The last ride?

How long have I been living in KL? 5 years straight now. How long have I been living (on/off) in KL? Coming to 12 years now. The amount of friends I've made during all those years? Too many. Have I achieved what I wanted to do? Almost. I've always wanted to be in the media industry, and I did just that. Last official posting was as editor of an international title. I've gone into advertising, radio, HR/Training, PR, IT, sales; heck--I even went on to brand-manage a band! But there was one thing that I never did get a chance to delve into--Oil&Gas. Okay, not that I'm an engineer or anything, but it's always been a gapping frustration in my CV. I tried 8 years ago--failed miserably. I stopped trying. Until one day I got a call. And then, suddenly, I find myself preparing to uproot myself from KL to try my hands in Oil&Gas. This, should be my last ride. The one empty slot in the file. Do I miss all the things I've left behind? Yes. Friends, colleagues, my work. My passion. But we all have to move on I guess. I remember when I was working in HR, a senior consultant once said to me: "You know, when the train leaves the station, it leaves. You either jump onboard or be left behind. You choose." Well, I've chosen. No turning back. For now. Hee...

Old Post - Hsibbur

Oh, found another old writing.

Hsibbur

Senseless renewal of apathy. Kind of crazy if you ask me.

Not knowing where it begins or why it began. Just losing sight of the end.

"Tick tock" the clock strikes, the tower of hope cascaded by shades of the darken sky.

Building empires in the wilderness without seeing favoritism or being shy.

Just jumping over the cradle with a baby crying pathetically.

Periodic burst of jittery makes the leap more jolly.

Silly if you ask me.
This merry-go round. Beating around the bush just to get it all clear - sight and sound.

Believers out there, say nay nay nay.

Or the opposite you dare say.

Makes you triumph with joy does it?

Or blasted with sorrow will it?

That miniature camera it clickers on.

Flashes of light captures the moment.

When all that goes right would eventually go wrong. No, this ain't a song.

Pull that trigger if you must.

But don't go scattering dust on my turf.

Leave it in the air and let it flow.

Better that way today or tomorrow.

Diamonds or gold, precious gems to be sold.

Reap what you sow. Sow what you saw.

Be the fortune and not the teller.

Beat the weather unfold that umbrella.

Run if you must but be aware.

That leaping frog might just trip your strides.

So best to walk and look around.

For that sweet empire will one day crumble down.

And all that's left is dust.

Just like many things in this world.

Including us.

Old Post - Shameless Guilt

Oh I found this old piece written in my old blog. Heh heh...just reminds me of those mind-numbing days.

Shamless Guilt

In the speechless world that protects neither the shameful, nor the needful, arises from the ashes of disgust a lame sentinel that would wreck havoc upon the creatures of the innocent and annihilate the truth and raise the fiction; in order to spit acid upon the unexpect and devour the minions of injustice to exhale souls of the kind, and judge the unknowns. All in the name of guilt.

Never will be a time to deliver justice in fair manner for there is no fairness for any blind eye to see. Only specks of dishevelled truth scattered amidst all the fountain drops of beguiling youth. Not a word, not a tear -- not even for a jeer. Sheer luck lays no concrete happiness for those who are crazy enough to believe that all joys come from the skies above or the caverns beneath our feet. What we make, we break and we regret; or relish.

The heart that seeks only to be willful or pitiful is one that sees nothing else that matters except its own fate. One word can define their world. One scene is all it takes to ruffle or wither them away. Pathetic creatures who only believe that they are right. Even the right may not be right and the wrong may be absolutely right. Who is to say when the bubble bursting robots are forever oiled?

And the minds that think they are ever greater than the rest are purely living in a dream world. Driven by a reality that only they can understand. Depraved of some unseen spiritual guidance they walk into the fray with nothing less than a smirk on their face and an attitude that says in a million different words "I am right".

And then there are those who think that their souls are merely forsaken objects that has no more meaning to it. Depression falls in and death comes near. Suicides are the common denominator and all those that believe in this way are the ones who should be volunteered to be eaten by the rats in the sewers. Pitiful? No. Always thinking that misery is their friend and no helping hand can ever make a difference. Begone then. The space between each person is already filled with colourful complexities that by adding a tiny dot of loser into it will make it vile.

But then there are those who are forever lost in the desert. Who live life without any bearing and only think that the straight aimless road ahead is what lies ahead. Period. Go for it and go for what goals there are in it. Live life to the fullest as far as the sands can be seen and the world could stretched to. Go the mingling monkey into the depth of the forest without the flying butterflies to set a sporadic spasm of clueness, and the labyrinth there in lies not the truth, never the heart, nor the soul, to be perched upon a square circle that turns around and over until something that defines "death" comes along.

So be it my little minions of injustice. Exhale the souls of the kind and judge the unknowns. Do what you do best and let me sit here and smile until you too exhale me.

34? So how?

I turned 34 last Tuesday (20th Nov). 34. The morning of it, I thought to myself "Where to now?". I started assessing my place here on earth. The job I'm in, the future I'm heading towards? What was to become of me? Little things crept up, the "if onlys" came. Then I began to feel sorry for myself. And then angry at myself. Where does my destiny truly lies? In the media? Somewhere else? Something more stable? Am I happy with what I'm earning? Can I not find something that pays better?

The morning of 20th Nov, I turned on my laptop and received my daily dosage of reading from the bible.

And the headline shouts to me: WHEN GOD PUTS YOU ON HOLD and part of the message reads: "...God will let you practice in a place where your weaknesses can be worked on, your gifts developed, and where your mistakes won't affect too many others...If God has put you on hold today, it's because He loves you and wants only what's best for you...Try to understand this: God sees the end from the beginning and He has already mapped out your journey. He knows that if you rise too quickly there are dangers..."

Sometimes I want so hard to believe that THIS is the right thing. But I'm not sure. To what extent do I trust my instincts? Until the day someone tells me "Sorry Joe, we can't pay you anymore"? Do I wait? I weighed the practical points. Did a bit of SWOT analysis. Everything says that I should look for something stable. But will I be satisfied with that? What about my passion? My interest? Can it not be decided purely for the love of something?

Commitments...ah yes...always a shadow. It affects your decision. I have over the years worked in numerous capacities. Unfortunately I have little taste for things that don't go as planned. Like people not keeping their end of the bargain. That usually dictates whether I should stay or leave. And then there are others: company wind ups, business gone bad, and the lot. It's been a rather unlucky 10-11 years for me when it comes to work. Okay, let's make it fair -- 50/50 reasons -- some I decide to leave at my own accord. Others, I just have no choice (not that I was fired). Like when I was in HR and Training. I loved that job but what to do when the founder decides to relieve all of the consultants from fulltime employment and have them on project basis. So there goes my monthly income. I would have stayed with that company (even if it meant not pursuing a writing career). But it was not meant to be.

Fast forward to 2007. Here I am after landing myself a job with this new company for close to one year now. How do I see it? It's been quite an experience. Sometimes, you feel lost because you don't know what's happening anymore. But the magazines are going on well. Produced each month. I intend to keep it that way, unless, the management decides to change the business nature and we find ourselves in different roles. I can't imagine myself being a door-to-door salesman tho.

So where to now? I don't know. Wait till the nickle drops and then start squirming? Perhaps. I love writing. I love my job. But does the job love me back? In all these years, I have a strong feeling it's been very fickle on me. It better not be because I'm a "mass comm" grad. A trained multi-tasker. Oh well...even that has its good and bad points. Right now, more bad points seem to pop up.

So, 34. Six more years and I'm there. 40. What have I got to show for myself? Nothing much. Can I be satisfied with "just this"? I don't know really. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I'm going to ignore my instincts, and take that Tuesday readings' advice.

Hapi Buffday Bearuang. May all your wishes come through...ha ha...

But...it's not good enough!

I was just on msn with my young niece. She got her UPSR (Primary Six) results today: 4As 1B. She was really upset with it.

"You did well. Look at those who failed, or kids who can't even afford to go to school. You've done well and consider yourself privileged," I told her. She replied, "You can't compare us." I asked why not. "It's not good to compare. Cos you'll end up being bitter or vain," she said. I was amazed. I never thought about that but yes, she was right. "Never compare or else you'll end up feeling bitter or vain, for there is always someone better or lesser than you." At her tender age, she could tell me, a 34-year-old, some good piece of advice.

In the end, it wasn't so much her results that made me so proud of her (well, yes, getting 4As 1B is really good already), but it was her reply to me earlier today---despite being really down and sad for not getting the 5As that she dreamt of, that she worked hard for---that really made me proud of her. I know that from here onwards, that she will grow up to be a wonderful person. A charismatic leader. An achiever.

And those words of hers for me, was good enough.

"What The Modern Woman Wants" by Amanda Chong

I received a forwarded email today from a colleague of mine. It was about an essay written by a 15-year-old student from Raffles' Girls School (Secondary) in Singapore. Amanda Chong, wrote the essay for the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition (which has been in established since 1883 organised by the Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society). Her essay won top prize, beating 16 - 18 year old competitors (she joined the Older Category).

Amanda's essay entitled "What The Modern Woman Wants", tells the story of a mother and her daughter, how conflict in values existed between them. A reflection of the East-versus-West, the struggles and the obvious generation gap -- an old lady and an independent

The chief examiner called her piece: "A powerful moving and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel consequences. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue."

What the Modern Woman Wants

By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it maybe kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.

'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation. 'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter. 'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client inAmerica. There have been a lot of problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly.

Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten. 'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.' Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of josssticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her handsgripping her plastic bag in defence.

The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of theback seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side. 'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.

Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness.

I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.She bowed once more.The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name.

Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.

She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu;old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it. Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there -down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar.

The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it. Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same lookof worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.

'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang - it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.' 'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of foodofferings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag,and her fingers trace the white seat.'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?' What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make youhappy,' she added more quietly.

'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. 'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status,Career, Love,Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down...Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!' Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.

The creed in my back pocket 2

Dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you:

compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline.

Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offence.

Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you.

And regardless of what else you put on, wear love.

It's your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it.

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other, in step with each other.

None of this going off and doing your own thing

(Colossians 3:12-15)

Reading from The Vine

The creed in my back pocket

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As fas as possible, without surrender,

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly,

and listen to others;

even to the dull and ignorant.

They too have their story.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain or bitter.

For always there will be greater,

or lesser persons than yourself.

Whatever your labour and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life,

keep peace in your soul.