They Looted My Time on this One

I watched Pirates of the Caribbean 3 with my father-in-law and husband last Sunday.
It gave me a numb butt. And it also confused the hell out of my simple brain.

I could not make sense of Chow Yun Fatt's few, precious lines. I felt as if the scriptwriters struggled to give him something meaningful to say. And he struggled to make sense of what he was saying.

All I remember is "Welcome to SinGAHpor".

The double- and triple-crossing had me shifting in my seat.Because frankly it was going on and on and on without doing anything to enhance my viewing experience. It wasn't revelatory or funny so I felt like I was trapped in a neither-here-nor-there situation which of course made me feel like jumping off a plank.

Captain Jack Sparrow was interesting to watch as usual but he was half as funny as he was in Pirates 1 and twice as contrived in Pirates 2. Every time he appeared in a scene, I got ready for a cracking good laugh - but I only managed to force a few limp hur-hurs out of my disappointed diaphram.

Then there was the whole new concept of Calypso. Whossa?

Then there was also the other new concept of Davey Jones' heart and how if you stabbed it, you would have to replace him as the undead captain of his ship. Whassa?

I was sufficiently preoccupied with the raging whirlpool for about 15 minutes. But when the two ships never seemed to get sucked into it after going round and round forever, I gave up on any kind of hope that something significant would happen. And I had to bear with the fact that it was just some sfx wank.

In fact after some drama about Davey Jones' heart occurs on board one of the ships, the whirpool disappears suddenly and everything is calm as a clam in the Bahamas.

Eating popcorn almost became the most exciting thing about the entire movie experience.(I usually look for the caramelly ones and leave the pale ones to my husband.)Especially since Keira Knightley's acting could easily be summed up as one long continuous pout.

Bah.

Bali Violence

I normally don't like company trips because the Shopping Aunties scare me. These women are usually from the Finance department. But occasionally, there will be one or two members of the Account Management and Creative departments in their midst.
Gifted with unadulterated perseverance and the gene to "succeed" (plus spontaneous acting skills), they can make the merchants feel guilty for even asking for your money.

Recently the company I work for decided to take its staff to Bali. You know, the country that got bombed twice? The tour operator told us that the number of tourists had dropped from 5 000 to 1450 per day. But did this stop the Shopping Aunties from bargaining their teeth off? No. RM20 for sequinned sandals? Let's make it RM6 shall we? Handcrafted glass-chipped wooden bowl for RM40? Shucks, that's a REAL bomb ain't it?

What you don't see from this blog is the drama surrounding the whole act of bargaining. There's plenty of push and pull involved. They push the old, craggy artisans and if they don't like what they hear, they literally pull away from the shop, which is usually preceded by a threat or a snort of disbelief.

Needless to say, they got into some heated arguments with these locals who are probably still casting long-distance spells on us.




These Aunties also have a penchant for visiting as many tourist spots as possible in a day. "But we paid RM35 for a whole day!!" And so they invade the Monkey Forest Parks, Tanah Lot, the temple in the lake, some paddy fields, some silver and gold factories while cramming marathon shopping sprees in between.

You can't miss them. Their voices are larger than life and the original

Sensing the latent explosives in these Aunties, I decided from day one to hang out with a small bunch of guys from the Creative department, which included an Account Director. Sure the stations took Beavis and Butthead off the air but they were well and alive in our company.

At the first company dinner, they saw fit to stack up some wooden chairs into some gigantic Jenga game to the amusement of the waiters. The latter's smiles ceased when they left the chairs in their Frank Gehry state. At the airport, they decided it was much more fun to ram a trolley into a stacked pile of luggage, than to wait patiently for the boarding passes to be issued. All this interspersed with crude jokes about every person who walked past.

Aside from frequent urges to slap them with monkeys from the Forest Parks, I managed to be civil and controlled. Found a great bottle green beaded lamp with a 40kg glass base for RM130. And a huge painting for RM80. Ignored their snide remarks about my handicapped bargaining skills which I do admit are pretty non-existent.

I also managed to enjoy my simple lunch of a chicken wrap amidst their cackling over the word "Sop Buntot" on the menu. For 3 hours.

There are plenty of cute cafes and restaurants spread around Seminyak, Kuta and Ubud. All serve a mixture of authentic Indonesian food and western. None, willing to cook Beavis nor Butthead, unfortunately.

Couch Potatoes

I'm hooked on Grey's Anatomy.

It's medicine mixed with soap opera.

I used to follow the Bold and the Beautiful. But the story is so stretched out that you could miss 10 episodes and still catch up. E.g "Ridge is contemplating getting Brooke back" and 10 episodes later, "Ridge is about to do something about it"

But Grey's Anatomy. Everything happens really fast. There are severed legs. Subdural haematoma cases. Complicated births. Surgeons getting shot and about to lose the dexterity of their hands. And great, great lines in between that provoke and touch your gut.

Colin is 7 episodes behind. That's because when there's football, he sticks to football. Me - I steamroll through 3 episodes in one sitting. I told him that to be an honorary Couch Potato, you gotta have stamina and focus. You can't watch Grey's Anatomy and then stop the DVD and switch to Astro 81. That's not Couch Potato. That's Easily Distracted Footie Freak.

Footie Freaks don't count as Couch Potatoes. If you're stuck to your sofa because of a football match, it's out of necessity. Coz the game is about 2 hours, including match highlights.

Couch Potatoes cannot leave the couch because out of the couch their world is empty. Blank. The couch gives comfort to the Potato while the TV provides meaning to the Potato's life.

If you're a Couch Potato, you are fully engaged in the characters' lives, too. You don't say "The actress who plays Meredith Grey is pretty...", you say "Meredith is pretty". Couch Potatoes are so engaged in the characters' lives they BECOME the characters. When Izzie cries about her dying patient who is also her dying fiance, you cry. When Dr. Shepherd is being an ass to Meredith, and if you're siding Meredith, you don't watch the scene like it's a scene. You curse Dr. Shepherd and say "You're such an ass, Derek!"


This might explain why Colin is worried I may fall in love with Dr. Burke. Because I don't say "Isaiah Washington is so good in his role." I say " Dr. Preston Xavier Burke is such a honourable man. I just love him." More than that, I relive the good lines he delivers in my life.Like:

"I...am Preston Burke. I'm this hospital's best Cardio Thoraxic Surgeon. But most of all I am a kind person. I...am Preston Burke. And you! You are the world's biggest slob. You're competitive. You're stubborn. And you're difficult to understand. And...and I LOVE you. Now what is so wrong with you that you won't let me?"

It goes without saying that I am a Couch Potato for Grey's Anatomy.

Being Normal in Abnormal Times

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal."

To the many readers of books, the mention of modern "Classics" usually evoke large yawns or at least the typical "Oh I don't read Classics" response. I never started out reading "Classics". My voracious hunger for books was sparked by Nancy Drew, the very pleasant-looking Hardy Boys and the band of cool, highly imaginative punks called the Secret Seven (in other variations - Famous Five and Trixie Belden and her friends). When puberty struck and my hormones were released like torrents of bits and bytes down millions of cellular drainpipes, Estrogen made me reach out for Mills and Boon and Sweet Dreams.

Yes, these books about high school romance and nosy teenagers in cultish clubs inspired my love for writing. But they did not teach me about life.

Classics did.

They are Classics because they resonate with people at a deeper level, at the very source of their Humanity. (If you're Human, it is abnormal to be disinterested in your own Humanity.)

They document the author's confessions. And though clad in a plot and in some kind of narrative style, these confessions explain their struggle and their failures at meeting some invisible expectation that has been set and refined (though unchanged) since the dawn of Time.

Authors like Albert Camus (who came up with the quote up there), Ayn Rand and the like, expose Life without its blinking fairy lights and rose gardens, because that sort of Life is a confection - pink and creamy and soft and sweet. And since they are living Life truly, with its ugliness and gaps, inconsistencies and vulgarities, pretense and packaging, they tell of the friction between the soul's needs and Society's demands of it - e.g being "normal" according to Society's definition is hard work especially if it means one should socialise for future benefits.

Because these authors are Highly Self-Aware creatures, astute and articulate, they speak in a manner which labels them as complicated beings, drowning in their microcosm of sorrow and superreality.

Yet their only objective is to share and enlighten those willing to be enlightened.

The ideology is simple.When you're born with or when you have have attained a keen sense of Self-Awareness, you never quite achieve full harmony with your life. Your mind watches itself even as it thinks. Your senses are acute, sharpened to receive and respond to every stimuli with judgement. You feel so much of every moment of time and you perceive the diabolic machinery behind each seemingly 'accepted' notion of life.

For instance, you see through Society's frameworks and props - the ruthlessness of becoming popular, the quiet manipulation in corporate networking, the irrational pursuit of prestige, the crass approach to success, the slavery behind the concept of "Service". Having coffee and shooting shit with friends becomes a whole Spielberg production of emotions-at-play where guilt, obligation, need, delight and irritation all collide.

Is it a wonder that living becomes such an exercise?

Of course you don't go phenomenally psychotic after you learn about such realities. You accept them because whether or not you like it, you are IN this gigantic game. And you are grateful because now you have a choice of what to do about it, given your God-given talents, skills, values and, yes, Keen Sense of Self-Awareness.(Plus you are closer to the Truth, what's there to be sad about?)

Given too that Man is a creature who feels fulfilled only when he contributes, receive only when he gives, there is no easy way about it: We need to be around people (especially those who make Life easier to live). But the only way for outcasts and misfits to live out their true potential for the purpose they have been placed on Earth is to be "in the world", not "of the world".

To act for only what is required.

Everything else, is excess and a bondage.

My Animal Kingdom

Pandas are so adorable,
They look like workaholics.
Polar bears are huggable.
Too bad they don't do tricks.

Penguins - I heard they are birds,
But how come they don't fly?
Wolves are supposed to be scary,
Yet it's sad to see them die.

Rabbits seem so jittery,
Whiskers shivering when they dine.
Mice are labelled pests,
Is loving cheese a crime?

Lions don't scare me,
Even though they bite,
They are big, silly cats.
But yes, I respect their might.

These are my favourite animals,
I confess there are many more.
Nothing beats the Dog, however.
They laugh even when they're sore.

Just a Moment

It's a beautiful day. The sun has come out after being absent for a while. And Colin and I are outside a building called Key Point at Beach Street, Singapore. Waiting for my brother, Khin, to take us to lunch.

"I can't wait any longer," I say.
"Why?" he asks.
"I have weak calves..." comes my reply.
"Then the milk won't be very good."

There is not time for a retort because a man turns up with all the attributes of a yuppie. Well-combed and lightly gelled hair. Beige, fitting slacks. And a baby-blue, checkered long-sleeved shirt.

It's the corporate consultant look. It's Country Road. It's my brother.

"Arrrrggggh." I squeal much to Colin's chagrin and crush my brother in a tight hug.
"Hey guys, how are you?" he asks in a sort of English that's lightly stained with London air.
"Okay-la...work sucks but...okay-la." I offer in a sort of English that proudly gives away my Cheras background.

Colin is a class of his own, of course. So he breaks out the South Sentul "Yo Khin...whassup, man? Whassup?" Very LA but also very Kerala.

After the salutations, we decide to do Morocco. We cross the road and enter a world of 5-foot walkways with little eateries and boutiques and knick-knack shops. As we are quite close to Arab street, the facade of the shops suggest Malay influence but without the extremism of KL's old Karyaneka (defunct since year 2000). The Singapore government's influence is apparent in the cleanliness of everything. The walkway floors, the walls, the paint, the old-style wooden shutters - they are all immaculate.

Anti-Singaporean Malaysians would term this "character assassination". Anti-Singaporean Malaysians who love gritty, paint-shedding buildings and the occasional rat or cockroach that scampers across the line of sight during a greasy meal. The stuff that gives a place character, mainly.

The Moroccan restaurant is located in the corner of a 5-foot walkway block. We sit outside along the sheltered pathway to enjoy a little sun and order ourselves hummus, lamb and chicken koftes as well as some vadai-looking mince patties. Can't for the life of me remember the name. Pakoras? No, that's Indian.

We attack the general topic of Quality of Living between mouthfuls of grub. And suddenly the idea of living in Singapore becomes closer to reality. Well, in the sense that even Thomas - a Malaysian friend recently posted to Singapore who is providing us accommodation during the trip - has been painting a positive picture of the republic ever since we arrived.

It's a notion I'm more enthusiastic about compared to Colin. My husband loves his mamak stalls open 24 hours a day, you see. But this is coming from a man who falls asleep in the midst of switching TV channels with the remote control in his hand - at 12:30am. But he recognises the wisdom of setting up Fuse in Singapore. So I guess this notion is not entirely anchored on whimsical emotion.

"You can't hint if you want Colin to do things." I say as the topic changes to "Annoying Spousal Behaviour".
"I think Swee will agree when it comes to me, too, haha." my brother replies in reference to his wife.
"Well, that's why I now say 'I want you to cut your bonding session with your full Biotherm skincare range
from 45 minutes to 30 minutes,'" I continue.
"Or I want you to move to Singapore."

Colin wrinkles his nose, "I want you to stop talking the first moment your eyes open in the morning."

It's not funny but both my brother and Colin laugh their heads off so I allow them this fleeting pleasure and glee.
(Hey what is Kindness between relatives?)

We exchange more stories about thieves in the night, stealing blankets. And bedhogging. And when all is done and it's in that somewhat pregnant moment before we part ways that we sit still, allow the many more things we want to say to flow back into our bloodstream, and enjoy the silence.

This Earth, This Life, This Day

There is Life in every seed.

God in every person.

Hope in every heart.

Battle in every soul.

Beauty in every imperfection.

Sorrow in every injustice.

Compromise in every corporation.

We only need to balance the good with the bad to sustain a liveable world.

It is in chaos today because we have left our moral sense to the persuasion of "The Flow" with which people around us invite us to go.

The new balance we continually try to strike by exerting moral will against what we instinctively believe is questionable, is dreadfully off.

Most of what is Right and Wrong have essentially merged to produce a very large, grey muck.

We have not one single question, but a few.

Will the human being ever learn to say these things again - "No", "Enough", "Stop"?
Will Man be able to reverse the damage he has inflicted upon the Gift of Earth?
Will Life ever get to be the Eden God promised us?

Earth is the new Israel.

We can redeem ourselves and save her if only we find the God inside us.

And believe we can change.