HoneyAcid

5 Days in Hengyang: Day 5

2010-04-12T03:51:00.000-07:00

It’s our last day. I can’t lie. I’m actually relieved to leave Hengyang. But we’re all feeling sad about saying goodbye the kids and the people at ICC.

We arrived at the center and headed straight for our respective areas. Glen brought a guitar and gave us the option of singing to the kids. Since no one took it, Derek suggested we do it for our group. OK, I get to hide behind an instrument today.

We went into our first room and started singing any old kid’s song that came into our heads. It helped to have Keena (a BV and school teacher) on our team. Our reward was the look of enjoyment that spread across some of their faces (of course some didn’t look the least bit interested, and one just wanted to pull the strings off the guitar).

After a morning of singing, I went to spend my last few hours with two kids in particular. The first is Guo Guo. This guy is just plain funny! I didn’t get to ask but I wonder he can feel pain. Earlier this morning, he fell head first on the floor with a thud. But he just got up without making the least bit of fuss. Not even a whimper.

Then someone gave him a balloon and he chewed it till it burst in his face. He just looked surprised that the balloon was gone. Anyway, I love this kid. He sucked his thumb then grabbed my hand. He picks his nose regularly. And he is super fast – managing to grab my glasses twice – even when I was watching him to ensure he didn’t grab my glasses. But his face is one of the first in my mind when I think about the trip.

He arrived at the centre starving and almost didn’t make it. Thanks to the care of ICC, he’s lively, smiley and responsive today. Again, I had to clap for him for close to 45 minutes. For reasons I’ll never understand, the sound just mesmerizes him.

I also spent my last hour at the centre with Wei Wei. I took him to his spot at the pergola again – but it looks like this dude remembers me. After just a few minutes at his spot, he led me to the slide and then sat at the foot of it and looked at me expectantly. How could I refuse?

Saying goodbye was sad. Not teary-eyed sad but sad nonetheless.

As we headed away from the centre for the last time, I felt grateful for this experience. Because now I can truly say I feel for them. I’m thankful for this much-needed change of heart. Prior to this trip, I was actually quite afraid of kids with special needs because I didn’t know how to react to them. Now, I know that they’re really not that different. They crave acceptance and love just like any other kid. And they need it more because so few will give them that.

The toddler boys are in a loving environment now. The carers show them affection, feed them and they certainly don’t lack the human touch. But what happens when they outgrow this at this cute and lovable age?

I’ll do what I can from here and pray for them – because God can do what we can’t. I have also decided to sponsor one kid on a regular basis – so that I’ll get regular updates on his progress.

Hazel plans to sponsor a child too. She took care of one blind little girl named Yang Heng Da. Because Hazel spent all 3 days with her, Da Da cried when Hazel said goodbye on the third day – despite the fact that no one told her we were leaving.

Two people sponsoring two kids is like a drop in the ocean. As for the thousands upon thousands of other kids like them, you and I can’t help them all – but the least we could do is remember them and not look past them. If you’re a Christian, join us in prayer for them – not like once a year, but as often as you can. I say this with great comfort because God can love them better than we can.

The train to Changsha took us away from the kids at over 300 km/h. In no time, we were in Hunan’s biggest city. You may not have heard of Changsha – but it is as big and as vibrant as Bangkok – if not bigger. Within 40 minutes we were worlds apart from the kids. But they’ve made their mark and memories of them remain clear in my mind’s eyes.

5 Days in Hengyang: Day 4

2010-04-11T08:33:00.000-07:00

For some strange reason, this is our 2nd consecutive Easter in China. Not that we mind. It’s just something I would never have foreseen in previous years.

Since it was Sunday, we didn’t go to the centre today. Instead, we had Easter service in a conference room in the hotel. The ICC volunteers joined us as our guys took charge of the service.

Glen led in worship. Sky shared a great message. My one takeout of it is this: Let us not focus on His death. Let us not even focus on the resurrection. Let us focus on the Holy Spirit that He sent and is with us today. Powerful stuff.

After that, Derek led the communion service. It was wonderful to break bread together in mainland China on Easter Sunday.

Right after communion, we prayed for the ICC staff plus some of the visitors that were with them – a group of full timers who worked with deaf children in Changsha.

It is one the most unusual Easter services ever, but it was simple and genuine. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

The rest of the day was FREE! Woooot! We went down to Hengyang’s city centre, first having lunch at a pizza buffet place that copied its décor from Pizza Hut and modified its name from Domino’s. Welcome to Domis Pizza (only in China la).

The rest of the day included walking around aimlessly around the city, having coffee at Hengyang’s most expensive coffee place and then adjourning en masse for a massage.

That night, 15 of us crammed into a restaurant and ordered 13 dishes. The food was amazing and when we got the bill we almost fell off our chairs: HK19 per head.

Our journey back to the hotel was quite unforgettable. We got onto a bus that smelt more like a boat. Diesel fumes hit us the moment we stepped in. Then, to make the toxic experience complete, some passengers started puffing away. As we were approaching our hotel, I saw (and heard) one guy clear his throat and actually spit his glob in the bus. The best part was the locals around him didn’t turn a hair. Oh well, if they don’t mind, who are we to complain?

Just when I thought the day was over, someone suggested we end the day with a bang. So, off we went to the fireworks shop. 3 boxes: 1 small, 1 medium, 1 jumbo-B52-killer-nuclear-death-star-canon. The one I'm holding is only the medium one.

We all felt like kids again that night. We always hear the phrase “Easter Celebration”. Well, this is Easter Celebration with a real bang – China style. What an experience!

5 Days in Hengyang: Day 3

2010-04-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

Glen:
The window, the window,
The second storey window,
With a Heave and a Ho,
And a mighty, mighty Ho,
They threw him out the window.
(Hengyang trip bus song)

The grey sky hung really low today. Since it was raining, we were confined indoors – which made Day 2 at the centre unexpectedly tougher than the first.

Kenneth, Derek and I split up today. I walked into one of the rooms alone. The first kid that came up to me was Dun Dun. He seemed a little subdued today – but still smiley nonetheless.

He walked up and handed me a toy. And then yes, took it away from me again, laughing as if it’s the funniest trick in the world. Nikki, our wonderful organizer and host, told me that he has “tricks of the season”. At one stage, he blew bubbles with his spit and laughed his head of. Another time, he tried to lick people as a joke. Thankfully, he was over both these tricks

His breath smelt awful today. I guiltily stopped breathing every time he “spoke” to me up close. Dun Dun doesn’t really speak. He just makes sounds – happy sounds, sad sounds, calling sounds. Even his carer checked if he was sick when she caught a whiff of his breath. Poor guy. Thankfully, there was nothing wrong with him.

I went over to greet Bei Bei. I wondered if he could see. When I got closer, he didn’t look and started frowning. Then I tapped in on the shoulder and just said, “Bei Bei, ni hao!!” Instantly, he smiled till his eyes practically disappeared. I really miss that smile.

The carer then asked me to help Bo Bo “practice” his walking. This means I had to help push a wooden rack round the room slowly while he held on to it as he walked. Bo Bo is a cool dude. Tiny but cool. Never says anything and eyes you sleepily. If you make a face at him, he reciprocates with a lazy smile. Even when he cries, it’s soft and gentle.

During lunch, I noticed how little persuasion they needed to clear their plates. Those who didn’t require feeding would wait anxiously while the food was being prepared. When lunch was served, they dug in instantly. Dun Dun shoveled a huge spoon of extremely hot rice into mouth and just kept going. I later learned that most of them wouldn’t know when they were full and would just keep eating as long as there was food. Their allocated quota ensured they didn’t overeat.

I moved to another room after lunch. Wei Wei saw me and reached out his hand, extremely determined to go out. Since we couldn’t, I sat with him and rocked him and again, sang and prayed for him.

As we sat, Guo Guo rocked over from his chair and grabbed my hand. He turned my palm upward and then just started hitting it to make a clapping sound. That lasted for almost 10 minutes. After awhile he picked up a shaker and shook it. Then he handed it to me and pulled his ear, indicating that he wanted to hear the shaker. I made shaking noises near his ears and he looked at me and smiled. I varied the distance of the shaker from his ears – near, far, near, far – and that made him laugh. He didn’t let me stop for close to half an hour.

Towards the end of the day, the rain stopped and we were able to take the kids for walks – an opportunity which I gladly took.

There were times today I felt pretty useless. With so much time in two rooms furnished with nothing much, I was constantly wondering what to do. I initially felt it wasn’t very productive – but then realized “productive” is just an obligation we’re conditioned to strive for. These kids face much bigger challenges. We’re just supposed to be there for them in person and in prayer.

(After a day of not knowing what to do, I ran back to hiding behind instruments.)

5 Days in Hengyang: Day 2

2010-04-08T21:08:00.000-07:00

9 am. Our bus heads down the road. A motorcycle from the opposite direction veers out and heads right at us. The bus honks. The bike honks. Bus honks louder. Bike flashes. They both slow down and somehow miss each other. As we pass, I discover that the bike veered out to avoid a giant watermelon in the middle of the road.

Our first day with the toddler boys began with “circle time” i.e. light therapy sessions. Feeling self-conscious and inadequate, all I could do was sit in the circle and watch. One exercise was just to get each kid to recognize his own name – which came in the form of a song and everybody pointing at the respective kid when his name was sung.

It was a great intro for us as well. Their names all begin with Yang Heng, followed by a given name. Yang Heng Bei, fondly called Bei Bei, has Cerebral Palsy. He can’t stand. He can’t talk. But his smile can light up anyone’s day.

Yang Heng Dun – yes, called Dun Dun – has an attention span of about 5 seconds. He can be quite the rascal but he too has smile that cheers you up. He walked cautiously up to me and smiled. When I smiled back, he beamed further and sat on my lap. 3 seconds later, he got up and moved to Derek and Kenneth, then to the caregivers. Then he walked round the room, handing out a toy and taking it away right after we accept it.

We moved to the next room for another “circle time”. After that, it was basically free time. Yup, that was the moment I was kind of dreading – alone time with the kids. What to say? What to do? A little boy walked up and grabbed my hand. It was Fei Fei. He pulled me towards the door – indicating that he wanted a walk. I held his hand and led him down the walkway towards the garden.

At the garden, I walked around for awhile, unsure if I’m supposed to do anything else. Casually, I prayed, “God, I don’t know what to do.” I felt something in me quietly say, “You don’t always have to know what to do.” At that, I stopped trying to figure out what Fei Fei wanted and just left it to God.

Fei Fei knew what he wanted though. He ambled towards a big swing and climbed on (the swing was bolted so it was more like two benches facing each other). Once on the swing, he just leaned back and looked completely contented. He tensed up every now and then, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. But he didn’t seem too perturbed.

I began praying for him and speaking into this little life. And then started singing “Jesus Loves You this I know” to him. All this while, he never once looked at me. After singing a few times, I just looked at him and said, “Jesus loves you”. That’s when, for the first time, he looked me in the eye.

Coincidence or not, it was a reminder that praying for them was the best thing we could do. The next best thing was to just be there, giving them some much-desired one-to-one time because the caregivers have so much to do.

I spent time with two other kids the rest of the day. I took Dun Dun for a walk (or rather he took me for a walk). Some of the ICC staff were stern with him and I realized this guy was quite the trickster. He acted tired so that I’d carry him. But when Karen saw us, she advised to put him down. As we walked down the stairs, she stood and watched him, hands on her hips. He just kept looking sheepishly at her. Hah! Me da sucker.

Later in the afternoon, I took Wei Wei for a walk. He’s adorable and always wants much TLC. The caregiver said he had his spot in the garden. I only needed to take him to the pergola in the middle of the garden and let him stand by a circular concrete bench. He got excited as we neared to pergola – walking faster than he could and stumbling almost every step. The moment he reached his spot, settled down in a blink and was a picture of tranquility. I’ve never seen a kid stay so quiet for so long.

I’m always reminded that it’s not about me. Today, the kids taught me that this also means to stop looking to me for solutions. They know themselves better than I do. And God knows them better than they know themselves.

5 Days in Hengyang: Day 1

2010-04-08T01:41:00.000-07:00

Arrival in Changsha, largest city in the Hunan province.

The reception we received matched the cold weather. For some strange reason, Hazel’s passport gave the immigration guys lots to talk about. Or maybe it was because they had just a few international flights a day and were bored senseless.

Passport withheld, Hazel was asked her to get her bag. They led us into a windowless room and shut the door. Then they tied Hazel and me with barbed wire and beat us with rubber hoses filled with metal ball bearings. At least that thought flashed through my head. I glanced at Hazel to see if she was scared. Nope. At worst, she looked slightly cheesed off at the thought of having to repack.

5 guards appeared. One was a senior official. He looked capable of beating people with rubber hoses. But today he just stood and watched. 4 young personnel in perfectly-ironed uniforms combed our bags. We were impressed by how courteous they were with our stuff, even having a woman search Hazel’s bag.

Finding nothing suspicious, the guy who summoned us spoke up. Roughly translated by Hazel, he said, “We hope you don’t think badly of this. We were just checking.” Guess that beat saying, “We wanted to impress our boss and you were easy meat” or, “You looked like human organ smugglers”.

We caught up with the group and boarded our bus bound for Hengyang, second-largest city in Hunan. Our 3-hour journey was normal by China standards. It included weaving between slower trucks accompanied by frequent bursts of honking. We made one rest stop. Toilets were clean (as in the stalls had doors and they used urinals instead of piss canals). After that, it was back on the bus for lunch on the go.

Our hotel was in tiny towhship, 15 minutes out of Hengyang’s city centre. Our room was big. Interior design was classy by 80s standards. The carpet was a tad sticky. And we were reminded to throw used toilet paper into the bin, not into the toilet… wokayy! But that said, the rooms were comfortable.

15 minutes later, we were back on the bus and headed towards the orphanage. We drove past drab decrepit buildings and happy locals, out of the town area, through narrow roads and over muddy un-tarred paths.

I arrived at the centre not knowing what to expect. The agenda for Day 1 was a tour. We were split into groups. Karen, who is a fulltime nurse there, was our guide.
From the courtyard area, we could hear excited shouts from a room not far away.

“They’re excited to see you,” Karen said. Our first stop was the block where they housed the “older boys”. One of the boys appointed himself usher, greeting us with great gusto. He said “ellow” to every single person who walked past. Occasionally, he yelled “IMMASOH!!”

With just over 20 people, the room we were in felt crowded. It used to house more than double that number until ICC made some much-needed change. We were surrounded and things are a blur to me now. I remember a guy trying to zip my jacket. I remember hands searching my pockets. Some guy came up and put his arms around me. From the corner of my eye I saw another dude suddenly jump up and down – intentionally stamping his feet so hard when he landed that the floor shuddered.

Suddenly our usher started getting us to sit. He grabbed my arm in an iron grip, all the while beaming, and led me to a bench. I vaguely remember him grabbing Abbie’s arm with the same iron grip and plonking her on the same bench.

He laughed and yelled “IMMASOH!” then started singing “I’ve got peace like a River” in mandarin. That’s when I realized “IMMASOH” was actually “In my soul”. In a society where people like him had little or no hope, this dude has found joy and was praising God in whatever way he knew.

After being with the “older boys”, we visited the other groups: “older girls”, “toddler girls”, "toddler boys” and “babies”. Their stories were heartbreaking. The way they received us was heartwarming.

After dinner was worship and briefing. I was assigned to “toddler boys” along with Kenneth and Derek. We were told that we’d spend the whole day with them. That night, as I lay in bed trying not to let the sporadic honking outside drive me nuts, I thought silently, “What have I gotten myself into?”

5 March: Screw Heritage Day

2009-03-04T17:46:00.000-08:00

A short but mind boggling article yesterday spoke of an auction that made me ponder, “Really? Can money turn people into soulless, self-serving pigs that put themselves above an entire nation?” Pffft… silly, naive me. Of course it can.

Antiquorum Auctioneers are about to auction off Mahatma Gandhi’s old belongings, including his sandals, watch and trademark round glasses. Despite massive protests in India, spokesperson Michelle Halpern said, “the auction will go ahead…” It will happen later today, 5 March 2009.

Once again, money has spoken louder than history, culture or life. This goes against the denunciation of greed that the humble leader stood for. Gandhi’s belongings may have cost less than 20 dollars. Tomorrow, they will be auctioned off for 1,000 times higher. With all this publicity, it could skyrocket further.

Once again, the soulless left-brainers that run the world (and got us into the state we’re in today) will continue to fuel their obsession.

Once again, monetary value outweighs historical and cultural value. That means to say everything has a price – which inadvertently means so does human life.

Why do Antiquorum insist on the auction despite protests from the rightful owners of Gandhi’s belongings? Wouldn’t these items hold deeper meaning in India? Do affluence (and perhaps) nationality make 1 buyer more important than 1 billion people?

Tomorrow, a country will feel the pain while the fat cats at Antiquorum smugly pop champagne. Next year, Indians will still feel a sense of loss whenever they think about it. Next week, Antiquorum would already be too busy making money off other people’s talents or possessions to even remember the name Gandhi.

Some argue that the Indian government deserves it for not helping the poor. What kind of argument is that? Punish the government by taking something away from the people? That would make as much sense as solar-powered torch lights.

The ideal scenario would be that these items sit in museum as proud parents tell their children about their nation’s hero, or as locals look on with pride while people from around the world muse at the personal belongings of this world icon.

But none of that is going to happen now is it? Come tomorrow, these items will go to one single individual.

It could go two ways. If the highest bidder has a shred of appreciation for heritage, these items could well be donated back to India. I can only pray that this be the case.

However, the highest bidder could also turn out to be a complete doofus, with more dollars than brain cells and culturally shallower than the Azov Sea coastline at low tide. I cringe at the thought of his first phone call: “Yee-haw, bay-beh! I got it! I got Ben Kingsley’s glasses!”
___

To commemorate today, let’s make every 5 March “Screw Heritage Day”. Got something valuable your grandmother gave you? Pawn it. Especially if she’s dead. The money will bring you happiness.

Bhopal

2008-10-05T01:55:00.000-07:00

I'm halfway through a book called "Animal's People". Here's an excerpt:

I used to walk upright. That's what Ma Franci says, why should she lie? It's not like the news is a comfort to me. Is it kind to remind a blind man that he could once see? The priests who whisper magic in the ears of corpses, they're not saying, 'Cheer up, you used to be alive.' No one leans down and tenderly reassures the turd lying the in dust, 'You still resemble the kebab you once were...'

The author is Indra Sinha - former copywriter extraordinaire who found the sense to leave copywriting.

My ignorance initially led me to believe that this was merely an amazing piece of fiction. But it is far from that. While the characters in this book are all fake, it is based on the true horror that happened in Bhopal, India, and the people linked to that horror - Union Carbide.

In a nutshell, the Bhopal tragedy involves a poison gas leak from the Union Carbide plant. The leak killed thousands of Indian villagers. Known to the victims as "that night", the tragedy caused hundreds to flee from their homes in the dead of night - the strong suffered, the weak died - my description does it little justice.

What I find disturbing are the two very different accounts of the incident. Without being biased, here are some links so you can read about it for yourself and form your own opinion.

Option A: "I want to believe genius American spin doctors who have collaborated with forever-honest Indian officials and, with plenty of money, power and influence, presented these facts." If this is you, visit www.bhopal.com

Option B: "I want to hear from the people who were and are in Bhopal". If this is you, visit www.bhopal.org or www.indrasinha.com/animal.html

Happy reading.

Logic

2008-09-29T19:28:00.000-07:00

Kalau ada dua pisang, dua monyet mari, ok la. Tutup satu mata. Tapi, s'karang, ada dua pisang tapi dua puluh monyet mari - koyaklah.

Dehydration

2008-07-18T23:00:00.000-07:00

The old lady in front drags her feet with one last ounce of strength. Then she falls face first on the burning sand. I stop to check for a pulse. CK mutters breathlessly, "Don't stop, bro. Or you'll be next."

We trudge along with the rest of the weary walkers - plodding forever, but never reaching our destinations. The merciless sun seems to scoff at us, its leering rays piercing through the skins of those with the nerve to venture beyond the shades.

I hear a feeble shout and turn to look. I see a local and a cop in a tug of war. Desperation makes people suspend all sense of reality. The local takes a weak swipe at the cop. The cop reacts. Being stronger, he manages to shove the local onto the floor. The cop then jumps on him and starts punching his face with blistering blows. The local is eventually motionless and the cop claims his "prize". I see they've been fighting over a bottle of water. There is perhaps one sip left in that bottle. Anarchy rules when the most basics of needs are not met.

CK nudges me and asks me not to stare. I comply. Because I don't care really. I just need to get away from the burning sun. It seems like we've walked in this never-ending desert for days. But as it turns out, it's only been 15 minutes.

I wonder how long more I can take this. My head feels faint. I am panting. My legs feel like cement blocks. I hope I can go through with this. It must end. I will conquer it. It will not get the better of me, this crazy Hong Kong summer.

Corkscrew Cabbie

2008-06-23T17:55:00.000-07:00

The Hong Kong cab driver has one objective. OK, well, that's unfair. He has two objectives. One is he needs to take you to your destination. But is not his primary challenge.

The Hong Kong cabbie's main objective is to make you vomit. So he drives as if he's trying to shake your lunch out of you: pedal to floor, let go, pedal to floor, let go, floor, floor, let go, let go, brake.

If he has 50 meters of free space ahead, he accelerates like the A380 at takeoff. But after just 5 meters, he takes his foot off the accelerator completely (despite having another 45 meters of open road ahead). Then he glances at the rearview mirror to see if the passenger's head and neck are moving in a whiplash like motion. If they are, then he's off to a good start. Immediately he accelerates again and repeats jerk-head maneuver every 5 meters.

If there is an oncoming stop ahead (junction, traffic light, stopped bus), he tries to get to the stop in record time - then starts braking only when he's barely 2 feet from object at rest. However, he does so not with a giant squeeze on the brake pedal but in short rapid bursts. This makes the passenger jerk forward and backward approximately 2,500 times before coming to a dead halt. By this time, he's about halfway to meeting his main objective.

When it's time to move again, he reacts one step ahead. For example, when stoplight turns green, he accelerates immediately - even before the driver in front has stopped picking his nose. The reason for this is so that the cabbie is allowed one more jerk stop as his front bumper comes 0.1 mm within the rear end of the car in front. By doing this, he kills two birds with one stone: 1) Passenger gets thrown forward and backward within half a second, making him turn one shade greener 2) Cabbie gets excuse to honk at driver infront for 10 seconds.

By this time, lunch is about 3/4 way up. So he begins his foot exercises again: floor pedal, foot off, floor pedal, foot off, brake (for no reason), floor pedal, honk (for no reason). The only saving grace for Hong Kong passengers is that Point A is never too far from Point B. So normally, before the cabbie can successfully shake out that wonton noodle and tung yuen yong, passengers would have reached their destinations and clambered out to stable land - where they would lie on the sidewalk as understanding passersby try to feed them lemonade to ease the discomfort.

Because of HK's short distances, the cabbie rarely meets his main objective. Maybe that's why he's always so upset.

Summer Saturday

2008-06-07T12:00:00.000-07:00

Summer is here. What would you like to do?

Count the waves?

Read the clouds?

Eat an ice cube?

Listen to nothing?

Chat with your imaginary friend?

Hangout with the shade?

Wait for Sunday?

Summer is here. What I would like to do is nothing.

Ku Klux Relic the Jogging Witch

2008-05-11T23:30:00.000-07:00

It was a great day. First church, then lunch at Golden Phoenix (where dad enjoyed authentic HK char-siew), followed by a little exploring at Wan Chai.

After Wan Chai, we went to Leo’s place. It was there that he suggested walking a scenic trail to Wan Chai before dinner at Happy Valley.

So we trudged up a little hill and found ourselves at a jogging trail overlooking HK. We were at Mid-levels (Admiralty area) and we were making our way to Wan Chai. It was nice and green and quiet and happy.

Somewhere along the narrow trail, there was a map and we stopped for a brief second to look at it. That was when we met her. Walkers beware for the jogging witch appears without warning. Old but not haggard, and certainly no sweet grandma.

We could have blocked her way a little – but being the wicked witch she shrieked at the top of he lungs as if we were evil maggots: “WHY TAKE UP ALL THE SPACE?!!” Terrified birds scattered from the trees. Her cackling voice echoed through the hills. Wolves howled. The city stopped.

Then she disappeared out of sight. Another group of evening strollers had heard her warning screech and scurried out of the way. Hazel and mum said she was jogging. But they are wrong. I saw her riding on a broom.

Maybe cramped HK has gotten to her. Maybe she forgets that like me, she’s not from around here and should not act like trails belong to her daddy. Maybe, if she’s so unhappy, she should return to her faraway kingdom. Or, maybe someone just needs to remind her that it’s no longer 1908 but 2008.

Short Stories

2008-04-10T08:05:00.000-07:00

My ex-boss, the great Alex Lim, once introduced me to some of the world's shortest stories. When written well, he highlighted, just one or two short sentences would tell a whole lot more than what was on the page. Take this one from Hemingway for example. Only 6 words long, it is said to be his best work - and it goes like this:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Reading deeper, it speaks of a father (or mother) advertising to sell the shoes of a baby that had died. Less I ruin this amazing work, I shall say no more. You read. You imagine. You feel.

Another one I like is also just 6 words long. Written by Margaret Atwood, a Canadian writer, poet, novelist, it goes like this:

Longed for him. Got him. s**t.

We laugh. It rings a bell in all of us. It's the story of love in real life. I'm pretty sure many women out there have said or thought this at some point in their relationship - my wife included. Hoho. Great stuff!

Of course, not everything has to be 6 words. Here's something longer inspired by Stanley Bubien. I've modified it without his permission but credit goes to him. The story goes:

There once lived a man who loved to dress as a bear. His final words were, "Don't shoot."

This has inspired me to write my own short stories. Here's one:

She smiled sadly. At the altar, the love of her life kissed his bride.

Of course, short stories can also be a little weird. Here's another one by me:

She refused to rise from the dining table. "But officer," she said, "I warned him to stop calling me crazy". That said, she continued nibbling on the last bit of her husband's fried finger.

Sadly, that last one was inspired by a NEWS ARTICLE. Gah!

Funny, sad, horrifying... short stories can pack a punch. Go write. I'd love to read some of yours. :)

Easter Bee

2008-03-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

Today Pastor Tony gave one of the most humanized illustrations of Christ's death for us. It went something like this:

| A man was driving down a country road one beautiful morning. His son was next to him. The day was so nice he decided to wind down the windows.

As they were traveling along, a bee suddenly flew into the car. His son was terrified for he had a fatal allergy to bee stings.

As the bee buzzed around in the car, the father tried to protect his frantic son. When the bee finally landed on the windshield, the father quickly grabbed the bee with his hand and held it.

The little boy was relieved. But before he knew it, his father let go the bee and it started buzzing around again.

"Dad", he wailed. "What are you doing?!"

"Don't worry," assured the father. "The bee can't harm you anymore."

He opened his palm and showed it to his child, "Look, the stinger's in my hand." |

Thank you Jesus for the pierced hands that saved us from the sting of death.

Happy Easter to all.

Chasing the Filopio

2008-03-02T22:51:00.000-08:00

We just spent 3 days listening to Dr. Jackie Pullinger. She’s the author of Chasing the Dragon. In comparison to hers, my life is a joke. It was not her intention to make my life feel like a joke, but that’s just how it is.

How does a teenage girl from the west come to the east and minister in one of its darkest cities? A city that even easterners fear to tread? God’s grace, no doubt. But it also took oceans of obedience and loads of faith on her part.

For over 40 odd years, Dr. Pullinger has been ministering to the poor, the down-trodden, the “bad” (as some of us holier-than-thous would label them) – from addicts to prostitutes to pimps. Her life is one amazing testimony after another; testimonies of obedience followed by God’s amazing power.

I had to reevaluate. She said no ministry exempts us from ministering to the poor, because ministering to the poor was what Jesus did plenty of. That’s when I realized the Bible doesn’t make mention of Jesus playing the drums. Then I realized how I needed to re-prioritize.

Yes, yes, I know Jesus is glad when we play the drums (or piccolo or triangle for that matter) unto Him. However, I’ve come to realize how little I’ve done of what Jesus did most. It’s not too late though. Thankfully at the end of her amazing stories, Dr. Pullinger didn’t leave us hanging.

She even told us where to start. You can do the same. Pray that God will open our eyes to see the poor. How can we begin to minister to them when we can’t (or don’t want to) even notice them? Once we’ve learnt not to turn a blind eye, we can at least start praying for them.

After that, who knows where God will lead.

For now, I need to write a book about my comparatively nonsensical life. Hazel said my title should be equally nonsensical and suggested Chasing the Filopio. I was leaning more towards Chasing the Mimsy, Chasing the Slithy Toves or Chasing the Mome Raths. Which you likes?

These titles are inspired by a song about some of us. The lyrics go like so:

Twas Brillig and the Slithy Toves
Did Gyre and Gimble in the wabe
All the mimsy were the Borogoves

And the Mome Raths outgrabe.

Sea Pictures

2008-02-23T23:30:00.000-08:00

23 Feb, 2008, 10:30 am

Tugboat slogs as sand barge enjoys scenery.

Leaving home for home

2008-02-13T23:15:00.000-08:00

I’ve been whining in mute. Hence, not many would have guessed my gripes. Not friends, not family, perhaps, only perhaps, a hunch from Hazel.

You see, prior to our CNY trip to Seremban, home wasn’t a word I’d use to describe Hong Kong – much as I liked the city. And we were miles from hometown Seremban.

My constant gripe was: “I’m a freakin nomad. I have no home. Grumble, mumble, pumble…”

Then CNY came and we headed back. I felt at home – the road in front of my house which I’d been using for the past 25 years, the sound of my neighbour opening the door at 6 am, all that jazz. There was that unmistakable “ah” feeling.

Then, somewhere in the middle of our CNY holiday, I missed HK. The ferry commute, Tsing Ma bridge outside my window, the sound of the sea at Central Piers with Kowloon as the backdrop… “Make up your mind la,” I scolded me.

Needless to say, we had a fabulous CNY at home. Funnily, the night we got back to Park Island, there again was that bliss of arriving home. The same bliss I had when we reached Seremban Garden.

So I thank God. There are now two places where I can feel at home. There will be those who say there’s no such thing. I say there are no rules for the way you feel. I have two homes and I likes it. It’s not the “Home away from home” thingy. It’s a little different – it’s hard to the difference so I won’t. Don’t lose any sleep over it.

Sea Pictures

2008-01-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

OK, here's where you can laugh at me. Sea Pictures is gonna be a series of my attempts at describing what I see on my daily commutes on the ferry. The trick is to describe everything in 7 words.

It's not haiku - I will attempt my haikus in private - hidden from the scrutiny of other wannabes who, all too often, are a little too generous with their unsolicited points of view.

Sea Pictures is just practice at describing without babbling. Here's the first. Not meant to be funny but I know you all better so happy laughing. hoho...

Sea Pictures, 2 Jan 2008, 8:30 am:
On mighty Tsing Ma, double-deckers crawl like ants.

Mixed Feelings

2007-12-05T20:23:00.000-08:00

I'm glad to leave the snarl of Jalan Tun Razak, and its inconsiderate queue jumpers, roadhogs and tailgaters. But this reminds me that we have to leave our Vios and MyVi, which makes us rather sad.

I'm happy to leave my suffocating schedules and infuriating weekdays and hectic weekends. But that means leaving the friends who get me through my crazy days.

I'm relieved that the weekend commutes are over. But that means Seremban is no longer just a drive away.

They say the grass will always be greener on the other side. It's true. Because from the other side, you cannot see the flaws. Malaysia looks good from Hong Kong. I will admire from afar; it will continue to look good for the years to come.

Since July, I've asked God to lead me to Hong Kong. Obviously, He did. It seems a little unreal. It always does when a dream comes true.

So now I wait and ask, "What next, Lord?"

Goodbye Gurney

2007-11-28T23:40:00.000-08:00

Packing up the joys of starting life with BB.

Wrapping up the joys of our honeymoon years.

In memory they remain preserved, unchanged,

the joys, the tears, the friends, the craziness.

Thank you Lord for 3 wonderful years.

My Grandma Has a Time Machine

2007-10-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I saw mama’s swing.

Then I saw many other things.

I saw 225, Temiang road, mama’s big front porch and her many flower pots arranged like soldiers in formation. I even saw the moss on the bricks on which the flower pots sat.

I saw Sunday morning dim-sums, football on the porch with Leo and bright orange curtains that kept out the sun but could not keep out the hum of Chan Wa’s air-conditioning.

I saw uncle Boon Seong’s Triumph Harrod (I think that’s how it’s spelt but I’m not sure, because I didn’t bother how they spelt it back then.)

I saw the mango tree I would climb. I saw the rambutans that Fiona and I would fight over. I saw the Ciku tree that I didn’t care about.

I saw the big boys that played across the road in Chan Wa’s basketball court, and the drain with lalang and tadpoles. Then I saw my father shooting lalang high into the air.

I saw myself chasing Ah Chien around the big square table.

I saw us running round mama’s round kitchen table.

I saw my old blue pedal car and 4th aunt pushing me down the road.

I saw mum as a tiny figure at the end of the road, home from teaching in school.

I saw Kong-kong’s office with the old easy chair, next to his neat and tidy desk with the old black dial phone that I wasn’t allowed to touch.

Finally, I saw Kong-kong in his prime. But that was another time, another time.

Chloe in the Mansion

2007-10-10T11:00:00.000-07:00

The twilight was purple outside. Chloe realized she was seated right in the centre of the Chinese restaurant. Someone said it was called The Mansion.

She glanced around her. There were patrons of sorts. A waitress walked pass in a gleaming white cheong sam, carrying a kettle of what Chloe assumed was tea.

The Mansion was old grand. Like a big Chinese coffee shop, but classier with shiny mosaic floors and white tiled walls all around. The marble table tops added to the stark whiteness of the place.

Excitement temporarily enveloped her perpetual sadness. She heard someone’s heartbeat and wondered if it was hers. It was about time. Soon, Lee will appear.

Soon he will look at her with unbelievable delight. Soon, she will reunite with him. And he will meet her for the first time.

There was a commotion at the entrance. Lee’s auntie said someone had fallen off a bicycle. Everyone gathered at the doorway… looking, waiting, but never helping. She recognized some of Lee’s colleagues.

Then, she heard his voice. He called out softly, almost fearfully. Their eyes met she turned to look at him. Not surprisingly, his face slowly lit up.

She could feel his warmth even from 10 feet away. “He’s going to hold me,” she told herself – all the while hoping, all the while disbelieving.

“It’s really you,” Lee said, eyes boring into hers. He walked towards her. She assured herself, “Yes, he’s really going to hold me.”

“The guy should not have been riding without a helmet,” Lee’s auntie said.

Lee sighed. “These guys never learn. Is he dead?” he asked. “I’ve never seen a dead body. I want to see.” Lee was as excited as a small boy.

He got distracted when their dim sum arrived. All the bamboo steamers were laid out, covering much of the table. His attention was back to her.

“Come, darling,” Lee said tenderly to her. “Sorry, I’m late. Let’s eat.”

He sat close and looked at her face lovingly, happily. It seemed like he never wanted to moment to end. She didn’t dare hope for that.

“I want to hold you,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. He moved closer. Very close yet never close enough to touch her. Again, she felt his warmth.

“Will you put your arms around me?” she asked. She knew he wanted to. And she could see he was happy she asked.

He put down his phone receiver and said, “I have to go to the office for awhile.” He sighed helplessly. “I’ll be right back.”

With that he disappeared through the crowd. She saw that the fallen cyclist had gotten up. Lee’s auntie was helping him with a helmet.

Outside, twilight had turned to night. The streets were busy. Chloe looked through the window and wondered where she was. Penang came to mind. Then her phone rang. It was Lee.

“I’m walking back from the office now OK?” He sounded like he was walking briskly – jogging even, perhaps. She also detected a hint of desperation in his voice.

“OK, dear. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you,” she assured him gently.

Lee appeared at the doorway again. He smiled at her and walked to the table. He looked at the rice and dishes laid out.

“It’s healthier than dim sum,” Lee’s mother said. “You’ve been eating out too much. Have home-cooked food for a change.”

Lee was frustrated now. “But we want to be alone,” he told his mum as politely as he could. “Please understand, you can’t eat with us.”

His mum walked away, surprisingly unperturbed. Lee looked at Chloe. A quizzical look flashed across his face. “He noticed I’m in a different dress,” she thought happily.

“Will you still let me put my arms around your shoulders?” he asked. Again, they sat closely next to each other. Yet again, there was no contact.

“Yes, please.” She looked down at her lap quietly, waiting for the touch she’d been waiting forever for. Nothing happened. When she looked up, Lee was across the hall.

He was talking to his best friend Darren. They were looking out the window and laughing. “The water looks good,” Darren said.

“Yeah, man! Let’s go now.” They ran out together and not once did he look back. She could hear Lee say he was going to dive in to the sea.

Chloe sighed. It had happened again.

She sat in silence and yearning. Everyone at the Mansion had disappeared. Even the tiled walls were gone. The floor had become golden sand. She saw Lee at the edge of the cliff. The wind was strong and unpleasant.

“I think the fan’s too strong,” Chloe said.

Lee dove off the cliff. Chloe anticipated the impending darkness that would soon swallow her. “He’ll wake up the moment he hits the water,” she thought sadly.

“Then, who knows when he’ll dream about me again.”

Note: This just a short story I wrote. It was inspired by some book I bought by mistake. Critiques welcome. : )

8 Random Thoughts

2007-09-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

My wife asked me to do this 2 weeks back. Better do it now. Here are 8 thoughts for you:

1) I hate Sunday nights (as does everyone else, I suppose). Maybe I should take Mondays off. But that would only mean I'll hate Mondays instead of Sundays.

2) Why is the stretch of highway from Bangi to KL 90km/h? It's still a freakin highway. Do Bangi folks cross that highway? Did they order too many 90km/h signs and didn't know what to do with them? Did they do it just to make our drive miserable? I can just hear the conversation: "Hey, let's make them slow down here. It'll be fun to watch. Then we'll enforce the rule just once a year but we won't tell them when so they'll just keep guessing. Hehehehe..."

3) Hazel has fallen asleep in a blink of an eye yet again. I wish I could do that. She can sleep anywhere... on the plane, in waiting lounges... last night she slept on the floor of Stadium Putra Bukit Jalil - on that narrow walkway between rows of seats. No wonder she's so hyper. She gets sufficient sleep all the time.

4) Pork has cholesterol. Pork tastes good. Therefore pork has good cholesterol.

5) If a snatch thief falls of his bike and gets run over by a bus, do we celebrate with champagne or caviar? I say yes.

6) I don't like writing random thoughts because it makes you realize your thoughts are not very random.

7) If the money is blue, then when does the chicken fly like an eagle? Pink would be my best guess.

8) Darn it. No random thoughts. If I have to think for awhile, then it's not random right? Forget it. Late already. How about a random word? Here... Plasma!

Church Camp 07 (An Exhaustive Report)

2007-08-26T20:26:00.000-07:00

Day 1
Hooray! We're here!

Day 2
Bye-bye, Taiping.

Conclusion
No more half-camps, thank you.

Journey in Numbers

2007-08-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

58,000

Sunday is here.

Friends and family members are near.

Yet the merriment seems alien today.

My chatter is hollow.

My smile is skin deep.

My laugh is numb.

At the end of today's silver sky,

I see dark clouds looming ahead.

50,000

Today is filled with hope.

Hope that we've reached the trough.

Hope for an upward turn.

Hope that my Hazel's on the mend.

Hope that this is near the end of Bed 82A.

Alas, today I discover why Red says in Shawshank Redemption,

"Hope can be a dangerous thing".

38,000

The dark grey sky reflects the colour of my soul.

My crazy BB has become too sane. Her smile is forced. Her eyes are dull.

I walk out of the room. I see her name in red. The others are in blue.

If the number drops somemore... I think no further.

Today, even my plastic smile is gone.

I need some rest I'm told, so I go home for a fitful nap - next to where she normally sleeps.

No wonder it's written, "When I am weak, He is strong."

It is my cloudiest hour. Only He can be my silver lining.

41,000

Her smile is back but I assume nothing.

My hope remains in Him.

104,000

Today the sky is blue.

I wait for what we hope is the final test.

My heart is anxious and so I pray.

What He tells me makes me cry.

Only this time it's tears of joy.

Today the still small voice says to me,

"Rejoice, my son. The time for weeping is over."

It's no surprise at all when the good doc says,

"Good news, the count is 104 today."

Praise God. He's carried us through.

Oh no, that means I have to get back to work.

Hong Kong – Side B

2007-07-26T10:30:00.000-07:00

“Hong Kong’s a really transient city,” my cousin Leo said as we trudged up the slopes of ultra hip Lan Kwai Fong.

A successful investor, money-multiplier type fellow, Leo’s one of Hong Kong’s many expats who’s come to reap the rewards of this financial hub, which seems to move at warp speed 24/7. He lives on MacDonnell Road. Travels the region. Holds conference calls at night in his condo.

“Nothing stays the same for long. They’re always moving with the times,” he said.

This conversation took place about a year ago - June 2006 if I remember correctly. What he said still holds true. I vouched for it last year. Still do today.

But this year’s visit is different. I learn that there is a flipside to one of Asia’s wealthiest cities.

Today, I’m off the bustling island. We get off the MTR at Kwai Fong and head to an unglamorous mall (Kwai Chung or something like that).

Here, there are no expats, no hotshot bankers and no designer boutiques.

This is where middle class Hong Kong shops. A shop owner hawks his T-shirts in the mall, just a few feet away from a crowd gathering in front of a screen bearing the Hang Seng reports.

My wife and her mum walk into a 10-foot wide shop and rummage around for shoes. I quickly walk away before I collapse with boredom.

Just around the corner from the shop, out of nowhere, is a row of restaurants. Here is where I see the locals who slog to keep up with the rising costs of living: old men making cheap noodles, middle-aged women eating the cheap noodles, young men in cheap suits and cheap briefcases waiting for their lucky break, and retired folk who could be just seeking refuge from the sweltering heat of their 300-sq-ft apartments.

It also seems like it is here that the dregs of humanity come out and play.

A man in singlet and tattoo sits on a stool and looks around – as if keeping watch on his domain. Another overtakes me from behind, talking on his cellular and spitting out profanities. It was startling and it made me realize how little people in Hong Kong swore.

A rather effeminate old man wearing a tight turquoise t-shirt and pink boxers walks past – holding hands with his grandson (I pray and hope and pray it’s his grandson.)

Today, I saw the human side of Hong Kong. Beyond its world-renowned skyline – where buildings like The Center, The Bank of China Tower and the rest paint us images of businessmen and power women – are millions of others like you and me. Chasing after their own elusive dreams. Working regular jobs to eke out a regular subsistence.

Welcome to Side B of ultra modern Hong Kong.

Tar Kau

2007-07-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

3 pm. Thursday afternoon. BP: 180/120 (at least it felt like it)

Talk about office politics. He said that she said that he said that they said... Kids in Armanis and Levis. That's who we are.

The office has gotten big. It's near impossible to be one big happy family. Reality would not allow such ignorant idealism. Slowly we morph involuntarily into our own little clicks. Like hyenas we move around in packs - stage grins masking murderous thoughts.

Intentions can be given the benefit of the doubt. But to say "trust" seems so gullible.

At breaking point (just before swivel chair hits plaster), I send an sos sms to Hazel and FC.

"Please pray. Goin into tar kau meeting now."

FC's reply: "Huh? Pray 4 shield of faith or fist of thunderbolt?"

FC my funny friend in time of fury.

Nonetheless, I know neither Hazel nor FC did pray for any forn of thunderbolt. For within minutes, BP dropped. Not to the point of blackout but to a blissful "normal".

It was the peace of God. It was unmistakeable. It was beyond human understanding. For the worms I thought were plotting my downfall were still in front of me. Yet, voice decible remained normal. Not just mine. Everyone's.

Words were civil. Tempers were pushed to the edge but not beyond. Views were honest. And in the end everybody walked out with limbs in place and egos intact.

I now know - when a prayer is requested, do it immediately. A whisper that lasts but 10 seconds can erase hours of capped fury.

Thanks Hazel and thanks FC.

And thank you Lord for preventing me from becoming myself.

Scarlett the Ape

2007-06-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

“I hate knitting”, said Algernon the ape, as his needles clicked feverishly at the purple cardigan that was slowly taking form.

“Yes,” said Shiloh his Proboscis cousin. “But as you know, Elvis is on his way.”

“Pah!” Algernon replied. “We’ll never hear the end of that. I’ve heard that since I looked into the halogen bulb.”

“Patience, ape buddy”, soothed Shiloh.

“Patience?! Do you know how difficult it is for an ape to knit? Look around you. All my friends – ALL of them are just busy being naked. Eating, sleeping, copulating and shitting! Not ONE of them has to knit.”

“You’re different”, Shiloh reminded him. “Their bliss is but temporary. When you meet elvis, they admit to the folly of their ways. Their highway is running out of sand.”

“ENOUGH ABOUT ELVIS!” roared Algernon. “He’s never coming. We sing his songs for zero! Enough with this knitting.”

Algernon took his 36% complete cardigan and threw it down his deluxe tree house.

It landed in the pile of puke that Algernon had puked 20 years ago. Slowly, purple turned to chicken-shit green.

“I’ve had it. Elvis is dead.” He turned his back against Shiloh and looked towards the jungle mansion – where rabbits got intoxicated and diamond studs adorned peacocks. “I’m going over there Shiloh, you hear me?”

Silence.

“I said I’m going to the jungle mansion.’

Silence.

“Shiloh?!

Silence

“SHILOH!?” Algernon turned to face his friend – furious that his buddy did not answer. But Shiloh wasn’t there. All that was left were Shiloh’s underwear and modest pagoda cotton t-shirt.

Elvis had come. Shiloh was in the ozone that second. “Piak!” was the sound of realization smacking the ape’s furry head.

“NO-oooooooooooooo”, wailed Algernon as he anticipated his lava dip.

Today I turned 9 years old.

2007-05-03T22:24:00.000-07:00

Today I discovered a water playground called Redang.

Today I made splashes running headlong towards the horizon.

Today I dived into 27-degree Turquoise.

Today I discovered a rainbow with fins and a tail.

Today I tried to find Nemo.

Today I let the waves carry me to shore.

Today "5 more minutes" became 20 minutes.

Today I forgot I was 34 years old.

Today, my wife Hazel had to tell me to get out of the water... 3 times.

We approach a bend at 150 km/h. Suddenly my cab driver lets go the wheel, jerks around in his seat and starts hissing like a snake.

2007-04-27T23:55:00.000-07:00

I freeze in the backseat. Is he for real? He seemed so normal when I boarded the cab at KLIA.

“Senawang," I had said.

“Senawang…” He jokingly added, “Bukan Sungei Wang ah?”

I said “Sungei Wang sudah tutup la.”

He gave a small laugh and we were off – routine small talk for a routine cab ride.

However, within the first minute, I realized that my journey tonight was to be anything but routine.

He picked up speed way too quickly and drove too close to the divider. And this is before we even get to the highway.

Now, as we approach our first bend, he suddenly lets go the wheel, performs some “silat” movements (local martial arts) and starts hissing and snorting.

I’m tempted to pray in tongues – thinking that there might be more than just the two of us in the cab. But faith gives way to logic, and I foolishly stop myself for fear that my prayers will cause him to manifest and drive the cab into a divider. Sigh, when will I ever learn to trust?

Halfway into this bizarre journey, I notice a pattern. He becomes subhuman only when there’s a car blocking his path. Using his fingers, he seems to be “using the force” to get the guy in front to let him pass – failing which, he would lapse into another bout of cabbie kung-fu – all this while pushing 150 (naturally with rock music blasting in the background).

When we approach the toll, I’m curious as to how he would handle himself. Lo and behold, the moment the window goes down, he becomes Mr. Polite, and even manages a smile, a nod and a “thank you”.

“Oh good”, I thought. “Jet Li will behave himself now.” Alas, the moment the windows go up, pedal hits metal again. And again, the bouts of highway karate follow suit.

My journey ends none too soon in Seremban Garden. He stops the car in front to my parents’ house. Then, like a switch, he’s back to normal. He gets out of the cab and offers to help me with my luggage – mocking me, pretending that he’s the most normal guy in the world.

As he gets into the cab, I can’t help but ask if he’s OK. He nods, smiles and drives off into the still night.

You've been in the city too long when you stop to stare at a blinkin' butterfly.

2007-04-26T23:56:00.000-07:00

Welcome to The Villas Lumbung in beautiful Bali. Over here, life switches gears whether you like it or not.

Brian and I came to a jerk stop from 6th gear to 2nd during dinner last night. Suddenly we realized we had something the poor sods back in KL didn’t: Time. Over here, seconds feel like minutes – literally. And minutes feel like minutes lah – takkan minutes feel like hours rite? Get real man.

This morning was pretty much like last night. We were on a slow cruise through Thursday. After breakfast, I took the scenic route back to my villa. I came to a sudden stop when the butterfly fluttered by. The thought of being stopped by an insect made me conclude that I really need to get out more often.

I’ve been citified. My jungle is grey. The only animals I know are jackasses, bitches and road hogs. On a good day, I work like a dog. On a bad day, I feel like a dog. Upon reaching home, Hazel is still working like a dog. Like lemmings we follow the sucker in front as he dives into this masochistic routine. Is this really our lot in life? Or are we conforming to how the media equates “doing well” with fame and fortune?

(The media? Hey, that’s me. I tell people what’s cool. They follow what we say, and then on the street, I try to copy them… sheeeesh!)

And while we’re on the subject of fame – the Spikes were just given out 2 hours ago. We walked out of the ceremony empty-handed, save for our handphones – which we used to call our better halves to whine. 1 year of hard work deemed not good enough by a roomful of industry gurus. What makes losing so infuriating, and to a certain extent, worrying?

The song “Money makes the world go round” comes to mind. Awards lead to recognition which leads to respect which leads to poaching which leads to you asking for the sky. Everyone does it. Once you’ve done it, you start over so you can do it again. Those who stop are not the ones who’ve made their money. Those who stop are the absurd few who dare say “enough”.

Unless the Lord leads me, I feel that 34 is not the time to say "enough". So life as I know it will go on until or unless led otherwise. My bogus Bali getaway will end all too quickly. Soon I will be in my aquarium again, slogging in the concrete jungle with the hopes that it will lead me to a bigger jungle with even more concrete.

I managed to unwind for 12 hours. That’s it. Even before my day ends, my mind is forced to think ads. So here I sit, in my Villa, on my huge king-sized bed – thinking of ads when I should be thinking about nothing. So here goes. Dani, Khai, Brian, Zayn, Bill, boss, subordinate, competitor, Mr. Client, here’s proof that I’m thinking…

Open on a gorgeous girl. She’s holding a bottle of beer. She speaks expressionlessly to someone off screen.

Chick: I wanna breakup. You are too short and too poor.

Cut to short guy dressed plainly, looking quite speechless.

Fade to black. Supers appear:

ICE COLD

Bottle of beer fades in.