De Motu Animalium

One of the things we may have taken for granted in our day-to-day lives is the way we move. The way we utilize our bodily functions for specific tasks. The way we use our hands and feet – the way we make gestures, the way we walk. To certain extent, we may be able to recognize someone of whom is dearly to us walking in the distance or moving in the silhouette. It is somehow a signature of each person through the way he or she moves.

If we were to go a little scientific over the fact, it is very much due to our motor skills, a skill that requires us to utilize our skeletal muscles effectively. Motor skills and motor control depend upon the proper functioning of the brain, skeleton, joints, and nervous system. We may have perfected the skills for the biomechanics of it ever since we first learned in our early childhood. The biomechanics of it was first explained in Aristotle’s book of De Motu Animalium, written some yonks ago, of which he detailed out in the application and derivation of engineering principles to and from biological systems. It further explains the pursuance of physiological difference between imagining performing an action and actually doing it.

In our layman understanding, anything less than perfect in the communique and coordination between the brain, skeletal, joints and nervous system, it will result a clownish and blunderous moves in a person – clumsy that is. And, clumsy persons can sometimes be a subject of ridicule as much as hilarity.

If there is an award for clumsy people, I would nominate my 28-year old nephew, the first-born of my eldest sister, to be a contender. He has got all what it takes to be the clumsiest person on earth. His day is not complete if he did not spill any drinks at the eatery, breaking cups and glasses, twitching forks and spoons sprung across the table, even hurdled to the next customers’ tables, bumping into things or fumbling around, to say the least.

As much annoying as it is hilarious, in many occasions we became the center of attraction at the restaurant when the sound of glass breaks or sudden moves of our chairs avoiding the spilled drinks cascading onto our thighs.

When it happens, I would have hard time to either remain in my straight face or to be round the bend or to laugh. It is not a laughing matter but knowing him, it has been much anticipated thing to occur and even to the point the way he fashions the look on his face the time it happens, it would tickle you. I can bet, even you couldn’t hold your laugh if you were in my place.

At one time, after much struggling for him to keep the glass on the table after spilling his Teh-O-Ais, the glass unfortunately, shattered on the floor. He looked unnerved in his panic to keep the glass from falling off. That alone was enough to tickle you. I wanted to keep straight face. And I did. But, on impulse, he stood right up and in his loud voice perhaps camouflaging his embarrassment, he addressed the owner, “Berapa kena bayar gelas pecah ni?” (How much do I have to pay for the glass?”) It was so timely that it snickered, tickled your funny bones. Lucky I was not gulping the drink at that time, if not, I would have spurted the drinks through the nose. And so then I joined the patrons in another 4, 5 tables to burst in chorus.

He and his epicure wife are very enterprising. During the fasting month, he would lease out a stall selling gourmets and delicacies for buka puasa at Bazaar Ramadhan. It was more of moral support than actually a customer when I visited their stall on that evening. More often than not I’d get it free anyway. Well, it befuddled me when the stall was closed on that evening. I called his mobile when his wife answered and told me the whole freight for a day selling was tipped-off down the tarmac the time when they were setting up for business earlier. Walla wei! No wonder some traces of the mess were still there. It didn’t surprise me but it left me in stitches.

There was one time we were the guests in the house of a respected lady over in Seremban, together with a few others in a group. He was already displaying his true self upon entering the house. Taking off his shoes, he kicked the shoe off his right foot much too vigorous that the shoe flew at random. It was just a matter of inches off-target for the shoe to actually fly into the living room when it hit the wall. That was fine still, since the house owner did not realize it.

We were then ushered for a drink to a table with the glass top in her dining area close to the living room from where we were seated. Orange juice was on the menu that day and they were served in the glasses that placed on the saucers. You know, you had better be careful when picking up the glass with cold drink from the saucer because the saucer may stick to the glass.

Being him, he just picked the glass up without realizing the saucer clinging at the bottom. At the height of slightly more than a foot off the table, the saucer then gave way. It smashed on the glass table top. Of course the glass table top was not easily broken but the saucer was somewhat smashed into pieces. Man! The rest of us had a share of embarrassment but we detracted it off while passing some light jokes for cover.

He was then shifting to another corner of the table while the lady started sponging and cleaning the muddle. He squeezed himself between the chair and the wall and without proper admonition, he screamed out, “Aduhhh…Aduhhh…”

Everyone was astounded, afraid that he could have had stepped on the piece of the broken glass.

He was then leaping with a single leg to a stool close to the kitchen area. He sat on the stool, put his foot up and an object could be seen stuck in it. At closer look, it happened to be a Y-Shape structure of an upper torso of a fish bone. It must have belonged to a big fish considering the size of the bone itself. This time around, we couldn’t hold our laugh anymore. It was actually an accident more than clumsiness and it was not funny for stepping on the fish bone for it could've had happened to anyone since it was lying there on the floor.

What tickled us? It tickled when it was not anyone else but him, that lived up well to his attribute if not to his idiosyncrasy.

The question is, why him? Why? I could’ve had stepped on it and so could others. It only served as the reassurance on his clumsiness even God has played a practical joke on him with the twist of fate not to be in his favor. Or perhaps his bad vibes has invited and intensified the negative forces around him.






GAB: Are you as clumsy as my nephew? Bet you’re not.

Yes, He Crossed the Finish Line First

Courtesy: Berlingo

It was past midnight. Sam and Edrin were deep asleep in their bed. It was a double bed they were sharing. Months ago we decided to remove their single beds and replaced it with one queen-sized bed to share. Hence, it has been for the reason Edrin refused to sleep alone and left his bed disused all those while. I did try to get him to sleep in his own bed but later found, he kept tossing and turning with the eyes wide open in the dim of the light as to suggest his insecurity to slumber off by himself – he needs his big brother Sam to tag with.

With then a single-sized bed to be shared by the two, it looked jam-packed due to not enough space to support their boisterous moves while sleeping. I witnessed many times they would pitch, topple and tumble each other in their sleep. Every so often Edrin’s foot would be right on Sam’s nose or Sam’s heavy arm would overlay Edrin’s face. At times I’d hear their latent yet strident bawls in the middle of the night skirmishing for space. Occasionally Edrin would curl at the perimeter of the bed, cornered by Sam, confined to a little space while the rest of the bed was left wide and ample. And they might drool on each other.

I was standing at their bedroom door with lights from the family hall bright enough to see them sleeping with the bolster in the middle separated them. At that very moment, the medals hanging next to the bed brought me to the Sports Day in school a few weeks back. It had been a whimsical event for Edrin when he collected gold medals for his 100-meter and 200-meter runs and silver medal for his 4 x 100-meter in Std-4 category.

He was then whining over poor run by the comrade in second leg that made them resorted to silver medal in the 4 x 100m-relay. I remember, I quickly told him it was okay and better off not to reprimand or rather censure on others. I told him, as far as I was concerned he was indisputably a lucid champ for his age group. I teased him; he could even beat the hell out of the guys in Std 6. Consoled, with all smiles, he swiftly told me how he acted after crossing the finish line. He said he was like an athlete seen on TV with a single knee on the turf bowing down catching his breathes while the crowd especially Blue House kids were still in frenzy. And I remember I was perhaps happier than him seeing his pride soars due to his feat.

At another bedroom door in a different house long ago when Edrin was only a year-and-a-half or two, also standing, and just came back from overseas – luggage still in hand. First look at the cute little baby next to his mom sleeping had brought mixed feelings in me. Without precedent, my fatherly instinct was shrouded with some guilty conscious when I thought he grew up so fast in my absence. If I really had to be away for too long and not seeing him for months or a year, it perhaps provide good reason for spotting the difference but it was only a week before.

But then I realized. I was busy going places, complying with my work schedule. I didn’t really spend quality time with him unlike with Fara and Sam when they were babies.

He’d still be sleeping the time I left home before I had to catch my flight departing somewhere. And most of the times when I came back he’d already be asleep. In a hectic season, as good as early in the morning the next day after my arrival, I had to drag my feet back to the airport or hit the highway heading somewhere, north, south, all directions. If not, the work demands in office were just as heavy. I never had driven back home with the sun still in the sky.

Dropped my luggage, I went kneeling down on the floor close to the edge of the bed. I stroked Edrin’s face, hair, arms, hands, fingers and what not. Caressed and cuddled! Kissed! And kissed! Again! And again! And shoo-shoo when he showed sign of waking up. And Anak-ku pacifier came for the rescue.

I shouldn’t have had shed tears and I never wanted to, but that tiny little feeling in me kept developing and multiplying until it finally besieged – overwhelmed. I choked! I couldn’t help but weeping – tears were coming out fast, running down my cheeks. I had missed some beautiful moments seeing him growing up before my eyes. I felt like I was busy for nothing. Yeah, very true, it was all for the betterment of life as a whole that arithmetically would in turn provide happiness I was yearning for. And yet the readily happy thing right under my nose seemed to be overlooked and not well appreciated.

I let my feeling loose while I had all the time with myself – sobbing. It was an emotional moment – very personal – me and my own feeling – in the still of the night.

Up till this day I don’t know whether my wife was awake or not when I was entertaining my thoughts, feelings and emotions that night. Perhaps she wanted me to let it all out without any intrusion. I only woke her up after wiping out my tears. And I was contented to just ask about Edrin’s latest development.






GAB: Your children are babies only once in their lifetime.

It Is A Precarious Life, But He Showed Me Otherwise

In this precarious livelihood we have, one has to be certain on the next move as not to jeopardize the main objective one is eyeing on, be it in personal or professional life. It becomes especially perceptible when it deals with business as concerned.

Recently we have to revise back our exertions on the prototype of an educational portal. We had on mind the portal would be revolutionary in our education environment in Malaysia and the Ministry of Education was the right place to bump into. We did our homework. We traveled every nook and corner of the precincts. We met all the geeks and nerds. We endured vehement speeches by the smart ones. And not short of being cuffed by the upper hands. We even know which parking lot would provide better shades for our cars at certain hours of the day. Even which building holds cafeteria with a good food for our breaks. And I personally know which receptionists and secretaries are the sexiest.

But, it’s a jungle out there over in Putrajaya.

Initially we thought it would be worthwhile reconnoitering through with the Ministry of Education since we were dealing with the prototype meant for education. But then, there we had it, too thick a wall of a fortress for a credulous to break into. On my bad day, it almost made me think that merit comes last in this part of the hemisphere. Some people may jump right off but I am not that type. I prefer to look hard on our inadequacy and shortcoming rather than fingers do the pointing first. We may have all the ingredients but the way it’s been mixed, may not be to their taste.

It is precarious indeed.

And due to this precarious life, it exemplifies a good move when a faraway Malaysian friend, Idham, has made an unprecedented decision to come back to Kuala Lumpur on last Thursday. He was here for purpose. Lest he wants to make it private, I choose not to write it down specifically on his “investment” thing here but I can see this gentleman has clear objectives in his action. He knows what’s down the road in 10, 20 years to come when he left the country last 2 nights leaving all the documents signed.

I was so pleased he called me when he was on his way to KLIA and at the same time made me feel bad for I had to be in Cyberjaya the whole day attending meetings with MDeC officers and Academia-Industry Dialogue with the Minister of Higher Education at Cyberview Lodge Resort. In fact I had just reached home when Idham called to say goodbye.

Well I don’t feel that bad either. On the day he touched down, arrived, I made a point to see him slightly an hour after he took the train from the airport and spent my time with him in the afternoon (together with Shirley).

I always love to be in the company of people who eloquently demonstrate their spatial-temporal reasoning as much as their excellent overall dexterity. This gentleman fits the bill. And it gave good reason why Idham is at the place where he is at now. When I sat there for our lunch at the cafeteria on the upper deck of the skyscraper overlooking the breathtaking view of the city of Kuala Lumpur, I could actually feel Idham’s spirit was as high as the building itself and beyond.

The energy that vibrates in him made me feel that, life is not that precarious after all. We have to be larger than life.

And it’s all in our minds.






GAB: If you mix around with successful people, it can be a catalyst for you to be on the road to success.

Mr Idham, Pn Azie and Shirley

Crab & Goldfish Tale: A Brawny Claw & A Protuberant Cutie

Having a birth date on July 15, it falls within the dates of constellation known as Cancer. What’s written in the book of horoscope, one of the traits in Cancerian people is that when they grab hold on something, they would clutch onto it unremittingly even to the extent of loosing their claws if they have to, as of for crabs – the sign used for Cancer zodiac. I may be am the least person to take what horoscope says earnestly, but it evokes some kind of fun when some characters come about to be dearly to what I am hauling.

Once the focal point is laid down over something, I have the ability to detach myself totally from almost anything. And I can be most loyal to my own thoughts and ideas. I can be most-disciplined to the rules I set for myself. That is what happened in the past few days when I had to focus on whacking the bugs in our operations with relentless meetings and discussions with my partners and associates.

In that past few days it exemplifies a fraction of the epitomic on what it says for the Cancerians. I was in fact not on the road living out of briefcase, neither I had no access to the internet nor would it has been too time consuming to at least open up my own blog or surf through the net. I had all the time to do that. But, I made it clear to myself to be single-track minded as not to touch the gratuitous things that’d probably win over my concentrations – not even checking my personal e-mails except the corporate e-mail that I have to deal with everyday. Perhaps by now you get the idea why I keep my working desk clean and empty all the time.

(Psstt… I actually missed you guys!)

Yeah, true, that doesn’t live up much to what loosing-the-claw dare is as mentioned above but what has transpired in the meeting room, Gosh, may be I choose not to elaborate it here but I can assure you, it lives up to that trait very, very well.

Not a familiar sight of me when I slouched on the sofa in my office with the lights dimmed out in the afternoon yesterday. It had been some grueling days with my partners and associates. Just like a sprinter crossing the finish line in his 100-meter dash amidst the deafening wild cheers of the spectators – he has a lot more stories to tell far off from his only 10 seconds of show. And my idea of collapsing myself in an awestruck expression motionless for 10 minutes or so was an illustration of relief when it was all over.

Hey, I even had my way of small celebration with myself to signify my relief and satisfaction with what we have achieved throughout. I went over to Jalan Pasar in Pudu, walked around. I spent hours at the pet shops looking at the fish in the aquariums – mind you that not necessarily made me a new member of Pet Shop Boys in any ways.

Love to see those goldfish wriggling and squirming in an awkward swimming style – so cute. They look glitzy and flamboyant with the accessories and embroideries they are sporting. And their teeny-weenie mouths – alluring. Tapped on the glass, they dodged in haste. For a second it reminded me of the local artiste Adibah Nor. And it as well reminded me of a bunch of chubby schoolchildren that overdosed with KFC in their morning jog for Physical Exercise in school. I smiled. Well, on personal basis, it has been very calming and relaxing to me. Voilà! The fireworks for my little celebration was like having my teh halia for a change at the mamak shop close to Edinburg round-about before I came back to office.

A Gantt Chart of some twenty A3-sized papers was waiting for me to see it through before wrapping up the 1st quarter of the year. The impelling cause in its mainspring is; I being made captain of the ship am looking forward to smooth sailing whilst the Godfather would later love to see the ledger as spotless as it is portly.




GAB: You go watch goldfish. They are nicer than majority of people that you know. Or you go break some claws of steamed crabs. Then you tell me.

IN HIATUS

The Moment When the Mind of Your Child Is Read

(Click on the pic)

I doubt if there is more fascinating sentiment than the feeling of self-worthiness when what’s behind the mind of your child is expressed out in his or her writing. A small thing that looks big to me.

Fara, my daughter of 15 years had the short essay written for her English class. In her words – below is the easy-to-read excerpt from the scanned copy above:

Person I Admire

My life is as perfect as it can be for the past fifteen years of my life. My parents have taken a good care of me.
My father is not from a rich family. He comes from a poor family in the Eastcoast of Malaysia. His life when he was a boy was far behind as compared to the life I am having now. He worked hard in his studies until he made to the University in overseas. He wanted to help his family to attain better life.
Due to his hardwork, he is now a successful person. He is a Managing Director of an IT company. He is also good and kind father. He teach me what life is all about. He once said that life is not easy. We have to struggle in life.
He is also give support and advice to me. He wants his children to be the successful person just like him. He always said to me to study hard.
I admire his hardwork till he becomes a successful person. I hope I will be the successful person like my father. I love my father so much!


- Fara Liyana

May be it’s a little overstated about her father especially when she sees me as a successful person that may give the impression to readers as being flush and leading a well-heeled life. Actually, the reality of my life provides an insight into shadowy world far removed from what I am in office or in the inadvertent tango, foxtrot and salsa of my words for blog entry.

Suffice to say, I’m leading a simple life, far cry from glossy-finish as it may be seemed. It could be due to not having the substance to gleam with, but I pray hard to God that I’d be the same person if one day I turn billionaire. Hence, I want to be easy in life as I wish for God to be easy on me in the hereafter.

Well, I don’t blame Fara for seeing what she sees. Successful can be construed in variety of ways. Just like any fathers out there or any parents for that matter, I never showed the downside of me to the kids. Being a father of this world age, I try my best to give an imminent of life as practical as it can be. I try to shift away from the stigma rooted among our forefathers in their advice to their offspring as in the likes of not-to-be-like-me or to-be-better-than-me thingy. Without having to divulge, by way of what the children can see and feel, it can give clear target for them on the yardstick to dart at, and to transcend is only a bonus.

I am beaming with pride in clandestine when she got the message well in understanding life as a tough thing; to struggle is a vital part of it. It makes me feel like my love and care as a father has taken into some degree of achievement, not just mere indulgence as to reinstate what I didn’t get when I was little.

I may be ahead of some of you readers here for already having a teenage daughter while you are still busy changing their diapers and enjoying the very first word of “mama” or “papa” from your babies – or may be watching with pride they take the first giant step to walk, and fumble, and fall, and cry, and a hush in the comfort of your embrace, and try again with your guidance and assurance. Or may be I am a bit behind when some of you are now already missing your grown up kids in college and enjoying calls from them asking about your well-being.

But trust me, whatever age your kids are now at; they are the reflections of us as parents.

Weird Things About Me

On Saturday, Feb 17, traffic in PLUS was pretty bad and I was caught in it. People were in their Chinese New Year balik-kampung-exodus while I was just on my way home for lunch. I chose to cut through Sg Buluh toll instead of the exit to GUTHRIE Highway miles ahead, but it still took me almost 2 hours to get there from Jalan Duta toll. Sigh! Ordinary traveling time would only take less than 10 minutes. It was a little remorse in me for not taking MRR2 instead.

But then, I realized those vegetations and majestic rocks along the highway were fascinating – so beautiful. I never take closer look at those all these while because I would be running at speed when using highway, as everyone would. When in a situation of bumper-to-bumper for hours, consciously, I started to enjoy the beautiful views that I missed all these years. After all why would I grudge over the traffic condition when I was not in position to change? At the same time it reminds me of possibly I would’ve had missed several beautiful things in life as well due to the fast pace of life we are living in. Thanks to the stand-still traffic for the inspiring moment.

And I had an idea. I started sending text message to friends. Azhar, my old friend from school just know how to tickle me with his reply that makes me look stupid laughing in the driver’s seat by myself. Well of course, it’s not too strange for people now but if you were to be seen laughing by yourself in a car some 20 years back, they might have thought you were out of your mind or something.

I also sent Idham in Jeddah a text message and he was kind enough to reply, even called my mobile (after I reached home). He told me he was on his way home for lunch. Kids were in school and he gave me the idea of “dessert” was in his lunch package.

When I browsed his blog today, it didn’t surprise me with the entry “Lunch….” But it surprised me with his previous entry. – Idham tagged me to write on weird things about me.

Oh boy, I know I may find it hard to write them down because the subject is not dearly to me but rest assured I am a good sport.

And it is proven hard when I keep thumping the backspace on the keyboard, even to the point deleting the whole thing before I got some momentum to go on.

What 6 weird things about me?

1. My working desk in office, nothing on it. No pictures of wife & kids, no clickety-clack of steel balls pendulum, no replica of a horse, no pen holders, nothing. I keep it clean all the time. It helps me more focus on my work. The only thing would mess my desk is when I am working on something. If it only requires 3” x 3” memo pad to write on, only that small piece of paper is granted a permit to be on it.

2. I’d fold and staple nicely the rough papers before throwing them into dust bin. I never crumbled them up. Any small pieces of paper or anything, I’d put them into used envelope, have it stapled before discard. Never a liquid of any form will be in the dust bin. Yanti, the cleaner gave a comment, “Sampah dalam bilik Boss sentiasa rapi, nggak perlu tukar plastiknya!”. Very true! That damn plastic bag has been there since the Japanese left Malaya.

3. I consider myself a helpful person but I’d be the last person to offer help when I know many others rushing to help. Pity the voluptuous lady in her low cut wearing tight skirt having flat tyre in the parking lot.

4. I do enjoy blending in the crowd after having my car parked somewhere. I’d be in my jeans and T-Shirt at the bus stand, standing there, putting up the same expression like other commuters before settling somewhere for my drinks. I was once chauffeured driven together with a bodyguard armed with a revolver when I was on my duty in Jakarta in late 90’s. I asked the driver to drop me in the city and I walked back to hotel by myself after hours pretending to be a local.

5. I was a risk-taker and recognized no threat to my life when I was young. When I was behind the wheel, I’d push the machine to the limit. I won’t stop until I heard tyres screeching and the smell of burnt rubber was so satisfying. Winding road was heaven to me. It was hell of a fun when the adrenaline pumped up with fast pounding of heartbeats and sweating. Now no more! (Anda mampu mengubahnya!)

6. I was a professional speaker / trainer that used to train hundreds of speakers in all aspects of public speaking throughout the Asia Pacific basin. I was complimented by people as an eloquent speaker on the stage but I would be dumbfounded when I have to face a camera. I was once offered for an audition with the local TV station for English section news but the thought of spotlights beaming on me and the big camera in front to swallow me whole, was enough for me to retreat. And it was not my cup of tea anyway.

Yeah...

Well… I have done my part!

I am now quoting what Idham said, “I will carry on the tradition and tag the following unfortunate friends (sorry folks, I have run out of enemies)”: hehehe

Those are....

1. NJ (Love to see the other side of you)
2. Kak Elle (This Singaporean lady is known to be a good sport too)
3. Rina Jordan (Because you're cool)
4. KC (I know Idham has tagged you but I’d love to have you fall in the first 6 in my request)
5. JoKontan (It’s all because of my love to you my man)
6. Mommy Alif (Well, you're not trapped but invited)

I’d love to tag Kopi O but he holds no blog though, hehehe

RULES: People who are tagged should write a blog post of 6 weird things about them as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says 'you are tagged' in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

“The number you dialed….”

(Thursday: Feb 15, 2007: 3:15 pm)



“I am not too sure whether I have no answer to that or you have a wrong question!!?”

That is what I said when I tried to be a little wise with the caller at the other receiving end. But it didn’t turn out as I thought it would – my words seemed to be taken as challenge to her and made her furious. I was taken aback with slight regret.

“Looook… the question is very simple…” she said with higher tone of voice that I could almost imagine seeing her to start fuming, perhaps jumped off her chair with fist clenched at her waist.

“Why did you send the documents to the branch office instead of straight to the Headquarters?” “You’ve put many people in the hot soup… blaa…blaa… blaa... blaa… blaa…You knowww? Blaa… blaa… blaa… You see?!!!” It was a lengthy blow from her. I found it hard to trip with my words in between over her stormy weather.

From the words “Branch office” and “Headquarters”, I sensed something was not right already. Subsequent words from her made me certain I was caught as the wrong actor in the wrong drama. As far as I could remember, the only documents I sent recently were to the Ministry of Science, Technology and Innovation (MOSTI), nothing to do with branch office or headquarters thing. The only place that holds the ministerial office is in Putrajaya, nowhere else. After all, the Ministry Office is not known to me referred to as branch office and if it did, where is the Headquarters?

“Hold on a sec! What documents are you referring to here?” “What branch office… what Headquarters?” I asked her as I tried to align the direction of our sporadic row.

Seconds after articulating my confused state of mind started off with her explanation that elucidated her points, she then retorted in a familiar twang of hers;

“Aiyaaa… Very sorry woo…” It was an apparent gargle in her mouth to lament her blunder.

All in all, the blame went to the wrongly dialed number. Fair share of blame also went to my name Zack was similar to her intended receiver that made it passed through the receptionist and my secretary without hiccup. The accentuated significance was about the documents, very much to what I had on mind to start the roll. May be my speaking voice sounded familiar to her too. And, on top of it if blame is really that essential; a scuttle in her deliverance without proper overture on the subject matter due to her dismay had made perfect coincidence for the howler.

Phewww!!!

I didn’t want to know further what troubled her with the documents wrongly sent but her bash on me made me baffled for a few minutes. The first impression came to mind was my documents sent to MOSTI had created uncalled for turbulence to the officers there. It has brought good jolt in me, afraid that the company’s integrity is at stake over certain issue.

Well, it was just flatulence in a daily routine. It may be looked like pointless incident that fits to be called time waster. But I do not look at it that way. Yeah, may be wasting my time and emotions for a minute but to me, what’s behind; it is coherent to profess one’s muff and error as a part of learning process for parties involved.

Ms. Wong, wherever you are, I am glad you ended up the whole thing with big laugh and thank you for another blooper that added to the shelf of my library of experience.

Of The Thoughts Circling In My Cup of Nescafe

Every now and then I choose to be by myself having my Nescafe at my favourite joint at the ground floor of the building that holds my office. My timing is almost exact everyday as 10:30 am is the time of my choice. Most of the times I get to sit at my favourite table over at the corner of the restaurant with big round pillar at my back, serves very well as an added strength to back me up, subconsciously. Nice open view overlooking the slope with big condominium blocks on my right across the street, up on the steep incline.

“Biasa Bang?!” A young lady would say and I’d quip with short reply, “Yeah!” or sometimes my nod with little smirk is more than sufficient. That’s the familiar short exchange we’d have when she pre-confirms my drink. Occasionally, I’d be ahead of her, “Biasa!” and she’d smile in return. I can take for granted; the steamy Nescafe will be there for me, in minutes. She wouldn’t ask for any orders for food because she knows, more often than not I was there just for drinks – I’d ask when I need it. But sometimes she would. At one time, with her big smile, she swiftly dashed to my table asking – just to create a cyclone of air when she wants me to smell her new “Sweetheart” perfume she’s using and fishing for compliments from me. Rest assured I am always generous with my words.

Oh by the way, she’s a big fan of Mawi!

It is not just about the young lady at the restaurant but also a woman whose working on the flower plants that covered from below the 4-foot high walkway of the building until some 10 feet to the pavement close to the car park. Over the years, I have been watching her taking care of the plants – fertilizing, watering, cutting, trimming and pruning. Every time I am drowning my distress in my Nescafe, she’d be down there nursing the plants. What attracts me is when I see her works with full of passion and dedication – makes the impression of special bonding exists between her and the plants.

I love seeing people doing their best at what they are doing regardless of what they are. I am annoyed to see someone who demonstrates less interest in what they are doing. Have it ever occurred to you when you’re almost at the brink of your outburst with a waitress at a restaurant showing no interest in her work as if you are there to trouble her as a customer? Any experience with a nurse at the counter with thick and heavy glasses gives an outlandish gape at you when asking for information? Ever came across a security guard behaving like he’s the owner of the building? But I know a lady executive friend who admires a hunky Bangladeshi security guard because of his spitting image of Hrithik Roshan. Heh, that’s beside the point!

Back to this flower-woman, I don’t know how old is she but I have a hunch she looks older than her age. I know she’s from Indonesia when it vibrates well in her speech. Deeper in my thought, I surmised her having a family back in her home country with perhaps children to feed upon. Probably, she’s here with the husband in their efforts to make ends meet, leaving the children behind or she could well be all alone here. I have an easy way to know by asking her but it won’t be fun. After all it doesn’t help me much to record the unnecessary data in my head. The very thing that triggers me is, when the thought of her with her life, having to succumb to the living very likely not to her choice but circumstantially she has to face it. Above all, when she is at it, she is at her best. I do not have any specific benchmark to compare her commitments and dedications in work with mine and but I ask myself; whatever things in my hands now, am I to the standard of what she is demonstrating?

Reminds me of Idris, the guy we hired for decorative concrete work in our lawn. According to the neighbours, the charge was a bit too high but my wife and I agreed it was worth the money spent considering the quality of works delivered. I was even prepared to pay higher than the amount he put the price on.

Some years ago in the company I was at, for the company annual dinner, we in the management purposely wanted to have the lower ranking staff to handle the function. Ridzwan was a store hand in the company. Without much details in instructions, he distinguished himself out, outshined, ahead of other peers, even voluntarily took up the stage as a Master of Ceremony for the function. And he played his guitar and sang to the tune of “Isabella” too. Regardless of whether he was singing or not, he did bloody well with all his wits and charms handling the whole function. Successfully!

I took mental notes on every single thing right from the beginning. A few days after the function, I summoned him to my office. Guess what? I pushed him into training department as a trainee junior executive. He was in tears, happy when someone could see what’s hidden in him. On his way out of my office, I could see the gesture of him wanted to give me a hug – lest not proper, he shook my hand – almost crushed my bones. Regardless of what paper qualification he was having or he was not having, I knew that he could handle the job. After yet a few more rounds of tears battling the unknown new world to him, in 6 good months of probations, he managed to position himself as a full-fledged junior executive.

My Nescafe won’t take the whole day to finish. My Nescafe couldn’t wait for my thoughts to last either.

Time to go!

Ghost! What Ghost?

They said a monument was erected at that place. A gentleman, neighbour and friend of mine with his screen name Berlingo took trouble to track down the monument at the crash site of Japan Airlines that plummeted to the ground in a botched landing attempt at Subang Airport way back in 1977, on September 27, to be precise. It was reported that 34 out of 79 passengers and crew were perished in the incident. The crash site is situated in Elmina Estate, at the mouth of the gateway to our place, Saujana Utama.

Berlingo’s quest was inspired by a tease in our community forum about ghostly figures & phantoms and strange noises that were reported being seen and heard apart from some other inexplicable occurrences experienced by people. The conscientious head honcho igniting the rag was Kudin. It is believed that due to the people were killed, aptly to scene of carnage in the area, it in some way, our neighbourhood become haunted. This is an account from my neighbour KC in her blog.

I don’t know how far the truth is. As far as I am concerned I still laugh off over the buzz. I even challenged on the possibility of meeting a ghostly figure myself. But then, I am not too sure how I would react if the figure really appears right before me though. I hope I won’t be frozen to death! In jest, I even said wanting to meet up with a phantom of Al-Tantuya, a Mongolian lady of whom was depleted to bits with explosives after being shot dead on her fateful night last year. The ferocity took place some kilometers away from our place. It became big news in the country not only due to the brutality that had been but also when it was convoluted with VIP’s involvement.

CRUMBLED MONUMENT: It proofs that the tragedy has slipped off from people’s minds after 30 years it happened. It serves as a reminder that after some time of our passing, we would well be forgotten also.

Courtesy: Berlingo






OVERLOOKING THE HIGHWAY: Nobody knew the site would then be as it is now and I never thought of staying in a place I call home not far from it.

Courtesy: Berlingo

Speaking of haunted and ghosts thing, when I was a boy of 11 years, it was said that Wak Lah, a bomoh in our area, was in possession of a skull of a man from Thailand who was hacked to death and decapitated. The skull was kept in a huge ceramic vase (tempayan) under his house wrapped in layers of yellow cloths. The tempayan itself looked scary enough with the moss covered the outer part of it, dusty on the lid made out of hardwood. Let alone when the house was old and spooky, far off from other neighbours’, surrounded by creepy big trees with leaves pouting at the top that it gets dark early in a day. The “kemenyan” scent was the fragrance of choice in the house – perhaps due to Ambi Pur was not in business yet.

For some odd reason we found it ridiculous to ask adults whether the skull was really in there or not. At least that was the talk among us kids. We kids believed what we decided to believe. It was also said that, when past midnight, if you were to bring an egg as an offering to the spirit, you’d see a long slithering tongue protrude over licking the egg in your hand but your life would be spared. It wouldn’t break the egg, left it intact but once you crack open, you’d find it empty.

I had a funny idea together with my buddy Ariff. We planned for an offering just to see the slinking swathe of the ghost’s tongue feasting on egg.

On that particular night as planned, we were all ready but it was a bad start when neither one of us wanted to hold the egg in hand but just to be a spectator. I had the egg stolen from granny’s fat chicken in the den. After some arguments in the dark, I gave in when we came to term that he had to be next to me all the way through, holding hands. There we go; I was the one with the egg in hand that would be the master of the show.

We walked ever so slowly approaching the bomoh’s house with the tempayan as a spot marked as X. You couldn’t imagine our heartbeats at that moment even when we were actually still some 100 meters away from the spot. Goosebumps were like thousands of small nipples enveloped the whole body, hairs sticking up like a porcupine. It felt like the heart was jumping off the chest. Every tiny sound of anything seemed to be too outrageous. In the compound of the house, some 20, 30 meters away from the target, it was so dark that we could hardly see each other’s face but the path we walked was not strange to us.

After number of stops and hesitance, double-checking on our motivations and the barometer of our confidence, we were finally under the roofed side of the house with the tempayan was only some 5 meters away at the “tiang seri” (major pillar) under the house. The moment we were about to duck for head clearance to enter beneath the house floor, I felt Ariff’s hand jerked as if he was puling off, brought a heavy gust of blood in me, not to mention sweating profusely, breathing ever so short. In reaction to that, I shuddered just as much. Upon feeling I had the same reaction; Ariff displayed sign of aggravation. I swear I could hear his heartbeat racing with mine, even louder when we hit the same note at the same time.

It happened in just a matter of seconds when the fusion of scare in us escalated rapidly from double to triple, from triple to quadruple and kabaam-boom just like the multiplications of nuclei joining together in atomic fusion of the atomic bomb. And so did to what entailed in our chaotic reactions whether to defy or to recoil from our hallucinations and deliriums created in our minds as if we were cornered by spirits, with long, slithering and menacing tongues everywhere around us. As far as I can remember, I took a step back. Ariff did just as many but with greater speed and longer span, followed by my other step back with a speed to counter his but overdone. Then he stepped back faster and longer. I copied and added, so did he. And it went on and on in that short period of time until we finally found ourselves split and running like crazy, just followed our gut feelings not knowing what we would hit in the dark. “Hungga sapa kecik ppalo-ppalo” (read: Run helter skelter until the head shrinks). That must be the fastest run in my life that possibly beat the hell out of Ben Johnson of my age.

Fortunately all trees were left unharmed and we didn’t hit square to the barbed wire fence when we maneuvered the tough corner that would put Michael Schumacher or Mick Doohan to shame, escaped with only some cuts I called it scratches that good enough to bleed and had it nursed for weeks. We were also lucky for not trampled into cow dung, except for the torn kain pelikat that had to give way to serious punching of long steps taken with legs spread wider than the rhythmic gymnasts would – as stupendous as a speedy-chicken Road Runner.

The egg was dropped somewhere at the back or it could’ve had crushed in my grip. The grip was perhaps so forceful that if it was a rock in my hand, the rock would’ve turned diamond. I can testify to that slimy thing in my hand that I later found, it was the crushed egg – confirmed it was not cow dung.

And I became the prime suspect for the missing egg that tagged with a serial number and bar-coded by granny!

Just another foiled mission for a close encounter with the spirit and ghost, as what I thought, but I actually met many "ghosts" and "vampires" in the broad daylight in the real life.

What about you, met any ghosts before?

Note: Now I am developing a habit of asking question at the end of my entry.

WHO’S HAPPIER?

Life is about struggling and striving. Life is about fighting. And winning! Life is about enjoying good living; to certain extent we might want to indulge ourselves in flashy, exorbitance and luxurious livelihood for good measure.

When I am at the apogee of my own easy-me-philosophy, I would say to myself, luxurious living is just like when you are holding your pee for hours that your bladder is about to burst and there you are at the toilet bowl enjoying it with the eyes closed in ecstasy, hence, you don’t want to trade for anything else in this world. Luxurious that is.

Perhaps, it’s not luxury as what luxury is but what luxury would bring.

Since I am not trained to be that sophisticated in life, I have a feeling that I can enjoy my RM 10 better than others spending their RM 100. May be I can sleep soundly and wake up happily in a master bedroom of my 2-storey end-lot terrace house in Saujana Utama than an opulent waking up in his flush bedroom overlooking a swimming pool in his 3-and-a-half storey mansion in Country Heights.

Or may be he is actually far happier, and I am only a fool for being imbecile and moronic for thinking that way? He could be relishing for his fine champagne at the back of his chauffeured driven stretch, laughing, while I’d be busy checking on possibilities of meeting him with his secretary to knock a deal or two.

Or may be the unpretentious chap with 7 small kids without shirts sleeping in a hall with mosquito coils stop burning, in the slump of a squatter area in Keramat, is waking up a happier person?

Who knows, may be an indigenous man of Orang Asli tribe deep in the jungle of Gombak wakes up in his makeshift hut to the traces of the aroma of last night's roasted wild boar in the fire and yet have a whole world in his grip, the whole universe funneling into him? Happier!

Happiness, in a sense of word, it is too broad a scale for one to rap it up cleverly. A banal line of cliché we often heard, happiness is subjective and hence, definition-wise, it is an emotional state that is characterized by feelings of enjoyment and satisfaction. A great philosopher, Aristotle, stated that happiness is the only thing that humans desire for its own sake. Men sought riches not for the sake of being rich, but to be happy. Those who sought fame desired it not to be famous, but because they believed fame would bring them happiness.

In the context, I think it is the same thing when I was in my stride having my dinner with “ulam” and “ike tawar” to go with “budu”. And... I love “ike singge” and “ikan rebus goreng” too – I’ll put aside those lobsters. If I were to equate to what I understand philosophically, it’s not the things I eat that make me happy but the enjoyment and satisfaction of eating those that makes me happy.

But nothing compared to the time when you are all alone with God in the middle of a quiet night crying and weeping on the prayer mat with a tinge of hope for forgiveness for the sins you had done and God trades you up with special feelings for you to go on living.

Are you a happy person? And what makes you happy?

Unlikely Meeting Place

Since I am using highways everyday, it has been ages I don’t really feel the bore stiff from getting stuck in a real traffic jam. Yesterday was peculiar to my ordinary traveling. It took me two-and-a-half hours to get to office, with one meeting too many to skip. I could see the humdrum looks in the faces of other drivers when it took some 30 minutes to travel only less than 200 meters once passed the Jalan Duta toll. Only today I realized some processions were going on at Batu Caves for Thaipusam that the customary users of MRR2 would instead detour at Sungai Buluh toll, just to pile up at the exit.

I heard a car, black-colored BMW 328i, honking, diagonally to my left with merely a car-length behind as I was in the rightmost lane after passing through SmartTag inching my way. And I knew it was me he meant for he kept honking when I turned my face away – in his effort to lock eyes and get noticed. Quick assessing on my mind to look for what wrong I did. “Am I too close for comfort with other car?”, “He spot my broken tail light?“, “Is he the guy who got pissed off with my stern voice when he jumped queue at Dunkin’ Donut at Jejantas Sungai Buluh the day before?” or “Am I mistaken for someone else?”. No! Nothing!

While with little consternation I was harbouring, a smile in his face gave me clue. Great resemblance of the very face I knew some yonks ago – last seen when we bid farewell in school. It became certain when clarion features of him matched the input in my geriatric and tired database. If not for the kind of fortuity we had, we’d have had brushed shoulders in the streets, perhaps exchanging a punch or two over scuffles but we wouldn’t have noticed for who the other party was. The old school alumni sticker proudly displayed at the back screen of the car had done a bit of justice to me.

I tried not to move as he tried to catch up with me to be on my left. I rolled down the window almost simultaneously as he did. It was almost at one go we confirmed each other’s schooling days’ call name and hearty laughter followed.

That laugh has brought back to the time when I carried him on the wheelbarrow in the peach dark of the night playing silly, racing with another wheelbarrow team in the football field while we were supposed to be in bed sleeping. Making funs on the possibilities of the hostel wardens may drop a bombshell on us. We spent time laughing and rolling in the grass over our foolish acts more than we were actually racing. We laughed more than it was funny. We cracked at any slightest tingle. It was not even funny when we hit the goal post, but we were still laughing like mad. Even until this day I could still laugh as much as my kids had when I relate the story to them.

When you are in the driver’s seat and you’re talking to the car driver on your left, it’s a bit awkward on your part. Hardly could hear one another. Only after a few shouts so then we realized we were still as silly as when we were racing using the wheelbarrows those days, I then asked his mobile number.

I was fully aware that when after too long a halt and the car in front start moving that creates space in front you, the driver at the back would be itching for you to move even a yard or two. I could see a gentleman in his Honda Accord behind me started showing choleric expression in his face when enough space for one car in front of me.

It was time to roll up the window and start calling up on the mobile. May be this week neither one of us is in position to make arrangement for a meet up but very soon we will.




GAB: Old friends are incomparable to the newly-met friends. What more when they are childhood friends. And I wonder how the friendships like when it is through the net? Chatroom or Blogosphere! Any idea?

Men Are At Risks Too!

Ladies who are generous in the chest department have always caught my attentions. I hate to say this as if I am opening up my own can of worms, especially in writing – in a blog, of which what’s written is considered as the reflections of what’s on the writer’s mind. It can be read by people who may or may not know me in the real life and it could be perceived wrongly by readers. Perhaps some might get offended. But reality has it. Manal used to describe me in her comment as, GAB: A doting father, a persevering husband, man's man who likes it heavy at the top and resourceful nonetheless.

The trait of liking heavy at the top doesn’t blend well with other traits as a man who appreciates love and loving, it seems. Or does it? Manal has got PhD under her belt while I don’t; perhaps she knows better than me what she is talking about. So I pull myself down to believe what she said, a great deal to my penchant anyway.

Well, to figure it out as a levelheaded person, yes, nothing’s wrong with it. It is only wrong when one is a hypocrite, a quack to his own self, even. Say one thing meant another – loathed the outmoded dressings and observe its etiquette religiously and yet not wearing underwear himself. Got it? Nobody in the right mind would slide fingers into his pants to find it out. Would you?

But, wait a minute! Are you saying I should’ve kept it to myself and not necessarily have it written down? Oh boy, I can never get away with smart alecks. If that’s the case, I am doomed with my own words.

Be it!

That was just the preamble. I was actually browsing through the net to gain better knowledge on cancer, breast cancer only came to my attention a while later. The thought of cancer in general is scary somehow, with its mockery, when you have it; you have it, regardless of what. Prevention measures are just so much to curb the inaugural of it and medical doctors are in fact still in lurch over its actual cause. The closest we can get thus far just know the contributing factors of it and the best thing to do is to wean away from those. Of the hardest one is when cancer cells run in your blood “genetically”. The experts are still debating over this possibility though. Let them be.

Talking about cancer, breast cancer, I am annoyed by another fact. Unlike many of us think, breast cancers among men, actually is not a strange thing to happen even though it is prevalent among women. According to the report by the National Cancer Registry, in 2002 and 2003 there were 56 and 24 cases of men diagnosed with breast cancer in Malaysia respectively. Statistically small in number but it exists.

My layman apparition when it comes to breast cancer in men is underlined on persons who are overweight with palpable bacons dangling from their chests just like women. And, of course my fact is not substantiated medically. Though, at this juncture, I stopped for a while checking on how I am doing. And, entertaining flashes of a figure that I had known when I was little.

Pak Ngah Pak Mat, I fondly called him Tok Ngah since he was a brother to my granny, was known to be wandering around village in his kain pelikat, shirtless, with only kain lepas hanging on his shoulder. He was a full-bodied man with superfluous flesh if not fat to tolerate his body frame that when he sat down, his breasts would droop and resting on his round and happy tummy. They moved in pace with his breathing, even much more interesting sight to see when he laughed. It amused me as a kid seeing that. I can barely remember when I would go fondle them (with his consent). I wouldn’t have done that if I was already in school – I must be very small still. I’d be playing with it minutes after minutes until perhaps he got annoyed, then his tone of voice told my senses to quit niggling. And it happened again in the next meet.

Tok Ngah had nothing to do with breast cancer to relate to what I am writing here but the first thought came to my mind when I naively theorized; overweight men are most likely would develop big and meaty chests and hence susceptible to breast cancer.

Somehow if we look into the contributing factors in the table below, the food we eat contributes the biggest (not necessarily being fat).

Just to make myself happy with my unfounded theory, based on the factors in the table above, I’d say, what is food and eating if not related to gaining weight, be overweight and get fat? When you trash in more food than your body ever needed, chances are, and you will be overweight and get fat. When you are fat, rule of the thumb for men said, you will experience meaty chests as good as a user of 42D size. But not necessarily for ladies I supposed, I can swear Dolly Parton never made such impression on me as being fat to be her as her.

Now I am happy!

So gentlemen please consume good and healthy food and eat less to remain healthy and happy. If you already have those unwanted meats dangling from your chests, I don’t really suggest for you to waste your money to pack ‘em up with the brassieres. As an alternative you can borrow it from Jokontan! (Kidding, man!)