Marching in March

This post should probably have come out soon after the new year as the ceremony took place on the 1st of January (which is actually a little inconsiderate for those friends who had wanted to see in the new year by getting sloshed till the wee hours of the new year. Nevertheless, this couple chose to get married on the 01/01/10.

I procrastinated about posting on this until this month cause this is the month of March; the month of the mad March Hare and in the words of the Neil Sedaka song, "the month to march you down the aisle". In Malay, March is spelled "Mac". So on that flimsy excuse, I thought I would also showcase what fun my new Mac is by creating a short video. As a bonus to the curious, you get to hear the voice of yours truly narrating the video.

This video is of a Sikh or Punjabi wedding. Punjabis are actually an ethnic group originating from the Punjab area of India. Sikhs refer really to followers of the Sikhism or the Sikh religion. Most Sikhs are Punjabis. In Malaysia, the Punjabis have a reputation that they earned since the colonial period under the British, of being brave and trustworthy and had traditional careers in security and police.

A Brave New Adventure

Unrecognisable Hugh Laurie

Half a lifetime ago, I spent 5 years in the British Isles; three of those years as a poor University student in London and apart from a short stopover, I have not been back to visit for 20 years. Very shortly, I will be making that trip and I will be meeting up with old friends for the very first time since.

I am excited and a little apprehensive at what I will find. I already know that at least one of my old haunts have fallen under the wheels of progress and the relentless march of time. Will old memories come flooding back or will I find I no longer have a connection with this great city.

The London and indeed the Britain I knew must be quite different from what they are today. Mine was a Britain under the iron rule of Margaret Thatcher; a Britain where the fish and chippie shop was still common place; a country that still faced the problem of terrorist attacks from the IRA (I was nearby when bombs went off outside Harrod's Department Store); a country whose Queen was almost uniformly respected and adored; a country that fought a risky but (most people would agree) justified war for the Falklands; and finally, a country where Hugh Laurie played the straight-laced and proper mommy's boy sidekick to Rowan Atkinson in the Black Adder TV series.

Today, the time of Thatcher is like a distant memory. The fish and chip shop has been largely replaced by curry and rice shops. Thankfully, there is hope of a lasting peace in Ireland but London has been attacked by Islamic terrorists instead. The once unsullied Queen has suffered much bad publicity over her relationship with Princess Diana. Today, a commission is investigating the reasons why Tony Blair's government committed the country to an unpopular and possibly unjustified war in Iraq. And Hugh Laurie is almost unrecognisable as the caustic and cankerous Doctor House in the American TV series.

I have not seen the Millennium Bridge (or indeed any of the Millennium projects), the Princess Diana memorial, the London Eye, the Gerkhin etc. I'm hoping the old open air market in Fulham is still there. I'm hoping the kebab place near Golder's Green tube station still sells the best kebabs ever. I'm hoping to visit my old University residence and find it largely unchanged. I'm hoping Somerset Cider is as delicious as I remember it. I'm hoping that U.K. food standards have improved!

Most of all, I am hoping my old friendships will pick up where we left off some twenty years ago. Wish me luck.

Kat Wants Bugs

Here is a collage of some photos that I took at a Butterfly Farm in Penang. This is for you, Kat.

Fuzzy and the Poet Scientist

It is sometimes said that scientists lack the heart of a poet and because of that they end up inventing the atomic bomb. Being cold and clinical is just that; cold and clinical. Scientists can excel in the service of mankind only if they retain their contact with humanity and possess the heart of a poet.

Well, if that is true, then I am a very well trained scientist. This is because my mentor and my very first Professor of Biochemistry was indeed a scientist and a poet. Well, more of a songwriter or perhaps a jingle maker. I refer to no less than the highly esteemed Prof. Harold Baum, previously of Chelsea College and now of King's College, University of London.

Every Christmas, Prof. Baum undertakes to write a song which explains an entire complex biochemical pathway in the time it takes him to sit on a bus from his office to his home. This musical treat would then be premiered during the Department Christmas Dinner. As a result, he has actually published a songbook of chemical reactions called The Biochemist's Songbook.



At any rate, the real story for this post starts here. I got an SMS text out of the blue from my good friend, Fuzzy, of whom I have posted about before. Seems he is holidaying in Egypt. Anyway, because of that SMS, I got thinking about another post in the Fuzzy series and decided to focus on Fuzzy and his poetic skills.

Fuzzy is incredibly talented as a poet. It seems to just flow effortlessly from him. When he puts his mind to it, he can really write top notch stuff. Unfortunately, being the eccentric that he is, he often puts his talent to less socially acceptable and productive uses such as writing poems or rhymes on ransom notes for kidnapped stuff toys. Yes, there was a time in our student residences when hard working students were busy kidnapping and holding stuffed toys for ransom to the tune of several Mars Bars or other equivalent snacks, instead of studying hard. Fuzzy's humorous rhymes were often found circulating on these notes.

This was in fact the reason that Fuzzy got his name. During one such teddy bear kidnapping, the owner did not cough up the required sweet ransom but instead left a threatening note outside Fuzzy's door which read;

Fuzzy Wuzzy stole a bear
Then Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
That meant he wasn't Fuzzy, was he?

This was a thinly veiled threat that Fuzzy's bushy hair might be removed while he slept if said bear was not returned. Tut. Tut. Such a violent threat and from such an otherwise sweet girl. So the name Fuzzy came from this incident.

Finally, let's get back to the beginning of this post about Prof. Baum and his Christmas Party. Well, one of the things the students tried to do every year was to come up with a less scholastic song in reply to Prof. Baum's newly unveiled chemical tune. Unfortunately, none of us Biochemistry undergrads were good songsmiths and so we had to make Fuzzy (who was actually a rival Immunologist) an honorary biochemist for the purpose of writing these songs. Ah, what fun we had in the rarified air of academia!

Sadly, I cannot remember most of what was written but let me end with just a short sample that I can vaguely recall. This is to be sung to the tune of Jingle Bells, of course.

Jingle Bells, Sulphide Smells,
Azides on the floor,
The Student swallowed cyanide
And he won't work anymore

The cells they came out whole,
The glass was to powder ground,
The centrifuge took off
And hovered six feet off the ground.

Oh, jingle bells...........

If any of you thought that I was a mad scientist, you now know I had a good teacher and super accomplices.

Fuzzy and the Travelers' Divorce

Who is your archetypal Englishman? Who best represents that icon that is the representative of all things English? I refer to that stereotype of that gentleman's gentleman who is impeccably dressed in pinstripes or suit and is complimented with a bowler hat; who is unflappable, honest to a fault; has that queer sense of fair play; has a dry sarcastic understated sense of humor; is so patriotic that he wears the Union Jack as his undies; speaks the Queen's English better than the Queen; defender of tradition and fine etiquette and stoically holding up the stiff upper lip, eh what! Oh yes, and always has time for a civilized cup of tea.

For many, it is Sir John Steed of the Avengers. Sir John Steed was played by Patrick MacNee for many years on the British television series and more recently by Ralph Fiennes in the 1998 movie version.

For me, the archetypal Englishman is represented best by my friend Fuzzy (name changed to protect the guilty). Apart from all the characteristics mentioned above, he is also smart, charming and chivalrous in the ancient sense of the word. Well, alright, I'll admit that I have never seen him in Union Jack undies but it wouldn't surprise me if he had them. Fuzzy is so English, the big surprise is that he is not Anglo-Saxon. Nor is he Norman, Welsh, Irish, Scot, Celt or any tribe of the British Isles. In fact, although he was born in England, his roots is actually Egyptian Coptic. He does not look English but Egyptian. Nevertheless, Fuzzy could out Steed Steed, if you know what I mean.

To prove this, I shall relate a little tale from our travels backpacking and train tramping through Europe. I call this story "Fuzzy and the Travelers' Divorce".

My big European adventure started out with Fuzzy and I traveling together. I was prepared to rough it out. As we had both bought train passes for the whole month, we planned to save money by traveling and sleeping on the trains as much as possible. We expected most of our meals to consist of bread and cheese or pate and supplemented with an apple or banana . For eating utensils, I had packed one plastic knife in my backpack.

To my surprise, when we arrived in Belgium at the start of our adventure, Fuzzy calmly walked into a train station cafeteria and emerged with a full set of plastic cutlery and I do mean a full set of cutlery. Subsequently, whenever we stopped to have a meal, whether on the train or under the open sky, he would spread a napkin between us where we would place our bread and cheese. He would then ceremoniously lay out his cutlery. There were forks, spoons and knives for both of us. There were even dessert spoons and teaspoons. All were neatly arranged as if in a restaurant. He did this even if all we had was stale bread. "There's no need to eat like savages" he'd say.

Now, we had intended to travel together for the entire trip but we had very opposite goals. I wanted to go to Norway and he wanted to go to Greece. After much discussion, we agreed to go to Norway first and then to go together to Greece. What can I say? I defaulted. After going to Norway, we were traveling through Austria on the way to Greece when I just made up my mind that I did not want to go to Greece. I reasoned that at that point, I had only about 10 days left in my holidays and did not want to spend half of that time just sitting on the train to and from Greece. I broke this news to Fuzzy and he was not happy but reacted in his typical stoic stiff upper lip form.

As we were about to part ways, we took stock of what we had to divvy up. We had been sharing a single travel guide book that I had bought so I took it on myself to tear the book so as to give Fuzzy all the sections on Greece and other places that he needed. Fuzzy received those pages with appreciation.

Fuzzy then ceremoniously took out his cutlery and started to divide the cutlery. I kept telling him that I really only needed a knife and maybe one spoon but he would not have it. He insisted that each of us should have a full set of cutlery and he divided between us what he had and raided the train restaurant car to make up what was missing. And so when we finally parted ways, we were both fully equipped and "There was no need for either of us to eat like savages".

Fuzzy is the ultimate English gentleman, don't you think? I will relate more Fuzzy stories in the future, including why I call him Fuzzy.

Faces and Places

Norwegian Guide, Bergen

I just got back from a week in Indonesia. Although I enjoyed the experience and meeting up with both new and old colleagues on this trip, I missed my family badly and couldn't wait to be back home. This wasn't always the case, of course. In my younger days, before I got married, I was quite excited about traveling.

In fact, when I turned 21, I went backpacking through Europe for a month and never felt anything but the thrill of the open road. That trip was and will forever be a defining moment in my life. In a way, it was an important rite of passage to adulthood and a declaration that I could go out into the wide world and take care of myself. In those few, precious, glorious autumn days of my youth, I left the coast of England and made my landfall in Belgium; crossed through the Ardennes into Luxembourg; went through Germany on the way to Denmark; took a long train and ferry ride to Norway; retraced my path and went to Austria; thought of heading to Greece but bailed out into the then Republic of Yugoslavia; finally returning to Belgium.

The earth has circled the sun many times since then but as I reflect on that trip, I realise as much as I had enjoyed the scenery, the architecture, history and culture, the fondest of memories are the people I met along the way.

1. Belgium. There was an English father with his teenage son who were spending two weeks cycling through Europe. We met quite a few times as we chose a similar travel route. It culminated with a quiet but beautiful evening on the verandah of a small Youth Hostel in the Ardennes sharing stories and several rounds of beer with other fellow travelers. It was great. There was also that Youth Hostel in Namur with its hippie American staff and their wonderfully bohemian barbeque party.
   
2. Luxembourg. I met up with the son of a famous cartoonist. Together we had some wild adventures in this ancient kingdom which would have made the authorities frown with disapproval but which make the memories all the more precious. You can read more about it here.
3. Germany. It was a long train ride so my traveling companion and I decided to practice a few choice phrases in Hebrew on a couple of unsuspecting Isreali youths. In fact, we only knew about three phrases but it was enough to have one of them enquire if there was a large Chinese Jewish community. We enjoyed playing with their minds!
   
4. Norway. I will always remember that very sweet and friendly guide at the cultural village in Bergen. It was pouring with rain and the two of us were the only ones mad enough to show up but she still graciously took us around. A fun interaction and a very fond memory.
   
5. Germany. The visit to Herrenchiemsee was interesting but spending a rainy afternoon doing laundry with two Southern Belles from America was special. One was a nurse and the other a student of politics. Somehow, we got talking about the Kennedy era and the American Camelot.
   
6. Austria. Arriving late in Salzburg, I teamed up with an American student to find a beer garden for food and drinks. We had a wonderful time under the stars talking about politics and life in general. We also had a great meal and liberal amounts of beer which resulted in a mad adventure trying to find our way through the maze of streets to our Hostel. It did not help that neither of us could walk straight but bouncing off the walls of the narrow cobvled streets was fun in its own way.
7. Yugoslavia. This was a nation of colourful characters. Starting with the bus conductor that insisted in speaking to me even though I did not understand a word he was saying. At Plitvice Lakes, I enjoyed the company and the stories of my B&B host who was an elderly Dutch lady who had lived in Indonesia and had now found her heaven in Yugoslavia ( I often what happened to her during the war). Then I actually ran into a group of dissidents that printed an underground newspaper. They actually kept me company for a couple of hours while I waited for a train. On the train, I then met an attractive and vivacious Aussie girl (Kate) and the Yugoslavian soldier who commandeered my phrase book so that he could hit on the former.
8. Austria. Back in Vienna, I spent my time in the company of two Aussie girls, Kate and Gai. We made a good team. One girl could be counted on to find great shopping, the other was an expert at finding coffee and cakes and I was the one who could actually read a map and navigate. We all had a very interesting but scary encounter with an elderly man with wild eyes who kept prodding us with his walking stick while asking, "Hitler gud, ya?" We did the culture vulture thing for a few days and promised to keep in touch, buddies for life and look each other up.......but never did.
   
9. Belgium. My second time back in Belgium and I was caught by a nationwide transport strike. I celebrated my 21st birthday with a Canadian student, a Welsh Parole officer and an Irish Artist. I wandered the streets of Brussels with a Moroccan student even though we communicated only by sign language. Finally, I made a run for the ports and back to U.K. by hitching a ride with an American pastor (the driver), an American couple and a British student.

Finally though, I should not forget my friend, partner in crime and occasional travel companion (although we started the trip together, we split up a couple of times before finally separating as he went on into Greece and I stopped at Yugoslavia). Now he, is a great character indeed but I think I will elaborate in my next post.

God is the Best Travel Agent

Many in the mid-west USA will remember that a large number of tornados struck all across the state around the week of June 8th 2008. Tom of Patterns of Ink, covers some of it in his post at that time. The tornados cause a lot of damage as well as some deaths and injuries. There is little that man can do against such fury.

A friend, Daryl, did not know it but he was flying back from Malaysia to Chicago and right into this storm system. Daryl has been studying in a University in Illinois and is currently doing his graduate studies. Each summer, he has returned to be with his family for the holidays and so he had made this trip four times before. It is a long journey.

First there is the long flight to Chicago Airport from Malaysia which is more than 20 hours. Then, typically it takes up to 2 hours to clear customs and immigration. This is because that there is always a lot of students arriving at the same time and Malaysia being a Muslim nation, its students are often interviewed thoroughly by immigration. Daryl needs to take a bus from the airport to the small University town a couple of hours away. He always makes the booking through the internet some weeks before his flight and he always allows for three hours to catch the bus on account of the long delays at immigration. Daryl found that this timing worked very well.

This trip, he had made the same arrangements for booking the bus for three hours after scheduled arrivaal at Chicago airport. However, he was pleasantly surprised that customs and immigration took less than half an hour. The surprising reason was that he was the only returning student on that plane. He found out that he could make an earlier bus and did so.

Some 5 hours later, the bus company called him at his apartment to confirm that he was safe and that he had not been on the later bus which he had made a booking for. Only then did Daryl learn about the severe weather that hit Illinois.

His parents shared this with the church the following Sunday and we gave thanks to God for keeping Daryl safe. The bus that he was supposed to take is the one in the bottom picture.


We believe God took charge of the travel arrangements and protected Daryl from harm. As is my own experience, God is the best travel agent there is.

My English Teacher - My Role in Her Breakdown

I am sure we all have our favorite teachers; they are the ones who somehow filled us with wonder and inspiration about learning and help develop our zeal to excel. Well, my English teacher for Form 1 to Form 3, Mrs. K, was not one of those teachers. (Form1 to Form 3 corresponds to ages 12 to 14).

Instead, I felt that she understood teaching and English in a very narrow context and did not at all encourage her students to wander far from what she perceived as the official playing field. This was particularly the case when it came to creative composition or essay writing. For me and two others, which she would refer to as the Brat Pack, creative composition was an opportunity to be, well, "creative". This was, to Mrs. K, out of bounds.

My two other Brat Pack members were James and Charles. James was a quiet individual, what the girls might call the dark and brooding type. He liked to play the misunderstood teenager but he also had a sharp wit that sometimes came across well in his writing. Charles was an anarchist at heart and loved roughing it up with authority figures like Mrs. K. I completed the trio. At that time, I was reading books and novels somewhat ahead of most of my classmates and my mind was roiling with new ideas and concepts that I did not learn from school. In retrospect, I know now that I was still a dumb kid but at that time, I thought I was smart. Also by this time, my Hippie tendencies were already manifesting and I tended to spiritualise things and to make everything into a search for inner peace.

Well, to Mrs. K, we were pretty much the unholy Trio. Creative composition would be the weapon of choice and our classroom was to be the battlefield. She just did not like the style of our writings. I was always too metaphysical for her taste. James was always too dark and Charles just too weird. She would often single the three of us out and we would be made to stand in front of the class. She would tell everyone that we had submitted the worst compositions from the previous assignments and we would be forced to read our compositions to the class. It was her way of teaching the class what was unacceptable composition and was meant to be a form of punishment by embarrassment to us.

In this aspect though, it was a complete failure. I was quite shameless and did not at all mind reading in front of the class. Charles reveled in the opportunity to demonstrate his defiance of authority openly. James just became darker.

I remember one composition assignment was to write an essay about "The Building". Mrs. K instructed us to describe the building, its building materials and its function. It was to be a descriptive composition.

I decided to write about a young boy who liked to slip up to the roof of his apartment building to catch the sun-rise and at the same time feel at ease with the sounds and smells of the market stalls setting up in the street below. As you can see, very much in line with my "seeking the inner peace" phase. I did describe the building and its surroundings but only in the context of how it affected the emotions of the boy. (Mrs. K's Verdict : Out of context. Essay was supposed to be about the building and not about a boy or the nearby market and what's with all this touchy-feel-y stuff. Do you need to see a counselor?).

James wrote about an incident in the building, a suicide attempt, and how the occupants of the building reacted while the ambulance staff prepared to take the victim away. (Mrs. K's verdict: Out of context. It should be about the building, not about its occupants. And why a suicide attempt? Why are you so dark? I am making an appointment for you to see the counselor.)

Charles wrote about how the building's location near the path of a political rally was ideal for the local traid gang to use as a base to try to carry out the assassination of a local politician. However, the police found out and sent in some special police commandos but their presence was accidentally revealed and that resulted in a running gun battle between the crooks who were trying to escape and the police. As the fight raged along the stairwell, numerous building residents and a number of sub-plots get caught in the crossfire. (Mrs. K's Verdict: What?!?!?! I am not even going to bother with the counselor. You watch too much TV and are beyond hope!)

At the end of Form 3, we had to sit for a major national school examination. In those days it was called the LCE or Lower Cambridge Exam. There were two English papers that we were required to take. Mrs. K boldly predicted that none of the Brat Pack would score a distinction(highest category) in either English paper. In fact she predicted that we would barely pass. Something even possessed her to say in front of the whole class that she would eat her own shoes if any of us scored a distinction in English.

As it turned out, the three of us were the only students in that class to score distinctions in both the English papers. Ecstasy! Vindication! Jubilation! None of us ever really went up to her and challenged her about eating her shoes and she never raised that subject. In fact, she positively avoided us the rest of our days in that school.

And that is my story about my English Teacher and my role in her Breakdown.

Celebrating Natalie.....a Squirrel's Tribute

Some of you may be aware that I am a sometime contributor on the blog "For The Love of Woman". This blog was set up by Eastcoastdweller and is meant to celebrate women.

Sometime back on that blog, Kat very kindly posted a slideshow tribute to Natalie Wood because she knew I am a big fan of Natalie. It all started because I had made a comment about Natalie Wood that "She seems to embody the elemental beauty, strength, energy and at the same time vulnerability of women."

That slideshow tribute was set to Frankie Avalon's Venus as the background melody. That was a very nice gesture and I really appreciated it. In fact, after watching it for the umpteenth time, it occurred to me to look at what other offerings might be found on YouTube.

I found these three additional offerings which appealed to me as a fan as they showed the beauty, range and versatility of Natalie Wood. The first one is set to the tune of "Time" by the Alan Parson's Project which seemed like a wonderfully appropriate music for the tribute.




This second video starts with the quote "...the prettiest girl I have ever seen..." which was made by Roddy McDowall. That would be how I would describe Natalie Wood.




The final offering is from her role of Gypsy Rose Lee in the movie Gypsy. This clip shows her character evolve from an innocent and naive new-comer to become the queen of burlesque striptease. Her beauty and inner spark is well displayed in this video.

War is Stupid and Sweet

DONUT WAR I (the story so far)

It all began last Saturday with an unprovoked first strike attack on Canada. The full ghastly details were reported by the Hollydale International. Apparently, Olga the Traveling Bra was pressed ganged into providing essential technology to launch two, we repeat, two intercontinental jelly donuts on an attack on Canada. Substantial damage was done to one of the primary targets but the other donut caused little damage after developing a jelly leak.

Retaliation was not long in coming. On Wednesday, the whole of Chico, California was hit by a sugar bomb causing humans, livestocks and buildings to be covered with powdered sugar. Before the sugar dust had even settled, sticky fingers were pointed at likely perpetrators and bloggers mobilised their forces and took sides .

To avert full scale pie throwing, a secret consortium of allied nations (U.N.A.C. - United Nations Atkin's Coalition) has drafted a document, pledging resources for a peacekeeping mission. Paradise entered the fray and committed their armed forces to the UNAC. Concerned world citizens watch in apprehension as each side continued to unveil confectionery of increasingly greater kilocalories in an apparent show of strength and to intimidate their opponents.

DONUT WAR I (breaking news)
Squirrels have declared war against Paradise and her allies in retaliation for the recent incident in which an innocent squirrel was lured into a dungeon and locked up by Paradise forces. Squirrels dismiss claims that the squirrel was a spy as pure fantasy of the part of the Paradise authorities fueled by a sugar high.


DONUT WAR I (Interview with General McNuts)
General McNuts of the Squirrel forces say that squirrels are not intimidated by the giant kilocalorie confectionery weapons of the enemy saying, "Their intercontinental ballistic donuts and their sugar bombs do not scare us. Squirrels have sugar proof bunkers in almost every other tree and can survive these attacks without getting their fur sticky."

General McNuts of the Secret Grey Squad

Asked about the squirrel campaign strategy, General McNuts said,"We do not believe in the effectiveness of using large WMD. Our campaign is based on three strategy. The first is that small donuts are easier to make, transport and use. The second strategy was to have in place a long term trigger mechanism based on the use of mass media to send out subliminal messages.

Subliminal Messages

And finally the third strategy is that the size of the confectionery doesn't matter, it's what's in it that counts! Squirrel scientist first used this special technology to increase the potency of snowcones but it can be used in donuts."

"doesn't matter what size it is, it's what's in it that counts".

Regular readers will know that the Squirrel has been in a bit of a funk over recent world events. While we apologise to those appalled by today's silliness, we actually recommend getting into a food fight as a great way of getting out of a funk.

We Da Men

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing" so goes that famous saying. I often warn my wife to beware of taking advice from some obscure website with regards to health issues as often these websites take a little kernel of knowledge and turn it into a big bag of pop-corn emptiness.

My mother-in-law once had a severe headache but the only medication she could find was a time-release medicine capsule. She understood that the capsule consists of tiny little spheres which dissolve at different rates so that the medication is released gradually over 24 hours. However she wanted quick relief and so she rather "cleverly" crushed the capsule into fine powder and then mixed it in water to drink. Of course, she virtually over-dosed but luckily she woke up 12 hours later groggy but fine. "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." Or it might be darn embarrassing.

Before I continue, I must introduce you to my partner in shame. His name is Magdy and we were both bright, smart, whipper-snappers at University together. Our combined "little knowledge" would get us into some pretty dumb situations.

Well, perhaps one of the most memorable caper was when we were traveling in Germany and we needed to go to find a latrine at a train station. Our problem was that we did not speak much German at the time. The latrines were labeled "Herren" and "Damen" but which was for males and which for females?

I wonder, dear readers, which would you have chosen for men and which for women and why. As for Magdy and I, we put on our thinking caps and came up with this folly;

1. Assumption: most European languages were derived from and based on ancient Latin.
2. Assumption: we should be able to recognise the root word in either English or German. Just as "rat" is "ratte" and cat is "katze" and "Monday" is "Montag".
3. Therefore,we applied this logic and came up with Herren is for females as it has the root word "Her"
4. While "Damen" was obviously for men as it is clearly derived from "Da Men".

Hence this embarrassing story in which my intellectual dignity was only rescued by the presence of mind to ask Magdy to test out our theory first!

My apologies to mago and any German reader for the mess we made with your language. Who are we? We da men.

Farewell Darkness and Hello Light

Claudia gave me this ...........um.......way back at the beginning of March but I am only now acknowledging it. What's my excuse? Well, there was this bear, see.......and you can read all about it here. Anyway, thanks very much Claudia, it is much appreciated.

"Friendship is a light in the darkness". I can really relate. I had a very serious bout with depression when I was at University and I remember how very suffocating it was. The world was all darkness, stifling darkness that you feel you would faint because there was no air. Then once, when it seemed that the darkness would stretch on forever, I asked a friend to just be with me for a weekend. No counseling, no analysis, no "why are you crying", no questions. Just tea and company. No judgment, only acceptance and friendship. Just a weekend but it meant the world to me. It was a sliver of light in my prison. It gave me back the sky. I could breathe and I could sleep. By that light, I climbed out of my pit. (for more details, here)

Wow. I hadn't meant to go that dark but every time I re-visit that episode of my life, its dark depths still is able to pull at me. But for now, let's stay out of the dark side. The point that was being made is that friendship is like alight in the darkness.

All this reminds me of a scene from the movie called "Farewell to the King" which also happens to be in my opinion one of the best movies ever filmed in Malaysia. Set in the dark days of World War Two and in the deep jungles of Borneo, it traces the story of an American deserter who somehow wins the trust of the native tribes in the jungle interior and becomes their "king". In this capacity, he tries to keep the war outside from reaching his people.

The scene I refer to comes towards the end of the movie when one of the protagonists, a British Officer, visits a captured Japanese Colonel. The Colonel had done everything to try to avoid defeat. He had been ruthless and took no prisoners. Later, cut-off and surrounded by enemy troops, he continued to lead his men to carry out attacks. When they ran out of food, they descended into madness and began to eat the flesh of their victims to keep going. However, as they continued to wander under the dark forest canopy, the noose grew tighter and in their desperation, so did their depravity.

Eventually, most were slaughtered in an ambush and now the Colonel was in custody and soon to be executed for his war crimes. The Colonel was all cleaned up and seemed to have recovered some of his former dignity. Even though he knew he was to be executed soon, he reached out and shook the British Officer's hand. It was this officer who had captured him. As he shook his hand he said, "Thank you for showing me the sky again".

At least, that is what I re-collect. We all need to see the sky. May we all always have someone to show us the sky.

Crying for Kenya

I have met a number of Kenyans and two have been close friends. One of them, Mbithi, was a fellow colleague and student at my University in Canada back in the early 1990's. He is an incredibly hardworking and focussed individual. He was there for a couple years alone but with single minded determination, he studied, worked and saved enough to bring his wife and daughter over for the last part of his studies. He is currently a lecturer and a medical researcher at a University in Kenya.

I met Edwin while taking part in a study tour and although we were only together for three weeks, we grew quite close. He is a cheerful, thoughtful and altogether pleasant individual. At that time, he was working on reducing corruption within the Kenyan government that was resulting in medical supplies intended for rural hospitals from being hijacked and stolen before reaching their intended destinations and helping the people in need. More recently, he has joined the Kenyan Wildlife Service.

In both these cases, I was struck by the quiet determination of these men to make Kenya a better country and a better place for their people.....for all Kenyans. I grieve with them over the recent civil unrest, violence and murder that has been occurring across Kenya after the last elections. I have not heard from either and can only hope and pray that they and their loved ones are safe and well.

Below are excerpts from an interview with renowned Kenyan novelist and playwright, Ngugi wa Thiong'o with the BBC.

"The picture of men and women burnt down in a church where they had gone for refuge still haunts my mind. A child running away from the fire was caught and hurled back into the flames.

One of the few survivors was quoted as saying: "But they knew me; we were neighbours. I thought Peter was a friend - a good neighbour. How could Peter do this to me?"

I had heard the same puzzled cry from Bosnia. I had heard the same cry from Iraq. I had heard the same, same words from Rwanda: "We were neighbours; we'd married into each other. How could this happen?"

And now I hear the same cry from Eldoret North in my beloved Kenya. For me this burning of men, women and children in a church is a defining single instant of the current political impasse in Kenya.

And this must be separated from accusations and counter-accusations of rigged elections by the contending parties.

Rigged elections is one thing - it can be righted by any mutually agreed political measures - but ethnic cleansing is another matter altogether.

What is disturbing is that this instant seems to have been part of a co-ordinated programme with similar acts occurring in several other places at about the same time against ordinary members of the same community.

Ordinary people do not wake up one morning and suddenly decide to kill their neighbours.

Ethnic cleansing is often instigated by the political elite of one community against another community. It is premeditated - often an order from political warlords.

Or it may be the outcome of an elitist ideology of demonising and isolating another community.

Either way the aim is to drive members of the targeted community from the region.

Frantz Fanon, the intellectual visionary of the Third World, had long ago warned us of the dangers of the ideology of regionalism preached by an elite whose money can buy them safe residence in any part of a country.

A single instance of premeditated ethnic cleansing can lead to an unstoppable cycle of vendettas - a poor-on-poor violence - while those who tele-guided them to war through the ideology of hate and demonisation are clinking glasses in middle-class peace at cocktail parties with the elite or the supposed enemy community.

This crime should be investigated by the United Nations.

If it is found that a political organisation has run a campaign on a programme that consciously seeks to isolate another community as a community, then they ought to be held fully accountable for the consequences of their ideology and actions.

It is often easier to blame a government when it is involved in massacres. This is as it should be.

A government must always be held to higher standards, for its very legitimacy lies in its capacity to ensure peace and security for all communities.

But what about if such a massacre is inspired by a programme of an opposition movement?

This ought to receive equally severe condemnation from all and sundry, for being in opposition does not give an organisation the right to run on an ideology of isolation and hate targeted at another community."

Everyday Kindness

"It's another fine mess that you have got me into." I am addressing my good friend, Claudia who is always Out on a Limb and expects us to follow. Somehow I always give in to her as she weaves these ideas and memes. The latest idea that came out of her sparkling mind sounded so wonderfully great that I rushed in to volunteer to do it too and now I am in deep dodo.

I refer to Claudia's Everyday Kindness challenge and you can read more about it and about the other accomplices that have taken up the challenge here.

Basically, we have all committed to do one act of kindness for every day of 2008. So it has been 5 days, so how did I fare?

Day One: Bought donuts for everyone in the office.
Day Two: Took someone out for lunch.
Day Three: Took someone else out for lunch who was feeling lonely.

Hmmm. Do you see where I am in the deep dodo? I am trying to be on diet and the only act of kindness that I could think of had so far involved food.

Day Four: Fate intervened. I came to know of a friend's mother being ill. I prayed for her mother.
Day Five: Helped an office colleague with some work.

Already, I realise that it is not going to be easy. Partly because I meet so few people other than at work that I have little opportunity to interact with people. Even so, I am not giving up. I realise that I may have to plan my week so as to give myself opportunities to show kindness. So be it. This is a great challenge. If I make it to the end of the year, it will be quite and accomplishment and would have made me a better person for it.

If you want to join this challenge, declare yourself at Claudia's. Go on. Just do it!

A Gift of Kindness

I was tagged by Kimber the Wolfgrrrl to do this meme which is in line with this season of goodness and cheer.

The instructions:
1) Post a note about a blogger you would like to see something wonderful happen for. Maybe one whose posts have touched your heart in one way or another. Include details as to why you admire them and what you wish for them. Be as supporting and affirming as you can.
2) Post your favorite memory around selflessness, giving, or doing for others. Something that has actually changed you.
3) As a postscript, name one thing you will actually do for someone in your life before December 31 that is born out of joy.
4) Tag 3 other bloggers who will play the game and find the spirit. Don't forget to leave a comment on their blog so they continue to share the good feelings.


Wow! This was the toughest meme that I have ever done. For this first section, I took the entire list of bloggers (more than 50) that I visit with some regularity and I mulled it over for more than a week. Finally I took a deep breath and managed to slice it down to 10. It took me a whole morning of trying to avoid making a decision and finally I narrowed it down to two and then finally one.

I wish something wonderful for Janice Thomson (Pursuance of Truth). If you visit Janice’s blog, you are treated on an almost daily basis to some pearl of wisdom or a beautiful and insightful poem; sometimes uplifting, sometimes humorous, sometimes deep and profound but always inspirational. As if that was not enough, she also treats us to a beautiful picture or painting which is an appropriate accompaniment to the prose.

Janice is clearly a person who gives of herself. She used to work as a nurse for mentally challenged adult patients. I admire all nurses but nurses doing palliative care or nurses working with the mentally challenged are in my opinion deserving even higher adulation.

In recent times though, Janice has faced a great deal of problems with uncertainty about her health and her abode. Yet, though there is an occasional acknowledgement of her problems in her blog, it is not long before she brushes it aside with more life affirming and life reveling prose. So I would like to wish something wonderful for Janice for the person that she is and for being an example of grace under pressure.

Favorite Memory Around Selflessness, Giving and Doing for Others. I have actually already shared my personal favorite memory about selfless giving (Juliet, Juliet, Wherefore Art Thou?). However, I would like to tell the story of someone else that I met. Her name is Mariliana Morales. I met her when I took part in a special study tour organized for representatives of non-profit organizations in 2005. The reason why I want to share her story is that I have always felt an empathy for prostitutes but unlike me who have done little to act on this feeling, Mariliana has put her whole life into helping them.

Mariliana was a successful business woman in Costa Rica and she was married to a successful businessman. Although a Christian, she was not an active one as running her business was her life. However, one day she just felt that there had to be more to life than being a slave to work. She turned to God in prayer for direction. Then as she was driving, she looked out and saw written in clouds in the sky, the word “Prostitutes”.

She pondered and wrestled with her vision for awhile and finally told her husband that she wanted to give up her business and work amongst prostitutes and to help them. The husband was supportive but incredulous. Mariliana was in the upper echelon of society. Until then, she was not even aware that Costa Rica had prostitutes. She told her husband that she would not even know how to start looking for a prostitute.

PhotoCredit: - LGS Chowing Down on Maine's Best Clam Chowder (Mariliana -second from right)

Before long, someone knocked on her door. It was a young girl who had been physically abused by a client and was on the run looking for sanctuary. It was the defining moment. Mariliana did not hesitate but took her in. Her first prostitute.

She went on to look for a place to house prostitutes, protect them from their pimps, provide re-training for another job, take in their children and give them education. Thus was founded the Rahab Foundation on November 12th 1997. In the first month alone 30 prostitutes found their way to this sanctuary. Many of them testify that they had prayed to God in their despair and had received a vision to look for the Rahab Foundation which was virtually unknown at that time.

In the last 10 years, thousands have benefited from Mariliana’s and the Foundation’s work. Today, they provide sanctuary for over 500 seeking to escape prostitution and to make a new life. Over the years, 70% of those who have come through the Foundation have found freedom to live a new life.

In my short interaction with Mariliana, I surmise her to be a strong, intellegent woman with a sharp business acumen and organizational skills but the prominent characteristic that all who have met her would go away with would be the sense of her spirit of servitude for others. She reminds me that I could do more for others too.


To do list before 31st December. Well, I plan to just come in under the wire and invite a friend who has been feeling a little down after her relationship with someone fell through to a little group caring at a gathering of old friends for a New Year’s Eve Party. She has not seen many of us for quite a while and I am hoping that our meeting will be like returning to a loving, strong and supportive touchstone.

Tagging others. I think I will have to decline tagging others as it would be unfair for them to try to do this meme before new year which is just a few days away.

Awww, Best Buds

Can everyone say "Awwww."? Isn't the picture cute? Doesn't it just give you that fuzzy feeling? Top Cat was kind enough to honor me with this award but I am sure all of us who have come to enjoy blogging realise that it is about the whole blogging community. Our enjoyment comes from that warm, fuzzy feeling from interacting with everyone we have met from around the world. So I would like to thank all of you bloggers and especially those who have visited this blog and share comments and shared a bit of yourself here.

I must confess that this squirrel is a little surprised to be getting awards from cats and also bird awards lately. Is there something screwy with the world at the moment or is this the first faltering steps to world peace between squirrels, birds and cats? Anyway, thanks again TC.

It falls on me to share this nice award with 5 others. There were no rules with the award so I'll make it up as I go. Most of these are bloggers whom I have greatly enjoyed but I have had no opportunity to give an award to before.

1. Claudia likes to give an impression of a tough rocker girl but I think she is as sweet as honey and really cares about the people who visit her site. She also cares about bees.
   
2. Dave has been a great blogging buddy almost from the very start of my blogging experience and we started almost the same time. He shares some of my weird interests and has his own weird but interesting interests. He's been going through a tough time of late and hasn't been as regular on the blogosphere. So here's hoping to encourage you to share more of your gems with the rest of us.
3. Medstudentwife and I just really hit it off. Why? She's fun and her blog is fun and friendly and as a major plus, she's from one of my favorite cities in the world.
   
4. Jessica may well be the very first friend that I made through blogging. Her comments were so nice to get in those early days when the squirrel was shivering and alone in the blogosphere. I also remember that she gave me my first meme. Her posts about her life and family feels like an invitation to a home cook meal and rich hospitality.
5. Gina is one of my newer friends and visitor to my cyber realm (trying not to use blogosphere again). Her poems are insightful, creative and very often playful. Always brings a smile to my face and not far below the surface is a very emotionally rich person to be discovered and enjoyed.

There are many more I would like to honor but I will wait for other opportunities. There is one more worth of mention. This is nancycle . She is certainly one of my best buddies but she did not make the list because she has been enjoying her real life so much that she is ignoring her computer and the rest of us of late. Well, here's to your happiness but don' forget we miss you around here too.

Squirrel out!

Juliet, Juliet, Wherefore Art Thou?

I am not good at keeping friends. I don't mean that I get into arguments with them and end up lifetime enemies. No, it's just that I keep misplacing them.

It all boils down to the fact that I am or have been very bad at keeping in touch by correspondence and soon lose touch when they move around. When I discovered Google and other search engines on the internet, I actually was successful in finding some of my missing friends.

One of them, I traced by visiting a BBS site on United Kingdom culture and folklore (the sort of thing he might be interested in) and leaving an strong insult that only he would understand and sure enough he replied after a couple of weeks to my calling card.

This particular individual I was able to trace over a period of 15 years even though he tried to ditch me by shifting at regular intervals. The last time was the hardest and I had to resort to writing a letter to a known work colleague at his previous job before I could locate him. Happily, this led to him visiting me in Malaysia about a year later.

Altogether, I have found 5 others via the internet search engines and am still in contact with 4 of them. The last one dropped off the radar in the last 5 years. However, there are a couple of people that I have failed to locate entirely and one of them is Juliet.

Juliet Wilson is a friend from my time at Chelsea College, University of London. How long ago was this? It was during the time of the Falklands War. If you didn't even know that there was such a thing, I suggest you Google it.

Juliet was studying to be a nurse and she shared a flat with two other sweet girls which we took to call the "Bickley Sisters" on account of their closeness to one another and the name of the street where they lived. This was a place that always made visitors feel welcome.

We both served in the Christian Union committee and also grew close through that. Somehow though we seemed to hit it off and we were always able to share our problems with one another.

Juliet was to teach me one of my most profound lessons about friendship. I went through a period of severe depression brought on by my inability to cope with low self-esteem, emotional pressures from my family and my helplessness to help certain dear friends who were going through immense suffering. One day during a break in sessions , in my desperation to just get out of my darkened room and to see some sun, I just called Juliet out of the blue and asked if I could spend the weekend at her home in Winchester.

In retrospect, it was quite something that I was asking. She might have had better plans for her time than to spend it baby-sitting a morosely depressed friend who was no fun at all. Her parents were not at home that weekend which may also have been a problem as it was not her custom to entertain gentlemen in her home alone. I believe she might have had a boyfriend then who also might not have appreciated this scenario.

All I can say is thanks. Juliet, the fact that you said yes to my request without any hesitation (at least as far as I could tell), was very important to me. In fact, all the rambling conversations that weekend and even the way I panicked when I met your parents at the end of the stay, all taught me something about myself and my underlying psychological issues which was the turning point for me in battling depression. You made me realise that friendship and other worthy causes were bigger than social rules and pressures.....an important lesson for me.

Anyway, miserable being that I am, I have also misplaced her somewhere in this world. Hence my plaintive cry, "Juliet, Juliet...wherefore art thou?"

I am hoping she is happily married with kids and living in South Africa. If my some remarkable miracle, one of you readers knows fair Juliet, I hope you will let me know. With my good fortune of re-finding friends via Google, I am hoping Blogger will also perform, so I am not giving up hope at all.

The Romantic Horror Show

I hate Chinese romantic comedy movies. That is because they always portray the love-struck male as a complete blubbering idiot that always makes a fool of himself in front of the object of his affection and.............. unfortunately, it cuts too close to home. Ah, the indiscretions of youth. If you are anything like me, those early forays into romance were damn embarrassing. For that very reason, I tend to keep those memories locked in a trunk in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind and have burned the map that would lead me back to them.

So imagine my surprise that in the last two weeks, not one but two lost flames reappeared in my small world and in the most unusual way and they were in sequence, my first crush and my first serious girlfriend.

In the first instance, I was at a meeting at work with members of the Board of my organization. This is a quarterly meeting and I have known and met with these people on a regular basis for the last 5 years. This last meeting was different though. At the end of the meeting, one elderly gentleman whom I get on particularly well with, pulled me aside and asked if I had ever lived in a place called Ampang. Well, that was strange. I was almost automatically going to say that I haven’t. Then an old memory re-surfaced. I did indeed stay there for one month but that was when I was about 12 years old (which let us just say was several decades ago). I was puzzled how he might have known this.

He then went on to say that his wife (whom I had only met twice) says she remembers me from then. He then asked if I had attended some art classes there and indeed I had. He said his daughter used to attend those classes too. Suddenly I felt like I was hit with a sledgehammer right between the eyes. I suddenly knew who his daughter was. She had a very unusual family name which the gentleman also had. Strange, I never made the connection before. Now, you might wonder why his wife would remember me after all these years. Let’s just say I did some memorable capers that would have fitted in nicely in a Chinese romantic comedy movie. Well, I found the whole episode a little creepy and a bit embarrassing. No doubt they would all have a laugh on me that night over dinner.

Anyway, it seems No: 1 crush is married with two kids and has kept in touch with my career in the news and from her dad. I’m sure she’s been telling her friends, ‘ I knew this guy once……what a dork!”

Then just over a week later, I found myself as the master of ceremonies at a baptism service. Later, after the service, I was congratulating one of the baptisimal candidates, a young girl, when she turned and introduced me to her aunt. I looked round and came face to face with serious Girlfriend No:1. As appropriate again for a Chinese romantic comedy movie, I said something smooth like, “Ha…ab….a..ba….ba.” The surprise was complete. The conversation was awkward. I’m sure she’s telling her friends, “After so many years, I met him again and……he’s still a dork.”

Take the case of the Lone Grey Squirrel. His confidence and self esteem is taking a beating because he keeps meeting his old girlfriends in that place called ……the Twilight Zone. Creepy.

Thoughts on Growing Old

It's now 12.30 am on Monday. I'm sleepy and really am not conscious enough for upper brain functions and thoughts. Instead I offer you quips which were sent to me by my good friend, Helen the Greek Goddess. I particularly believe in the last one.

Bumper Crop

Dear Blogging friends,

Your generosity and kindness is quite overwhelming and I thank you for these awards that you have bestowed on me within this month.........

First of all, I got the blame for Claudia's obsession with ice cream this summer. I would have been bummed but it came with this rather innovative award which is a license to spread the blame to others! Mwahahaha!

Next, I was awarded this by one of the nicest persons herself, Stock City Girl.

Finally, my good friend, Mrs. Wolfe says that I make her smile. Awwwww. What a nice thing to say.

Now I think you can understand that this has given me a really, REALLY, BIG Headache! Somehow, I have to blame people but to do it in a nice way so that I don't tarnish the "Nice Matters Awards" and make them smile while they are getting lambasted.

Okay, let's see. I have to accuse and blame people for things but in a nice way and leave them smiling. According to the rules, I have to blame 6 people, be nice to 7 and keep 4 smiling.

Aaaarghgghghhghghghghh! (Squirrel going nuts! Unlike "squirrel going for nuts", "squirrel going nuts" is not a good thing). Can you see the impossible dilemma that I am faced with? I suspect that climbing Mount Everest nekkid while reciting the value of Pi and discovering Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction hidden there would be an easier task.

So unless you want to see me foam at the mouth (Rabid squirrel), I plead with you to allow me to quietly just keep the awards with thanks and to blame all of you for being way too nice and for bringing smiles to my face when this squirrel is in the blues.

I will, however, blame Evalinn, Claudia and Becky for putting me in this dilemma in the first place. Thank you ladies.