Nonsensical Babbler

Love

2008-09-04T00:49:00.000-07:00

There is nothing greater and yet more painful than love and even more true when you give without conditions with chaste. True love can build you to be the person that you truly are inside as it brings out the best in you. There is no greater gift than the gift of love if it is given without hesitation and without rules. And yet that very reason can break you and turn you into something that you hate. Love truly has no bounds.
I once loved and still do but I know I will never have it for it is beyond my grasp though I understand it thoroughly and truly. I have always given everything when I love and always without conditions save one – love me for who I really am and not what I was or what my past has made me to be. The pains of life effects each of us on a different level and it is also that pain which moulds us into who we are to become. So when you love someone love them without rules and without anticipation and without lust or eagerness. Just love it for while it is there for it can take you far.
Cry when love is lost for it shows that it means something, that it wasn’t just a passing. Cry for it is right, for you have that right to cry for it. Cry for love for it is human and humane. Our tears is what makes us real. Our thoughts can muddle our emotions and our logic can kill our heart. Only love can save us from such a fate as death. If you had only love once in your life, then let that be your saving grace. Let that show you that somewhere out in this vast universe there is a God of some sort that made us out of love.
Sacrifice. That is the payment for love. Sacrifice is the bane of love and yet it is needed. Sometimes you just have to let go of the one thing that you love the most because you love it. You have to let it go if you know that your love will imprison it and suffocate it. Let it go when you know it will hurt the most. That is true love. There can be no greater present than releasing the thing you love most. For love must be free. Love must choose itself. That is the difference between love and lust. Lust will always imprison love.
So, when you love; when you find that one true love; love without rules. Love freely and never chain it down and maybe one day, just maybe, love will love us in return.

Dead Sea Scrolls to Cyberspace

2008-08-28T19:40:00.001-07:00

I don't know if any of you would find this interesting but I thought I'd share this information with you. If you have not heard of the Dead Sea Scrolls, it is a series of documents discovered between 1947 and 1979 in eleven caves in and around the Wadi Qumran on the west bank of the Dead Sea. These scrolls are of great religious and historical significance, as they include practically the only known surviving copies of Biblical documents made before 100 AD. Publication of the scrolls has taken many decades, and the delay has been a source of academic controversy. As of 2007 two volumes remain to be completed with the whole series (Discoveries in the Judean Desert) running to thirty nine volumes in total. Many of the scrolls are now housed in the Shrine of the Book in Jerusalem.

On Wednesday the 27^th of August 2008, The Guardian, UK reported that scientists and scholars in Jerusalem have begun a programme to take the first high-resolution, digital photographs of the Dead Sea Scrolls so they can be made available to the public on the internet. Now begins the task of photographing some 15 to 20 thousand fragments to make up 900 scrolls. The project is estimated to take up to 5 years and millions of dollars starting with coloured photography, then infra-red and finally a sophisticated multi-spectral imaging camera, that will distinguish the ink from the parchment and papyrus on which the scrolls were written. The imaging spectroscopy, a borrowed technology used by NASA, will for the first time allow the condition of the scrolls to be properly monitored in a non-invasive way to aid conservation by detecting any changes in the scrolls before they become visible to the curators. Pnina Shor, the head of the Artefacts Treatment and Conservation Department, Israel Antiquities Authority said, “The aim in the end is that you can go online and call up the scrolls with the best possible resolution and all the information that exists about them today. We want to provide opportunities for future research on the scrolls. We feel it's part of our duty to expose them to the world as a whole.”

The significance of the scrolls relates in a large part to the field of textual criticism of Christian Theology. Before the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the oldest Hebrew manuscripts of the Bible were Masoretic texts dating to 9th century. The biblical manuscripts found among the Dead Sea Scrolls push that date back to the 2nd century BC. Before this discovery, the earliest extant manuscripts of the Old Testament were in Greek in manuscripts such as Codex Vaticanus and Codex Sinaiticus. Although a few of the biblical manuscripts found at Qumran differ significantly from the Masoretic text, most do not. The scrolls thus provide new variants and the ability to be more confident of those readings where the Dead Sea manuscripts agree with the Masoretic Text or with the early Greek manuscripts. Further, the sectarian texts among the Dead Sea Scrolls, most of which were previously unknown, offer new light on one form of Judaism practiced during the Second Temple period. Because they are frequently described as important to the history of the Bible, the scrolls are surrounded by a wide range of conspiracy theories. There is also writing about the Nephilim related to the Book of Enoch.

See additional links for more information or contact me for a translated copy of the Book of Enoch.

Not Here

2008-08-03T15:53:00.001-07:00

An ode to Nirmala

The sun coloured soundless wheat fields

Stared across the olive green walls

Beside it I stood tall

You were not here

The light broke through the darkened clouds

Spreading across my doors

There I was, in awe

And you were not here

Butterflies in the garden fluttered purposefully

A beautiful dance orchestrated

There, I hesitated

For you were not here

Lavender fields whispered softly in the winds

Far beyond my wondering eyes

There I stood beguiled

Still you were not here

Under the oak tree on the hill by a restless brook

Taking in all that is God’s beauty

Here, I rested lightly

However you were not here

And when the evening purple seized the horizon

Swallows danced in the sky

By now, weary grew I

Why were you not here?

I cried out your name but you never passed

I called and called but all in vain

Still you never came

You were not here

The stars that painted the heavens looked down on me

The zephyr wind on my skin

Where have you been

You are not here

Sadness filled my soul, loneliness consumed my heart

The wars of nine hath passed

The salten sea still steadfast

What tis I hear

A cradlesong, a sweet, sweet lullaby blew into my ears

Sweetly, softly, gently ‘twas

My heavy heart I toss

You were here

In my grieving I hath forgotten your laughter and your smile

Your pleasant words and your caring touch

It was I who did not much

Were you not here

A voice descended consoling, comforting, soothing

In my dreams a soft whisper

Beside me you always were

“Always I was here”

So in my dreams when sadness slumbered you came

With divine providence cradled me

These words you spoke to me

I am here

In the sun coloured wheat fields on the olive green walls

That watched you in your marbled melancholic hall

I was here

In the light that parted the clouds brightening the skies

Butterflies I sent to please your eyes

I was here

In the lavender hue with the breeze I whispered

In the oak that kept you while you rested

I was here

In the evening skies with the swallows I peeked

By the waters of the creek

I was here

In the starry night and the zephyr winds

And always in your dreams

I was always near

I am and always will be here.

Comic Onslaught

2008-07-15T21:28:00.000-07:00

It all started in the summer of 2000 with the release of the X-Men; the movie that spawned a new generation of comic book movies. This was what comic book collectors the world over have been anticipating for over a decade and even then we were already taking our pick at who should play what character in the movie. Nothing prepared us for what was to come. Our favourite comic book heroes on screen, larger than life and more realistic than we could have ever imagined.

Prior to 2000 - Blade, Barb Wire and Dick Tracy were probably the only comic book movies to have made an impact on the masses; and even then, Dick Tracy was probably the only character that was known by the public to have originated from the pages of a comic book. Every other production fell short – Spawn, The Flash, Spiderman, The Incredible Hulk, Witchblade, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The public’s perception of comic book heroes in the movies was that they were for kids. Then X-men came and changed everything. Suddenly heroes could die; villains lived on. Sex, violence and carnage spread across the screen like never before and a “PG-13” tag had to be placed on it. The real people behind the books came up and started a revolution. They showed Hollywood that when you take a comic book hero, you don’t rewrite the plot. Just take the freaking book as the storyboard you dummies. It’s all drawn out in full colour.

Thus far we have seen the silver screen’s rebirth of the Dark Knight, The Man of Steel, Punisher, your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman and The Incredible Hulk. To add to an already spicy dish we have since been served with Constantine, Ironman, 300, Sin City, Aeon Flux, Catwoman, Daredevil, Elektra, Fantastic Four, Ghost Rider, Hellboy, V for Vendetta and then some.

I was so amazed with the realism of Tony Stark’s suit that I watched Ironman 5 times in a fortnight. The Incredible Hulk was just as amazing in the way they brought to life the comic book Hulk and still manage to add a little television sentimentalism to it. Tonight I will be watching the sequel of Batman Begins, The Dark Knight. To prepare for his role as the Joker, Ledger locked himself in a hotel room for a month drawing inspiration from Alan Moore’s comic "Batman: The Killing Joke" and "Arkham Asylum” and from characters from Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange”. Sir Michael Caine is of the opinion that Heath Ledger did better than Jack Nicholson’s Joker.

"If you gotta go; Go with a Smile!"

Dark Knight - Bank Heist Scene

There is more to come. Before the year ends, I’m going to catch Ray Stevenson in Punisher: War Zone and Frank Miller’s “The Spirit” (assuming this makes it through our censorship board). Next year, the fallen return in the Transformers’ sequel and the Watchmen investigates the death of an ex-superhero. In 2010 we can look forward to Thor and X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Stan Lee has already thrown at us collectors a little bone in the Ironman and the Incredible Hulk. Samuel L. Jackson appeared at the end of Ironman as Agent Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD. He mentions the “Avenger Initiative”. Then at the end of The Incredible Hulk, Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) makes an appearance and speaks to the General about the Avengers. The Avengers movie is set to release in 2011 and would most likely comprise of Wolverine, Mr. Fantastic, The Hulk, Ironman, Spiderman and Thor.

For those who didn’t read comic books or were born after 1983.

Lou Ferrigno who played the Hulk in the television series back in the seventies appeared in both Hulk (2003) and The Incredible Hulk (2008). He was also the voice of the Hulk in the 2008 release.
In X-Men, when Wolverine complaint about the suit he was made to wear, Cyclops asked him if he’d rather wear yellow spandex. Wolverine’s original suit in the comic is predominantly yellow spandex.
Original promotion for Spiderman showed the World Trade Centre as a feature of New York City. These were later removed after 9-11 though you can still catch a blur glimpse of the WTC in the movie.
Nicholas Hammond the actor who played Spiderman in 1978 appeared at the World Unity festival scene.
The Iron Man Mark I armour weighed 90 pounds
In the scene where Pepper discovers Tony removing the damaged Iron Man armour, you can clearly see Captain America's shield partially constructed on a workbench.
Paul Soles who portrays "Stanley", the owner of the pizza shop, provided the voice for Dr. Bruce Banner in the 1960s "Hulk" (1966) animated series

Stan Lee (co-creator of the Marvel Comic characters) did a cameo appearance in all Marvel character movies:

X-Men - Man at hotdog stand when Senator Kelly comes out of the water.

X3 - Man holding water hose in beginning of movie

Spiderman - Appears in the scene where the Green Goblin attacks the balcony at the World Unity Festival.

Spiderman 2 - Saves a bystander form falling debris during the battle to save Aunt May.

Spiderman 3 - Appears as the man who tells Peter how great Spider-Man is.

Fantastic Four - Willy Lumpkin, the Fantastic Four's kindly old mailman.

Fantastic Four 2 - Rejected wedding guest.

Ironman - Man with 3 blondes that Stark mistakes for Hugh Hefner at the charity event.

Incredible Hulk - Man who drinks the soft drink contaminated with Bruce Banners blood.

You.

2008-07-07T04:20:00.000-07:00

For a brief moment, when time stood still, I felt my heart stop. The ticking clock above a copper framed Wheat Field on the olive green wall was soundless. The bees that hovered over the hibiscus grove beyond the olive wall in an untended garden, buzzed a violent silence. The whispering wind rustling in the frangipanis beyond the hibiscus grove suddenly fleeted into the earth. Raging traffic no longer passed the frangipanis like faded memories. Fishes in streams far from the traffic drifted in confusion as the waters paused and rocks on the river beds rolled no longer. Rays slept in timelessness as dolphins lost their bearings in the deaden ocean. No longer was there day or night for the Earth froze in place as the evanescing sun took with her the moon and the stars. The gods slumbered and demons fled the nether world. For a brief moment, time stood still and I felt nothing. For a brief moment I was nothing.

Everything around me faded to black.

Then, as suddenly as stillness enveloped my being, my sensory overloaded with every single nuance of existence. I felt the beating of my pulse as blood raced through every crevasse of my body; the tingle on my skin; the electricity raging through each and every neuron in my brain; the banging clock above a shouting copper framed Wheat Field on the olive green wall; the violent buzzing of bees over the hibiscus grove beyond the olive wall in that untended garden; the annoying wind rustling in the frangipanis beyond the hibiscus grove; the storming traffic that passed the frangipanis; fishes swarming the streams as rocks assaulted each other on the river beds; rays hunted through the endless clacking of dolphins raping Poseidon’s blows; the scorching sun; the glowering moon; the restless Earth; the thundering gods clashing in the heavens and malevolent demons cursing from hell.

Colours, vibrant. Sounds, clearer. Smells, cleansing. Taste, heavenly.

But time stood still. I stood still. My eyes fixated. My mind emptied but of one thought.

You.

Your soft curls resting on your lovely shoulders like soft pink satin sheets. Stars sparkle from your lovely dark eyes like the night sky in summer by the beach. Your eye lids fluttering like butterfly wings in a soft cool autumn breeze. Your sensuous lips glistening as you mutter sweet pleasant nothings. Your voice as soothing as the sound of La Vein Rose on violins while sipping on a glass of wine in Paris. Your skin tender like the soft brushing of a purple velvet curtain in a warm lit room after a romantic candlelight dinner for two.

I want to take your hand and hold it if only for a moment. To feel your touch, your soft skin on my palm. I want to dance with you, with your hand on my palm and my hand on the small of your back. I want to dance with you slowly as we gaze into each other’s soul while Elvira Madigan[1] brings us on a quiet boat ride in the evening sky.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky [2]

You.

You who would taste so sweet on my tongue as a fine glass of aged merlot. I would kiss your tender lips so slow as to savour that moment that I will forever remember how soft and warm they are. To feel your supple cheeks on mine as I would caress the nape of your neck and hold you like a newborn, fragile and delicate. I would whisper sweet words in your ears and your smile will light the space we are in so brightly that darkness would fade forever away. I would not let you go for you are to me very dear. I would want you in my arms forever to love and care for; and I would kiss you in the mornings and in the afternoons and in the evenings and before you slumber. I want to hold you as you fall asleep to the beating sound of my heart; you breath on my chest. I want to stroke your soft hair and keep you safe and warm. I will watch you as you dream dreams and when you wake I will still be there beside you greeting you with more loving kisses.

I will ward off your demons and battle your dragons. I will catch your tears and hide your fears. I will hold you close till the storm fades and the sun is smiling on your face. I will hold your hand and walk beside you through the every tides of time always with you. I will snatch falling stars out of the sky and place them back in your eyes. For you I will walk to the ends of the world and swim the deepest oceans just to be by your side.

No matter where you go, I will find you

If it takes a long, long time.

No matter where you go, I will find you

If it takes a thousand years. [3]

You.

You who gives me strength and will. You who give me life and reason to live. You who are my inspiration, my muse, my Calliope. You who are my burning paraffin in the dark. You who lifts me up and give me wings. You who are my friend and confidante. You who are my very soul. You and only you.

You.

The one who brings down my walls of Jericho. The one who weakened Samson. The David of my Goliath. My Cleopatra. My Juliet. My Eloisa.

So, come sit with me for awhile. Come speak with me for a moment. Give me a heartbeat of your time. Just for an instance, if only but a minute. If only for a moment, if only briefly, if I could be with thee, I would take you with me till my life’s end. My heart is yours till you want it no longer, and even then it is still yours to keep.

You.

[4] Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee

1. Elvira Madigan or Mozart’s Piano Concerto 21

2. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot

3. Lyrics from "I Will Find You" by Enya with the Clannad

4. Sonnet 18 by William Shakesspeare

In The City

2007-11-01T01:47:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-07T05:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-26T03:42:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-11T19:36:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-11T19:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-11T19:27:00.000-07:00

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:

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

2007-06-08T00:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-08T00:42:00.000-07:00

In all this, one story caught my attention.

Where am I going with all this?

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

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

I Eat Therefore I Am

2007-06-08T00:30:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-07T03:16:00.001-07:00

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

Grinning Malice

2007-06-07T02:21:00.000-07:00

Many of us start our day in pretty much the same way. At about 6:30 in the morning, your blaring blow horn goes off, waking up practically everyone in the house. You shut it off and continue to sleep for another half hour. In a half drunk like stupor you make your way to the bath, brush your teeth, shower and admire yourself for ten minutes. You then get into your Calvin Klein GQ ensemble, a Ermenegildo Zegna necktie, the Bulgari watch – your New Year’s gift to yourself and as a final touch you spiff on some of that lovely Davidoff fragrance. Women of course spend an extra hour with Mary Kay’s ninety-nine colours while deciding whether the blue MNG top or the blue Guess top would go with the black pin-stripped skirt; wait maybe we might go with pants today but if we do then we would have to decide on a different top. The smart ones spend their time debating with the closet the night before. Armed with the latest Nokia N70, you hop into your 2000cc internal combustion engine and ride off into the sun for another hard day at work. You battle through traffic, curse every driver on the road while listening to some half wit radio deejay, miss breakfast and bursting into office with a mood that could sink the Titanic.

Welcome to the real world.
I had recently found myself in a rather difficult predicament – unemployment. For those of you who have never been through it I do not recommend it unless you have already sorted out your monthly fifty thousand Ringgit of passive income. Some of you would think that you have been through this stage like some war hero out of our Neo-Roman empire. I do not believe that you could truly understand the gravity of such a situation unless you have had experienced it for at least 2 months after you depleted all your backup funds. I suffered four gruelling months with no source of income except borrowed money from friends whom began seeing less of me. So there I was a Ronin – a masterless Samurai seeking employment anywhere he can find it.
It was towards the end of March 2003, after a rather wet evening caused by the winds blowing in from the West. Andrew had just flown in from Germany two weeks before and he and I were having a casual chat about all sorts of stuff over teh-tarik at the local mamak. We got to talking about my previous work experiences and I told him of how only after leaving the agency had I noticed a significant difference between the promoters trained at the agency I used to work with as compared to all other promoters. It was a point that was brought to my attention on several occasions by the promoters I had previously trained. On one occasion I was hanging out with five girls when we were approached by promoters from another agency promoting a mentholated brand of cigarettes. Four of the five whom I was with had been previously trained as promoters by yours truly. We did not make a purchase; in fact we were not in the least enticed even though it was a rather good offer. As the cigarette girls left us, the one girl who had never worked with me before made a comment – “They were so unfriendly. No smiles at all.” Someone else continued about how they were trained to smile and of how much I had pressed on the topic of smiling during my training sessions. A week later, I made a casual visit to the agency and met up with several team supervisors of whom I had the pleasure of working with. I made a joke about forgetting everything related to promotions and my previous job there when one of them replied, “But I am sure that you had not forgotten to smile, right?” Well that got my attention. Since then I had been observing.
It has been said that we Malaysians are friendly people. We are always there to help. And we always have a smile. To all you urbanites out there, this may possibly be farther from the truth than Katmandu is from us. I find it strange that in a country whose culture is the child of a multi-racial community busting with history of brotherhood and unity, the smile is more of a rarity than diamonds on the sidewalk.

Have we all forgotten the most basic human communication tool?
No – not the Motorola L7 or the Nokia N70.
Have you noticed how a person reacts when you smile at them?
They almost always stiffen up like a gladiator in the arena. It's almost as if they are worried you have something up your sleeves or that you are somewhat senile and so they grip hard on the hilt and raise their shields up to their nose. And how can you blame them. Society it seems have lost all characteristics of good honest living that any avenue to make a buck is used and abused. I am certain that at some point in your life, you would have been told by a parent or teacher not to smile at strangers, “You cannot be too friendly with people” and the most common is “You cannot trust anyone”. I know many people who grew up thinking this and even worse transferring this somewhat distorted lesson in life to the next generation. What started off as a statement of caution have grown into a beastly excuse to trample over the weak and the more forgiving kind-hearted minority. Survival of the fittest has evolved into “All for one and more for me”. I believe that the adoption of selfish values caused a chain reaction that had eventually led to the paralysis of the smile. It has even got to a point where greetings are about as familiar to the common urbanite as is haggis.

At work, a smile is consider inappropriate and yet your boss would query your performance and passion with such a question as, "Aren't you happy working here?"
Happy? Am I HAPPY?
How can anyone possibly be happy at a place where smiling is considered unprofessional?
The mere act of it would send brutal thoughts of distrust, scandal and malice. Yet that is what is expected of us when meeting with clients? The smile is only a means to an end. Nothing more. Do you remember the last time someone smiled at you? I mean really smiled – pure, innocent, friendly and honest. Did that not make blood rush to your face leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in size you and the sudden courage to take on a little bit more of a bad day at work? How does it make you feel when your loved one smiles from across a crowded floor of strangers at you? Doesn’t a picture of a child smiling make you melt and go, “Awww! So cute!”?
Or have we simply forgotten how to smile?

Too many a times have I walked into convenience stores, fast-food restaurants, hotels, cafes and such only to be greeted with eyes that say, "Why are you bothering me?"

Do these people not realize that it is their job to entertain the needs of the people who patronize the establishment? My personal experience had revealed that in the many industries I had work with, the lack of friendliness often reflects the management's true image.
I used to tell every promoter to smile till their teeth fall off. In fact every time I walked into a 7-Eleven or a fast-food restaurant, I would greet the person at the counter with a smile. It was so uncommon for customers to smile, much less greet them, that I would get confused looks on their faces every time. I used to do this for fun and I would encourage the habit with the promoters too.
Why is it so difficult to smile at someone much less return the gesture? I have known managers and executives who felt it was inappropriate to smile at the office. I think that some of you out there need to evaluate how you interpret a smile. Do you think that a smile makes you look stupid? Or maybe you think a smile is a waste of time. How much does it cost to smile? How much time does it take?

The next time you spend that ten minutes with the man in the mirror – smile. Has frowning or cursing ever made your day any better? Instead of cursing that typical lady driver, smile at her. Who knows you might just meet her some place else one day and get a date, just because you smiled. Is it so dangerous to smile at you office colleagues? The next time you get angry, just smile. Smile every chance you get.
As you face your day tomorrow think about the worse thing that could possibly happen to you – getting fired from your job, a car wreck, a tsunami, a piano dropping on your head. How much would a smile cost you if you were going to die tomorrow? Would you not like to see one before you go?

A frown almost certainly gets you nowhere
A scream and a riot would only scare
But a smile on your face today
Would most certainly make someone’s day

I Am Spartacus

2007-06-07T02:20:00.001-07:00

I Am Spartacus

Last night I was watching a Tom Hanks movie titled That Thing You Do. The lead character Gus kept saying “I am Spartacus” every time he achieved something new. I thought about that phrase as it brought back some memories. It was around 25 years ago when I first watched the 1960 Stanley Kubrick production of Spartacus with Kurt Douglas and Lawrence Olivier in the lead roles. The most memorable scene in that movie was when the Romans had captured Spartacus’s militia and the captain of the Roman army wanted to know who was Spatacus. What happened next was not an awkward silence, nor finger pointing, not even an investigation to discover whom Spatacus was but instead every person who fought beside the man stood up and said “I am Spartacus”. Around 6000 slaves were crucified naked from Capua to Rome.

Why would someone want to take the place of a condemned man? How did a slave who turned into a gladiator gain more respect and loyalty than the Emperor of Rome did from his nation? Why did he have so much respect and loyalty?

I believe that each of us have a God given gift that makes us who we are. Each of us have the capacity to do great things and yet, so many do not. We’d each like to think of ourselves as individuals but when I looked at my life and those around me, I truly wonder if that were so. Everyone wakes up in the mornings to go to work. Everyone fights the traffic daily. Everyone fears their boss, dislikes their colleagues, hates their work environment and would like to strangle their clients. Everyone is frustrated with their own lives and yet nobody does anything about it. All we do is gather at the local pub or coffee shop and collectively complain about each other’s lives. We do the same thing over and over and we expect different results.

Insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.

In the Disney animation Mulan, Captain Li Shang who was training new recruits gave them a challenge that would determined when the recruits would be ready for war. They were given two heavy discs which had cloth running through the discs. The task was to climb to the top of a 30 feet pole with the weights. The recruits trained very had everyday to build strength so that they could complete this challenge but no one could. Everyday someone would take the weights tie them to their bodies and attempt to climb the pole. Everyday they were disappointed. The recruits grew weary and tired as training got tougher and morale was being destroyed with each attempt at the pole. Everyone hated the General who was really tough. Everyday they would sit and complain that the General had asked them to do the impossible. How can you add another fifty kilos of weight and climb a pole? Finally, Mulan changed her perspective and instead of tying the weights to her own body she looped the weights to each other to form a tight rope that supported her climb up the pole instead of weighing her down. She took the problem and made it and opportunity. You see, the general wanted to produce the best unit in the military and he knew that physical training alone was not sufficient. He wanted his troops to be able to think differently and try new things. He wanted a team of problem solvers instead of whiners. I once read that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. I think that makes perfect sense.

During 73BC through 71BC Spartacus did what every gladiator did not believe in. Spartacus was unlike every other gladiator, he was a great leader and a great warrior. He valued and respected his fellow gladiators even though he knew that one day they would fight him to the death. As Gladiators and slaves they were all doomed to die for the amusement of Roman aristocrats. Spartacus started to wonder why was it that with more well trained gladiators than the number of guards their master had, nobody ever thought of breaking out. Most of the Gladiators were stronger, taller and more experienced in combat than the men who ruled them. When he first spoke of this, his friends told him not to think that way for it could get them killed, however, Spartacus eventually lead thousands of slaves and their families toward freedom. He dreamt of it and wanted to leave Rome for France. He wanted a future with no slaves and no masters, simply people with equal rights and opportunities. He had big dreams and he did not let anyone take them from him.

His ethics and principals gained him loyal men who were willing to take his place on death-row. In the movie when the slave army was captured, everyone knew that if the Romans found Spartacus they would torture and humiliate him in public and that would destroy everything he represents. The Romans wanted to persecute Spartacus without making him a hero but rather an example of what would happen to those who would even think of rebelling against the Roman Empire again. The slave army did not give him up nor did they allow him to surrender instead they stood up one by one saying, “I am Spartacus”.

What Spartacus did was above and beyond the call of duty. He could have just saved himself and lived a freeman. Instead he allegedly took with him more than ninety thousand slaves and had the Roman Empire hunting him across the country. Spartacus had done what most people would not – he stopped thinking about himself and made a difference. Many of us would shy from extraordinary and settle for comfortable because we are too afraid of change. So we go on each and everyday of our lives repeating what we do and praying for a break.

Extraordinary people do what common people won’t do. Doing uncommon things brings uncommon results. Think about that.

Personally, I don’t want to be common. I don’t want to be like everybody. I want to be Lance Amstrong who won seven Tour de France Championships in a row even when doctors said that he can never cycle professionally again. I want to be Sir Edmund Hillary who climbed the highest mountain when the world said he wanted to do the impossible. I want to be Mulan, a woman in a man’s army who saved an empire. I want to be Spartacus and take on a tyrant emperor and lead thousands of slaves to freedom. I want to make a difference not only in my life but in the lives of people around me. I want to achieve things that people say is out of my league. I want to do the impossible and look into the eyes of those who mock and laugh at my dreams and say, “I AM SPARTACUS”.

A single grain of rice can tip the scale. One man may be the difference between victory and defeat.

FYI

Spartacus was a Roman slave, who led a large slave uprising in what is now Italy, (then the Italian Peninsula), during 73 BC-71 BC. His army of escaped gladiators and slaves defeated many Roman legions, in what is known as the Third Servile War, one of the three slave rebellions of ancient Rome. This war was also known as the "Gladiator War".

The Disney movie “Mulan” is based on the Chinese legend of Hua Mulan. The earliest accounts of the legend state that she lived sometime around 386AD and 534AD. The story can be traced back to The Ballad of Mulan. One myth had Yang, the second Sui Dynasty Emperor, repeatedly requesting Mulan to be a concubine after he found out his prized general was a woman. She refused and committed suicide. The Emperor held a funeral with honours for Hua Mulan. The story was expanded into a novel during the late Ming Dynasty (1368-1644).

Lance Armstrong is most famous for recovering from cancer to subsequently win the Tour de France a record seven consecutive times—1999 to 2005. Armstrong was diagnosed with testicular cancer that had metastasized, spreading to his lungs and brain. His doctors told him that he had about a 50 percent chance of survival. After his recovery, one of his doctors told him that his actual odds of survival had been considerably smaller (one even went as far as to say three percent), and that he had been given the estimate primarily to give him hope.

Edmund Percival Hillary was born on July 20, 1919 in New Zealand. He and Tenzing Norgay reached the 29,035 foot (8850m) summit on May 29, 1953 at 11:30 a.m. local time.

For more information visit http://en.wikipedia.org

No Signal Light

2007-06-07T02:11:00.000-07:00

This image is a property of Inmagine.com

It was almost 1:30 am on a very early Wednesday morning a month ago. I was driving from Desa Sri Hartamas on my way home. I shifted to a lower gear as I moved into the left lane heading towards Eastin Hotel. The traffic light turned green I increased pressure on the accelerator. Just as I passed the traffic lamp, a Kelisa makes a break at the red light, against traffic and on a collision course with me. I jammed on the breaks as I swerve as left as I possibly could without slamming into the wall; all the while hoping the car behind me does the same without smashing into my rear. I evaded the head-on collision, a wall and a rear-ending all in less than two seconds and twenty feet. The other car proceeds towards on coming traffic, stops at the traffic lamp I just passed, makes a three point turn and zaps past me against another red light. Talk about a suicide mission and pickles for a brain. What was even more amazing was how the other drivers just continued on their journey like nothing happened.

Driving in Malaysia is certainly an arduous and dangerous affair. I swear that if you can drive in Malaysia, you can drive anywhere in the world. Not too long ago, several friends on mine were having a discussion about how Malaysian drivers don’t use their signal lights. The general consensus is that the function of the signal lights evades typical Malaysian drivers as most tend to switch it on at the very moment they make a turn or after. There are of course the exceptionally intelligent few who signal left just before they turn right and vice versa. However, we estimate that only 30% of the driving population are actually aware of the device which explains why the local radio stations initiated a “Signal Light Awareness” Campaign.

This is just one of many problems. Over the years I have discovered many more issues with our driving habits and I have learnt that they are caused by various illnesses.

Image above is a property of Frank & Ernest. Art by Bob Thaves.

Following are some of those illnesses that have thus far been identified:
Short-term Memory Loss –Nothing serious here. Victims temporarily forget their keys and sometimes the location of their motor vehicle. Several sessions with a hypnotist should solve the problem.

Long-term Memory Loss – Often affects women and senior citizen. Victims have been known to forget the use of brakes and clutch. They are also known to loose all memory of a spare tyre. The only cure developed does not work for senior citizens. It involves heavy reading and notes taking of the motor vehicle’s manual.

4 Digit – This peculiar illness strikes without warning. Victims suffer from a sudden loss of motor skills and are often fixated on a 4 digit number on vehicles that have just been in an accident.

Kryptonian Super Flu – This virus can be traced back to 1979 in the United States when Hollywood released a man-made bacteria that was supposed to enhance and improve the mood of the public. The bacteria evolved in to a super flu that seems to affect only motorcyclist. Victims of this bacteria would stretch out on a motorcycle at very high velocity like a flying superhero. No cure was ever developed however the symptoms seem to fade with maturity or the lost of a limb.

Initial-D Syndrome A – This mental illness was initiated by a government experiment with flashing lights. Sometime in the 80s several racer came to realise that regular drivers automatically move out of the way for vehicles that have flashing lights such as police escorts, ambulance and fire engines. This epidemic broke out in the 90s and the flashing yellow lights became a general unwritten rule for regular drivers to move out of the way for such cars or face the consequences. Symptoms: free advertising for Recaro, Nismo, West, Zigen

Initial-D Syndrome B – This particular version of the illness can be traced back to the 1990 release of our national car, the Proton Saga. The price of this car caused much excitement with the public and many developed this mental illness that was discovered by Dr. Imus Ravup in 1993. As this car was much cheaper than imported vehicles, owners developed uncontrollable urges to upgrade and modify their car to the extent that wiring for a signal light system shutdown completely. Symptoms: Same as Initial-D Syndrome A plus constant need to blast sound systems beyond reasonable hearing levels, flashing blue landing lights.

IPS-IV or Indestructible Personality Disorder E – This is a mental illness that affects motorists with E license grade (truck drivers). Victims of this disorder lose peripheral vision while driving leading them to believe that they are the only ones on the road. This illness can only be cured by removing the E license from the victim’s identity permanently.

IPS-III or Indestructible Personality Disorder B3 – Similar to IPS-IV affecting only motorists with B3 license grade (motorcyclist below 100cc). Victims of this disorder develop an identity crisis leading them to believe that they have similar racing abilities as Wayne Rainey. This illness cannot be cured. One can only hope that it would fade with time.

IPS-II or Indestructible Personality Disorder B2 – This mental illness affect motorist with B2 license grade (motorcyclist up to 250cc). This is an enhanced version of IPS-II. Victims of this disorder further develop their identity crisis to actually believing they are on a race track racing for their lives. Symptoms include constant euphoria while on the motorcycle, loss of peripheral vision and reasoning, and colour blindness. At this level the only hope for a cure is a procedure developed by the late Dr. Alcrash which involves limb removal via high trauma impact. The side effect of this procedure is that the Wayne Rainey identity sets in permanently.

IPS-I or Indestructible Personality Disorder A – This is the most feared of IPS as it is contagious. This mental illness can affect any motorists. Symptoms include extreme bad breath, vomiting, loss of cognitive skills, colour blindness, Hercules rash and increase aggressiveness (violent temperaments have been recorded). Victims have been known to drive through walls and over cliffs where available. There is no permanent cure for IPS-I. Recommendation: Avoid alcohol.

Down Syndrome Parkingson – Early symptom: sitting for driving test more than twice after paying the bribe and received driving license without a test. Down Syndrome patients have been known to place their motor vehicle in a position that would obstruct traffic and often taking two parking space for their motor vehicle. They need a space ratio of 50:1 in order to manoeuvre their vehicle. Patients have also been known to loose hearing especially when blocking other vehicles in their parking lots. Cure: There is no cure for stupidity.

If you are fortunate not to suffer from these illnesses then you will most certainly benefit from the information I am about to provide you with. It is a summary of the experiences I gained from riding shotgun for three years and being at the helm for the last sixteen. You see, I went to a very bad driving school (as they all are) when I first took the wheel. Fortunately I have understood the rules of driving since then and have decided that it should be shared with all.

You always have the right of way.
Courtesy is for the blind.
Speed demonstrates Greatness.
Flashy blue lights are vehicular essentials.
Seatbelts are optional accessories.
“One Way Street” signs are merely decorative initiative by Town Council.
The safe driving distance from the car in front of you is one foot.
The rear-view mirror is there for you to put on your makeup and check your hair.
Signal lights informs other drivers that you have gone spastic and to prevent you from turning into the indicated direction.

Junctions

Always wait for on-coming traffic before coming out of a junction.
When driving out of a junction, drive to the outer most lanes where on-coming traffic that may have you in their blind-spot can crash into you and hence claim insurance for upgrades.

Traffic lights

Green means Go,
Red means Stop,
Yellow means Go Faster.
After alcohol consumption: Red is a nice lipstick colour.

Parking

Vehicles above 1600cc may take up two parking bays.
When parking space is unavailable, park anywhere that attracts the most attention; such as in the middle of the road. This way other drivers must stop to admire your vehicle.
Priority parking for revved-up, turbo-charged engines.
Traffic laws do not apply to racers and drifters.
Road dividers are parking space for 4x4 vehicles.
After alcohol consumption: Vertical Parking is an option.

In an accident

It is never your fault. You are a perfect driver.
First check damage on car structure
Next check engine,
Third check sound system,
Forth self-examination; ensure all limbs are intact,
Fifth notify parents that they need to purchase for you the new Evo VIII,
Followed by calls to all gangster friends and police connections,
Finally, if time permits, check if your passengers are still alive.

Note: If at this point you still do not get the point (yes YOU!); kindly lookup the words satire and sarcasm.

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