder about what it is that makes my colleagues and my slave-driving employers tick?

I realised that the most of us spend all our time complaining about how rotten things are. We wonder, “Why don’t somebody just realise that if they’d use that God forsaken gift called a brain, we could just find a solution to all our woes.” If you were at all listening to what I have been saying, then you’d probably have realised that each of us are waiting for someone else to do the job. It’s like listening to the wind - you stick your head out of your window on a windy day but you are not sure what you are listen for. If you see the problem and choose to wait until someone else sees the problem (who’s probably going to do the same as you are) then what’s the point in bitchin’ about the whole affair. We cannot expect different results by doing the same thing all over again and again. So one day while I was sitting at the coffee area in my office, sipping on a cup of hot coffee – I asked myself, “Who else is gonna change my life?”

Guess what the answer was?

First published on Friendster in September 2005.
Written on the 8th of January 2002