The Story So Far

Teoh Beng Hock's Inquest

80%?

In most books, an 80% chance would be a resounding yes.

80% would be enough to remove an MCA leader.

So why do the newspapers insist that its 80% and not, yes Teoh Beng Hock was murdered? No cry for justice? No movement to seek out the perpetrators? Are they really banking on the 20% chance of a reasonable doubt?

Our government controlled newspapers are the epitome of national conscience and freedom of the press, don't you think?

Evilness in the Air

We know how unbelievable our politicians can be when making statements but this had me gagging.

http://thestar.com.my/news/story.asp?file=/2009/10/20/nation/4934516&sec=nation

Politicians are evil and particularly so if its MCA since I don't know any one of them who does not have major business interests to protect with the full might of their YBhgs.

And for them to smell something foul, its irony of the year.

Happy Deepavali

A time for family, reflection, joy and ladoos

Have a safe one

It has the word Ninja and Cat. How can I resist?

70s children - we are the new old

Quoting movies is corny. But this is not to be confused with paraphrasing and dissecting Hollywood wisdom. So I have not been reading much these days but hey, with 4 seasons of SuperNatural to watch, (which translates to 4 seasons of Jensen Ackles), all femalekind at least would understand.

Anyway, that was not the movie I was refering to.

After a long hiatus from cinemas of any kind, Surrogates starring Bruce Willis intrigued me. The fact that the trailers showed Willis with hair was reason enough to watch although upon paying 10 bucks for the movie, I found the plot weak.

Anyway anyway - in the opening, the Voice, always wise and philosophical, as all movie voice over guys sound, emphatically declared that we are increasingly experiencing the world through our screens. Or something to that degree.

As TheBwadah's fren would say, and I quote, "No shit, Sherlock".

But it is an astute observation. Urban living has necessitated quick and easy entertainment that allows us to live life vicariously. Hell, we watch TV shows about people a million miles away eating food and drinking coffee. We watch Xandra Ooi holidaying in lake kenyir. We root for our favourites from who can race around the world the fastest to who can lose the most weight. All at the click of a button (TV remote or mouse -your poison).

What gives?

Has this something to do with my perpetual assessments of life priorities again? Oh, most likely but I am just pretty freaked that I have not seen it coming.

The mad dash to touch and hold on to the expanding red ribbon that is the middle class has reduced most of our best and brightest into easy to please high achieving automatons with little time for anything else. A Brave New World with a twist. Your life for a soma tablet.

Worship to Randomness

The above is an inflatable Jabba the Hutt costume. How can anyone NOT want that? Forget Princess Leia's slave costume, THIS is the thing to bug your parents/wife for.

Isn't that enough to make you forget to wonder why was I surfing for StarWars costumes in the first place?

For the 21st of September

This was supposed to be yesterdays posting but I fell asleep.

Cat's Dream

How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings
a series of burnt circles
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger's great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail.

Paulo Neruda (translated by Alistair Reid)

Shh, listen to my blood

Mood, Brood and Rabbit Food

Okay peeps! The Monster is back from redecorating the cave.

Blight

Fight

Flight

Toxic waste site

Ok, alright.

Enough of free associations.

Move along now!

I almost forgot I have a blog

The days have been short and nights, shorter still. Working hours no longer mean 9 to 5 these evil days. Employment contracts are not unlike Sale and Purchase agreements for your very soul. Strains of Hotel California bounces off ghastly walls.

I once asked my boss,(a dragon lady who munches on fools for breakfast), how to have a work-life balance.. to which she just snorted. So much for that.

I used to complain that I didn't have a mentor. All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. Especially if you land one who is a perfectionist, blunt as a doorknob and as judgmental as Augustine Paul. Yes, I do have all the luck.

Oddly, I now hold a job that any wide-eyed and bushy-tailed career woman would jump at having. And I am as enthusiastic about it as a lobotomy patient.

Don't believe anyone who tells you to make yourself indispensible. Job security is only one half of the penny. Keeping your sanity is the other. Do not underestimate the joys of having a workfree weekend or a vacation devoid of a frantic call from the office.

Simple pleasures once signed away are hard to regain. Unfortunately decent paycheques, once attained are also hard to relinquish.

So lesson of the day ladies and gentlemen, is caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware!

15 Malaysia

You may already know of this initiative. Wonderful short films depicting what our home is all about.

Go enjoy yourself: http://15malaysia.com/

Just what my doctor ordered

Here is a Saturday morning pick me up.

Khalil Jibran and the boy

Songs have a knack of tenderly curling and weaving their tendrils around moments in time, so much so that they own the event and capture within its folds, the joys and heartbreaks of THAT one dot on the time space continuum.

And the same with poetry.

And more than one penniless beau have sent forth their affections enveloped by the deep sighs of Yeats and Neruda. But rummaging through a junk bookstore at Masjid India over the weekend, I came across a body of work by Khalil Jibran.

And along with pages came the memory of a gentle boy who used to read to me poetry over the phone. It was a pity that I am not a romantic as c'mon, how many men do you know would read Khalil Jibran to a woman 120 miles aways, every other night before she slept. I was ungrateful as I would often fall asleep half way only to be awoken by a concerned "Hello? Hello?"

And I don't even remember his name. I hang my head in shame.

So this is for the boy with the gentle voice:

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden

From icanhascheezeburger.com

And we lose another raconteur

The passing of Yasmin Ahmad is a great loss to the nation.

As the creative force of some of Malaysia's most memorable ads and films, her honest portrayal of a multi-faceted Malaysia in its truest form, (sans the shameless gloss of Tourism Malaysia productions) has endeared her to many.

I will always recall her frustrations in trying to sell her ideas of unity and singular humility to corporate fatcats who in her words, “just don’t get it”.

And I have deep reverence for this formidable lady who has come out publically to say that its really ok for the younger generation to forget the hardship of the entire May 13 episode because its it not their legacy. Theirs is the promise of a better future and not the bogeyman of bloodshed past.

She will be very sorely missed. God bless.

Frank McCourt

I'd like to pay tribute to literary celebrity, Frank McCourt, who died of meningitis at the age of 78.

I first got to know of this man through the valiant efforts of ex-coursemate and dorm mate Adeline, who told me under no uncertain terms, that I must read this funny novel. The book was of course, Angela's Ashes.

Very few writers can successfully weave humour into a heartbreaking biography. It can make you laugh and cry. Both would leave tears in your eyes. The book speaks of the writer's experience growing up in poverty on the streets of Limerick.

I certainly remember how many a resident and relative went to town, defending their town, when the novel and author achieved fame.

Angela's Ashes won McCourt the Pulitzer. Its a book that you will not easily forget.
The literary world has indeed lost another shinning star.

Aduh, Lame-nya

Overheard at William's Kelana Jaya:

"The cheese you used sedap la. What cheese is that?"

"Orang Melayu panggil tu, Cis Bedebah"

Kah Kah Kah

New book

Renewal is fascinating.

Little signifies catharsis as aptly as sweeping away the old to make room for the new.

Of turning new leafs. As many as the pages are numerous. White, pristine and acid-free.

Is it possible to go beyond the turning of a leaf to becoming a completely new tree? To blossom and burst with new found life, to tremble in the sunshine and proclaim to the sky that now, I shall be the Oak and not the sapling, the Raintree and not the senduduk.

Fresh starts are good. False starts are not. False starts are when the intentions are ambitious but one only achieves the grandeurs of a pokok renek. So one starts again and another leaf unfurls.

One only hope a branch would finally touch the clouds and lives out an epic.

Wisful thinking .. and rejection hurts!

I will not write on sadness because there is too much of it in the world already. Antidotes are fabled and medical research is negligible. But I will write on anger.

It is a fury that consumes. In the pyre, the lapping flames further illuminate the injustice, the humiliation, the loss and anguish. What magnificent despair! And it fuels the soul to burn and burn and burn. And reprieve is sought among the smouldering cinders. But there is so little ashes can do, but be carried away by the whispers of the wind.

So that is where broken hearts go. They disappear. Eventually.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know

one thing.

 

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

 

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

 

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

 

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

 

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

 

- Pablo Neruda

Google Me This

Google has been changing their logo/masthead to mark specific events in history for some time now, generating millions of hits for the cause selected. Like when Google celebrated Braille’s birthday with a cluster of dots. Loved it loved it loved it. No doubt there would be groups that would raise hell and high water to get theirs dates of consequence celebrated in all googlised glory. And I am glad Google is not going down the commercial highway of hell by offering the spot to the highest bidder.

Here is an interesting article on it.

My favourite masthead is the Braille one above. And this comes a close second. In celebration of Nikola Tesla's birthday on Friday.

As much as I would like to attribute my facination to my deep reverence for the history and development of physics, I admit that I was first introduced to the comrade through the Soviet’s badass Tesla coils which are highly effective in frying Allied butts to a crisp in the one of the best time wasters of all time - Command and Conquer.

Who says you don’t learn anything from gaming? Plus it’s a great guy magnet. But ladies, it HAS to be Real Time Strategy with awesome graphics and mindless violence. These days it’s even better if it’s MMORPG. Kick ass and win friends. SIMS does not qualify regardless of the number of time you could WooHoo.

(*Qualifier: I only date geeks. If you are thinking of hooking up with Sean Combs, note that this does not apply. Try implants instead.)

Look what the postman brought me

Its so nice receiving packages. Especially if its books.

Help! I am held hostage by my rabbits

Hm, has it occurred to you that this blog has been taken over by everything bunny?

Yet, you must concur, they are far more soothing on the soul than the state of our national politics.

El-Bunny!

To be surrounded by so many bunnies, you bet I squealed like a little girl!

The Pets World Malaysia Expo held at Mid Valley Convention Centre was crowded with people and pets. One of the highlights was Malaysia's First National Rabbit Show.

Alongside the rabbit competition, there was a fancy dress contest for Thumper. Wabbit expressions ranged from "Woe, the Indignity!" to the bored "I don't give a fuck anymore" resignation.

Lop eared bunnies featured strongly with a couple of them reminding me of OREO, one of my earlier rabbits. Equal in temperament as well, thumping impatiently in the cages. One of them also tried to eat their contest tag. Yup, sebijik like my Oreo.

Besides bunnies, dog owners also brought their fur kids, from Schnauzers to St. Bernards. I was so fortunate to be acquainted with another Afghan. The breed is so magnificent and regal, it was just a joy looking at her.

Enjoy the slideshow!

Gilly of My Heart

Gilly gently passed on last Wednesday. Its a mystery as to why as everyone was so careful with her. Perhaps she was already ill when she was brought home. Although I only had her for just a few days, my loss is profound.

And there goes another chunk of my salary

In another spur of the moment madness – I have gotten myself another bundle of mischief.

I rescued her from a stinky pet store (I am still grappling with the implications of supporting a pet store). I first caught sight of her right at the back, behind a glass door and a cageful of siblings, and she was the only one going the other direction.

My new baby is smokey with one ear perpetually pointing north. With her hind legs far larger than her front paws, she moves as gracefully as a baby turtle heading towards open water. So in other words, my baby is gorgeous.

Introducing - Gilly.

Baby wabbit

first steps

Pfft! Here's looking at you

Remember the Time

For me and most of my generation, Michael Jackson, as with Thudercats, KFC and Dr M, is an icon that not only hallmarked but practically defined our growing up years.

We were in the golden age of VCRs and cassette decks when Thriller debuted. I could not get my head around Bille Jean and I thought the chick that played in Thriller was such a wuss (a 7-year-old feminist I was). Maggi Mee hair was in and everyone saw or had a recording of THAT MTV programme which also featured hits like Telephone by Sheena Easton and Every Breath You Take by the Police and not forgetting, the original Uptown Girl by Billy Joel.

Every MJ album and movie was awaited and revered. He was the only one who could get away with grabbing his crotch on TV. To the young, we never understood why the adults sniggered so.

The Gloved One encapsulated all that was strange and wonderful and magical. He was true royalty with stardust on his lapels.

And as his eccentricities and lawsuits drove him further away from reality and relevance, time quietly swept him under the carpet. We all knew who MJ was but, lets be honest, we also ceased to care.

Did he molest the children? I don't know but with America's preoccupation with Sex and the Celebrity (truth optional), I can't really say that I am totally convinced.

So in typical fashion - with his death, we celebrate his life.

I didn't have a big enough handbag

Several weekends ago, I had the pleasure being chauffeured all the way to Semenyih. Of course I had no idea where on God’s green earth is Semenyih, yet by hook, crook and GPS we made it to Beh & Yeo’s Rabbit farm.

Only food and furry animals can entice me to wake up before 8 on a Saturday, so we were there slightly after 9 am. The trip should have just taken us half an hour but Garmin was having a bad day. (bloody thing kept going “turn left in 200 meters” AFTER we missed the turning). Evil, evil thing.

Run by an owner who is based in Ampang, the farm is located in the midst of a kampung. Hey, its Semenyih.

When we arrived, the workers were busy cleaning the cages. They were friendly enough and allowed us to walk around freely. The surrounding enclosure was certainly clean but the compound was strewn with rubbish.


I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting.

Of course the bunnies looked well cared for and their cages clean yet I felt a little sad seeing them cooped up in their wire mesh boxes, living to breed, only for their offspring to be taken away and sold. We are the only species capable of doing this. Yet herein lies my conundrum. Do I save what I can by giving them good homes or do I stop buying in a bid to lessen the demand? Sigh. No use asking me to adopt as there are no wild rabbits for adoption in this country.

One thing we noticed was that the bunnies at the farm were all a little afraid. Curious as all bunnies are, all of them eyed us as though we came courting for a bride. But as we reached out to them, quicker than you say can Peter Rabbit, they would dart as far away as possible from us. Perhaps we smelt strange or we were complete strangers, it was a very different reception compared to my first encounter with my present rabbit.

My present bunny came over to say hello to me first before I even thought I needed another bunny, which is to say, pretty sweet of her.

I got Peanut from another breeder at Subang Parade. From across her cage, she crawled over to nibble my fingers which started the chemical reaction of turning my heart muscles into tofu and now she is growing fat lounging in my dining room - at my expense.

Anyway, here’s some photos of bunnies to turn your heart into soy products too.

I dislike cages desperately.

Lop-eared rabbit

Dog eared um, dog. This puppy is one of 5 others bought by the owner, presumably to guard the place. Lets just say that if I managed to coax him into the car, 5 would become 4 quickly enough.

Revisiting old favourites

A

Pasti Ada Sudahnya - charting the future

The latest PAS Muktamar delivered no surprises.

Make no mistake, PAS will always maintain its ambition of creating an Islamic state, despite toning down its clarion call during the last general election to garner multiracial support (which of course drew criticism from some quarters within PAS who see this as a concession in exchange for a bite of the cherry that is federal power.)

Of course we all know this.

I am sure that I am not the only one, who in support for the Opposition, derived more than a little comfort supporting a coalition that had PAS on one end of the table and DAP on the other, and Keadilan in the centre keeping them from killing each other.

Be it a belief in checks and balances, or foolhardy optimism, we rejoiced in that there was a viable alternative to an Umno-led government.   

But back to the annual AGMs and Muktamars –we have the same rhetorical regurgitation that endears the politicians to their grassroots. I guess when in Rome.. or Kota Bahru in this case. 

So does it make a difference to us, the new generation of non-muslims and non-traditional voters of PAS, whether the party is helmed by the ulamas or the “Erdogan”, if it is to be conservative or progressive, if at the end of the day an Islamic state is their ultimate aim?

I would venture a yes. Because despite being a party that still functions at the will of the grassroots, it will be the leadership that defines and articulates what an Islamic state is to be. 

To quote Shanon Shah:

“PAS needs to be asked, point blank, what it really envisions as its ideal government, whether or not it calls it an "Islamic state". The questions must go beyond such easy-to-fudge concepts as "democracy" and "good governance".

What will the party's position be on apostasy? On the religious conversion of minors? On homosexuality and bisexuality? On moral policing? On disconcerting-concert-banning? On the rights of other religious communities? On turning personal sins for Muslims — not going to the mosque on Fridays or not fasting during Ramadan, for example — into crimes against the state? On the status of deviant sects? On marital rape? On polygamy in Islam?”

Answers that I have been seeking too but nobody seems to be able to enlighten me.

With PAS’ resolution for the National Fatwa Council to investigate, ban and rehabilitate members of Sisters in Islam, the language quickly brought to mind my long history lessons on Soviet Russia. Freaky I know.

With punitive action identified even before engagement with SIS has even commenced, it will be an uphill battle for PAS to convince the masses that it is not out to hang SIS. Despite the press statements where PAS leaders say that they disagree with the punitive actions, the fact that the resolution was adopted and without debate even, the impression that PAS is out to smother opposing/liberal views is already cast.

Bad PR? You bet.

While I am certain that rehabilitation by the National Fatwa Council is not via exile to the frozen plains of Siberia, the obvious question here would be rehabilitation by whose Islam? 

Far be it for me to say whether SIS’s “views caused confusion and were a threat to Muslims' faith” yet SIS’s efforts in championing Muslim women’s rights and access to the legal system is very noteworthy, it being an unpopular and lonely road.     

There is good chance that this resolution would further alienate the modern Muslim woman who is comfortable and confident enough in her religion to not let anyone be it SIS or PAS, to dictate to her the terms of her own belief.

I have yet to read the responses of my compatriots in SIS who fall squarely within "the younger generation and those who have a secular education".  I am anticipating a hailstorm.

I have yet to meet a SIS member who is not educated, articulate, fiercely intelligent and not capable of giving you whiplash should you even suggest that peranan SIS bertentangan dengan syariat Islam.

Being a non-muslim and only a Friend to the Sisters in Islam, I very obviously lack locus standi on the matter of the authenticity of faith. Yet I strongly believe that the right to hold a differing opinion is enshrined in the constitution. But then I can anticipate the not unfamiliar, "Kafir, keep out," retorts to that. 

And if SIS is banned on the basis of confusing Islamic society and also infiltrating the minds of Muslims, as a multiracial society, should we be concerned as to where it would stop? The potential to "corrupt" may come from unconventional scholars, to next door churches to even Akademi Fantasia – seek and thou shall find thy bogeyman.  

Surely we have had enough of those to last us a lifetime? 

What if I came back as a coconut tree?

Now, if I make fun of this site - it would be bad for my karma. 

So please check it out and let it blow your mind. Someone should let the Dalai Lama know about this.  

http://www.reincarnationbank.com/  

Its a new dawn, its a new day

so says Nina Simone.

So things change. No surprises there. Rolling pebble down an abyss or hurling meteor across time and space, change is the single constant of the universe.

Yet I am going to be stubornly adamant and reel at the thought of how different a year makes. Am I any the wiser? Unlikely so. Becoming more of a fool - most certainly. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Our growing up only allows us to cultivate thicker linings to stomach pain, heartbreak, injustice and disappointments that come out way. Guess we get better at accepting fate and what she throws in our laps, be it strawberries or herrings.

And it takes an epiphany/breakdown to jolt us out of apathy and self-indulgent martyrdom, toss caution back in her face, and seek happiness before we die.

It may all sound like claptrap to you but wait till you hit your threshold. (Yes I am talking from experience, dammit!)

And when realisation strikes you that you are exactly where you navigated yourself to be, that its all YOUR fault, there is a very pronounced "Oh Damn!" moment followed but a moment of empowerment in that you know that you are the master of your destiny after all. After all you got yourself in this shit in the first place. So you can get yourself out.

Hurrah!

So I am backing out from this rut, comfortable as it has become. My half year resolutions already has a soundtrack. Changes have been set in motion. As my the Bwadah say, its all positive chi, man.

Today I lopped off 5 inches of my hair, finally.

And I am feeling good.

(Black) currant affairs

I had so much to say with the mess that is my home state of Perak. But my venom is akin to orange juice compared to the comments that have been spewed all over cyberspace. This, you can find on your own.

So whats your bet? Will BN & Pakatan talk or not? And how many days will it take to collapse?

icanhascheezeburger

Thoughts without a home

Hare-brained as it may be, I am starting to loath corporate work and am gravitating towards a career that involves animals. Now that is something I will definitely be passionate about. I have had enough of being a gopher (Cassie, Go 'fer this, and Cassie, Go 'fer that.) Now how do I get rich doing what I love. CAN I get rich doing what I love? Any ideas?

I have enough marketing books at home telling me that YES I can if I put my head into it. Hm. Time to strategise. Whose dog can I kidnap?

These past few months/weeks/days have been filled with revelations. I learnt that:

• I have a heart made of tofu and that I can burst into tears, set off by anything from a cat nursing a kitten to saying thank you to relatives who have come from across the country to see me.

• That the best-est of friends are not the ones I see everyday but the ones that do their best to share in my happiest and most neurotic times, even if I don’t get to hear from them in between

• VO5 Moisture Soak is God-send

• That I am loved beyond my capacity to imagine

• That belonging can be more desirable that striking out alone

• That having extended relatives isn’t a bad thing

• Don’t assume hair stylists knows best

• Personal happiness takes work and courage (now, to tell my management that they are tyrants)

All wishy washy feel-good babble? Maybe. But I have been so out of touch with myself that I have been a really nasty person to be around. But here is the strange thing, cats seem to like me lots now.

Today at the Vet

There is this marmalade cat
Who sits outside my vet’s
She peers through the glass
Won’t go in till she’s asked
But welcomes cat food and pats.

She is a mommy we know
With her own brood which don’t show
Stashed, we hope, safe and away
Yet to the vet she comes each day
To sayang a kitty abandoned not long ago.

The kitten was found on the floor
One night outside the clinic door
So Dr Yeoh’s taken him in
As it is so frail and so thin
But a mother he has no more.

Yet
This marmalade cat
Had a thing for this one
Nursed him as her own son
When she makes her trips to the vet.

I saw her today
This good hearted stray
And as she did her part
She also stole my heart
It’s a wonder I didn’t steal them away.

Ah, the weekend.

I miss blogging. Very much.

Not for the inherent narcissism (although admittedly the previous Oasis-related posts was bragging rights well earned. Yet there are fewer Oasis fans here than I thought. Nobody batted an eye-lid to my real cool Official Oasis T-shirt pun. Cheh!)

Anyway. Writing for pleasure is a luxury and a wanton act of rebellion.

Having to endure hard work to still be in work is a small sacrifice at a time when not having to worry about my job is something to be envied.

So blogging, when I still have a kabillion things to do is smack in the face of good sense because guess who will need to stay up again tonight to draft daft statutory declarations? *yawn*

Nevertheless, it’s been a very busy weekend that involved oh, pretty interesting things which included a trip to Malacca, coconut shakes, nyonya food, kicking a fuss with the hotel management because they could not get my astro working and a pretty shiny rock.

Somewhat unexpected, the weekend also saw a renewed interest in faith and religious philosophy. Which is interesting on its own because I was on the path of the darkside. Or truth. Depending on which side of the coin you flip I suppose. At the end of the day we all die. Sometimes that is easy to forget.

The song to mark my 32 years!

Oasis - Singapore Indoor Stadium

As promised.... pictures! 

Best-est pre-birthday present to myself EVER! 

Boo!

Sooo... the witch is back! I have been dying to spill the beans on so many things yet I think I have well established that I am very overworked and I foster very detailed fantasies on how to throw in my resignation. Still, I need to eat and so does my rabbit.. so I am still allowing myself to be exploited in the name of capitalism.

Nevertheless the cauldron has been bubbling, mind you.

So where do I begin? Maybe from the most exciting.

On the 5th of April, I flew down to Singapore with some like minded people and actually consented to stay in a budget hotel in Geylang of all places for the pure reason that it was one km from the Singapore Indoor Stadium. Going back to Singapore was certainly NOT easy. I couldn't really afford the time and I totally busted the bank but I knew since forever that I'd do anything to watch Oasis live, and so I did.

Besides paying the small price of SDG101 per ticket, having to camp out, brave hordes of very enthusiastic fans to be right in front of the stage, sacrifice breathing fresh air and having my feet trodded on the entire night - I had the most amazing time!

here is the setlist:
Fuckin' in the Bushes
Rock'n'Roll Star
Lyla
The Shock of the Lightning
Cigarettes & Alcohol
The Meaning of Soul
To Be Where There's Life
Waiting for the Rapture
The Masterplan
Songbird
Slide Away
Morning Glory
Ain't Got Nothin'
The Importance of Being Idle
I'm Outta Time
Wonderwall
Supersonic
Don't Look Back in Anger
Falling Down
Champagne Supernova
I Am The Walrus

I never though that I would catch them live and the reality of my being there, in its full glory and magnitude, decended only during Don't Look Back in Anger where I shamlessly wept, heh.

It was the culmination of living the moment, and being flooded with memories that their songs bring home. Silly to be so emotional but you don't know how long I have followed the band and their songs have hallmarked so many of the highest and lowest points of my life, its freaky.

Pictures soon!

Its been a long while folks. It been a harrowing few weeks with lots of thrills, spills and chills. I am the poster girl for all research that says that stress breaks down the body and leaves one as endearing as an alligator on caffeine withdrawal.

Just a short note to say that I am alive and still snapping at everybody.

And speaking of Rohingya

Go feed your mind with something worth knowing. I expect it to be a good introduction to the refuge crisis. The CM Annex is nice this time of year.
For previews: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phjKN_Cu0I0

Who do? Dose Two!

Dey good. So come..

Bump, bump, BUMP!

I had an "I'm Okay" moment today.  Heh. 

As I was entering a packed lift at the office, nobody held the door open, so the the doors came crashing against me, caused me to fall down and my shriek shocked everybody.

And in a flash, this picture popped into my head. And I went "I'm okay". Not that anybody asked though. 
I wanted to laugh but my arm hurt. Funny la in a tragic way.

p.s. Plaza IBM during lunch time is a bitch.

Bedtime stories

Cyberspace is littered with a multitude of blogs devoted to the singular purpose of telling stories - unlimited pages that chronicle the tragedies and triumphs of the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Or should it be the other way around.

This blog does not profess to be any different.

Storytellers every one of us, we regale readers with tales that are important to us, that defines us and that assures us of our existence under the skies of our individual universe.

We publish to an audience because we matter and the subjects of our litany – they matter. We harbour the hope that somebody finds us even remotely interesting. Being forgotten is a fate worse than death. Or so I am told.

From cave drawings to sculpted monuments – we are the only species that has an intrinsic need to live a life beyond ourselves, to need to leave a legacy. Something as eternal to the human spirit as our wondrous sense of curiosity. Qualities that set the immortal cycle - where storyteller will turn to the reader who will in turn, weave stories of her own.

Some recite the story of their lives through their music and some in art. We bloggers, we seek transitory glory in the very impermanent realm of cyberspace, with our finely wrought words and pictures. And not necessarily sequenced between Google ads and Nuffnang banners.

In moments of despair I have often wondered if there is any purpose to this existence - whether I would have a story left to tell from the routine mediocrity that characterizes my days from sun up to bedtime. Mine and a million other people’s.

Yet we go on, constructing our narratives with twists and plots and surprises that mark our life’s journeys as we do our utmost to arrive at happy endings. We may not be Hemmingway, but you and I, we are still raconteurs – world class, honest and with joys, heartbreaks and other stories to tell.

Much ado about SPAM

Pork luncheon meat. Squashed meat in a can, a staple of every Chinese home.

Sliced into strips, dipped in egg batter and pan fried to perfection. Delish in a tin. Best thing out of China since Confucianism and gun powder. My dad cubes it and cooks it with star anise and chilli power.

Salty, tangy and mysterious, its meat like you have never tasted before. Would you know what it is, if not for the word Pork emblazoned on the label?

However with the growing concern on almost anything shipped out of the Mainland these days, and the obvious drop in quality - it has lost its characteristic firmness and bite only to be replaced with suspicious mushiness, the once loved Ma Ling luncheon meat has lost many a local lover.

On the rebound, I have taken to the next and super expensive best thing – Spam. The non-halal section of the supermarkets here are stacked with Spam with cheese, less salt Spam and my favourite – Spam with Tabasco. But it’s like RM14 a can. Yup, in my mom’s words – it’s like eating gold.

But sometimes its easy to go crazy. Which was what exactly what happened when I was in Isetan on Saturday. Desperately needing some comfort food, I grabbed a can of spam and paid for it with some of my other purchases. I was a bit shocked at the bill. Apparently I was charged RM19.99 for a can!

Needless to say, the cheapskate in me went back to the pork counter and looked for the price on display. There was none. The Chinese lady manning the counter gave me the look.

You know that look that salespeople at posh stores give you when you walk in their temple of expensive merchandise in your flip flops and weekend clothes?

Yeah, she cast me THAT look. Complete with the single raised eyebrow.

She saw my can of Spam and hollered “Is 20 dollas wan tin.”
To which I retorted that it’s expensive! Has it gone up in price?
“Is from USA. You know, USA?” And she looked away to a non-existent customer to my right.

I was like, wtf? Was this sales staff is giving ME attitude? Over a can of Spam? Like she owns the England and Spain and all the butcheries in between. Do I look like I can't afford her Spam, yes, from the USA.

I was sorely tempted to return the can (through the air, over the counter and into her skull) just to spite her, but that would mean that I would have to look at her sour face some more.

So I took the high ground and left before I really launched the can at her. Muttered something about yeah, I HAVE bought it before.

Of course I made up the most brilliant come back lines on the journey home, before I fell asleep in the train.

MPH will love me this year

Finally, finally FINALLY I bought the Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri.
Yeah, it has taken me close to 10 years!
Don't understand why it took me so freaking long!

Now if I can finally start on Anna Karenina. Heh. Even I laughed out loud at the thought

Stairway to nowhere

Photo taken at Klebang, Malacca.  

Poetry of the week.

You love the roses - so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet: and it would be
Like sleeping and yet waking, all at once.

The words are George Elliots'. Roses are blogger's own. 

Disgust

I actually agree with Dr Mahathir's latest statement. 

Malaysia is indeed  seeing more gutter politics. 

To say that I am upset with the turn of event in national politics is the understatement of the year. I was certainly close to tears when news of Eli's departure from office became known. 

What shameful, disgracing and underhanded way to bring down a capable politican.  As a Malaysian, Opposition supporter and a woman, I have nothing but admiration and the highest praise for Elizabeth Wong. Her blog and goodbye message HERE. 

If this is the kind of  politics that Najib is orchestrating,  then he has just guaranteed the Opposition's victory at the next general election.   

I had thought that with recent developments, I was ready to  throw in the towel and not  have anything to do with local politics and the pitiful state it has degenerated into.  But then, that would mean that the fight and sacrifices of the brave men and women against the Establishment would have been in vain.

And that surely must never be. 

Ok ok, enough of all doom and gloom. Nah, picture of meow.

For the real Groucho Marx  

Stream of (Un)conciousness

I attended a writing workshop last Friday till very late. Surprised myself at how well read I am if I do say so myself. 

Yet that is one love affair that was left to wither at the sacrificial alter of "other more important stuff", usually directly related to sleep, keeping a job and vanity writing such as this. 

Photography shared similar destiny. How I miss the SLR and the assortment of lenses. I swear I will get it back. My Preciouss. But then I know people with far better talent than me. 

On talent, I must be one of the very few that has been imbued with absolutely no gifts of any sort. The brother inherited the entire family quota of musical acumen. Guess that is why I have always found musicians so fascinating. But they are so out of my league. Not pretty enough to be taken seriously, and no talent to impress anybody. Geeks make lousy groupies. 

Hope you had a better valentine's day. The highlight of my day was eating eu char koay dipped in half boiled eggs for breakfast. Don't knock it till you've tried it. But yeah, it was a dismal day. 

Spent the rest of the day number crunching till I wished a plane would crash into my apartment building to save me the trouble from having to kill myself. There are other reasons for that as well. 

What else could make a sorrowful valentine worse, you snort? 

A compulsory annual dinner with a movie theme! (repeat above wish of crashing plane) 

New, friendless and penniless, I snubbed the costume shops, purposely bought a green tie instead of a red one and went to the ball as an alternate universe Hermione Granger from Slytherin. My red and naturally frizzy hair ensured that the people at the ball knew exactly who I was. 

I was impressed with the enthusiasm of some of my new workmates. One guy came in a gorilla suit. Another in green body paint and a tattered t-shirt. There were dozens of Men in black, Cleopatras, Jack Sparrows and Neos. 

As as per tradition, I won nothing at the lucky draw. Not the Wii, not the PS3, not the 42 inch LCD TV, not even a pathetic glaucometer. All that positive visualisation came to squat. I am gonna contact that lady who wrote The Secret and ask for my money back. No wait. I downloaded that. Never mind. 

The weeks have been rough. Right now, I am just gonna concentrate on surviving one day at a time. 

Little Whinging

I miss Marge. 

Miss Congeniality. Miss Optimism. Someone I missplaced. 

Her dentured smile. The tapping of her walker.  Her soft voice going,"Why doncha?" fired in the same breath as "Whats' stopping ya?" 

I miss happy. I do.  With all my heart.  

Time Out, please

There comes a time when what nothing feels right, you don't feel worthy of being wanted, you are weary of the world and its disappointments, and all you want to do is just sleep and sleep and sleep.

Commenting on Not Commenting

As a woman from Perak, I should say something about the fiasco that is the collapse of the state government. But I won't. Of course I am disappointed that BN is now back in power. Even more upset with the party hoppers but then Pakatan got themselves into this trouble anyway by courting dubious personalities.   

And I am not going to comment on whether the Sultan acted ultra vires or not as after all, I always took the view that the provision of discretionary powers is not the wisest ideas and now that the rulers are acting on them, and in this case favouring one political party over the other - we are only to blame over this mess.  So padan muka. 

I am  all for a republic but I know I won't get to see it in my lifetime.  

Again another point of view

Politics and religion - so fascinating, destructive and a faux paux at any polite gathering. 

Finally somebody has attempted to answered the question of what is Hudud from the readings of the Quran itself.

Hudud is a very touchy subject which has causes me at least one argument of the vicious kind. Discuss with caution. But then none is as blind as those who would not see, right? This goes both ways.  So share the love but don't la so gung-ho. 

Its so easy to play up our prejudices.  Yet we know so little first hand. To the average man on the street, the intricacies of Hudud have predominantly been the baby of the ulamas of PAS and stalwarts of DAP, with the issue ping-ponging between parties.  

And election time, the same bogeyman is resurrected to scare the non-muslims  - the chopping of hands, the whipping and the rules of evidence for rape.  But is this Hudud? 

Anyway - one view as below: 

http://syedsoutsidethebox.blogspot.com/2009/02/hudud-real-mccoy.html                                                                                                                                             

A theory and an irrelevant poster

Age does not beget wisdom. Only regret masked in layers of justifications. Excuses if you will. It talks you out of things that would set you soaring, doomsaying of how you would crash and burn. (If Icarus only listened to his wizened father, he’s most probably survive his flight and we’d never hear of him. Case in point.)  

In most cases - face it, its not wisdom talking. Its fear, inculcated from years of conditioning, heartbreak and failure. It’s the air-bagging of the heart from more collisions of the unsavoury sort.

Youth is no folly. And as the axiom goes, indeed wasted on the young. It’s the decrepit and the jaded that need the exuberance of the reckless.

Yet is the middle aged or rather the neo-middle aged that suffers more from the rot then our actual greying population. 25 is the new 45. And 35 is the granny on the sidewalk who reminisces of when life was much better in her good old days of Thundercats and Datsuns.

Never has a generation been so insightful and articulate, yet so unbelievably stressed.

Roti kawin, butter kaya. What’s one without the other?

And it took my dad to illustrate what tight asses we have become. He took his first ride on the Solero Shot when he was 60. I am still too worried that I would puke on the guy next to me / get a headache / get stuck on the way down/ die. Kelly’s mom went paragliding in her 50s too.

Funny how you need to be a pensioner to unlearn adulthood and be a child again. One end of the age spectrum you didn’t know what mortality is, on the other and - only too conscious of it.

Does that explain why older apeks are now on the prowl for more lurve and Pfizer making indecent profits?

Hello? Do I know you, uncle? Tolong pegi main jauh jauh. (eh, who mentioned Chua Soi Lek?!) 

Modern living eats up innocence too early me thinks. In my estimation it starts to disappear by the age of 6 these days. These precocious tots can already process complex problems like who is Malay and Chinese and Indian and who to sit next to in class. Better be the same pork eater, beef eater or vegetarian. Ten year old prodigies could even tell you which to wipe out first in the event a snake also saunters by.  

I was not so smart during my tadika days. It was tough enough to get my head around why I can’t use the boy’s toilets.  Forget about telling the difference between Telegu, Tamil, Ceylonese, Malayalee dan lain lain.

Still couldn’t figure it out, 20 odd years post-tadika.  

Being the kopi susu kid, I am always the odd one out anyway yet treated somewhat with awe. In the backwaters of Jerantut Pahang, the offspring of an interracial marriage is rare and somewhat of an anomaly. Like an albino rhino or a one legged frog.  But much hotter looking.

I’d move swiftly on from the brief Hari Ini Dalam Sejarah episode there, but I sense a Maggi Assam Laksa in the vacinity.