Castaway's Junk

Our friend, Cedarflame, has been forced to be a refugee of sorts when her apartment was water damaged. She had to move her stuff into another apartment and live elsewhere while they repaired her damaged apartment. In the post, she discusses a little about all the stuff that she has collected over the years.

I got to wondering about the things that we collect, do they help define us? Are they physical representations of our inner selves? Yes, squirrels can be come pensive and philosophical sometimes when the winter drags too %@#$ long.

Anyway, this brought to mind a BBC radio program called "Desert Island Discs". This radio program is still on but was first broadcast in 1942 and is recognised by the Guinness Book of Records as the longest running musical program in the history of radio. The premise behind Desert Island Discs was to interview a famous guest and to have them imagine that they were about to be castaway and exiled on a desert island. They were told that they could bring 8 pieces of music (originally gramaphone records), one book (other than the bible and the complete works of Shakesphere which were already provided on the island) and one luxury item.

Some episodes of this program are now available as podcasts.

So what might your answer be. Let's play Desert Island Discs. 8 musical pieces or songs, one book and one luxury item. Perhaps we could modernise this to 8 CDs, that would still be desert island discs.

I have to give this one a thought myself and will give my answers in the next post.

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 Fallen Light

Taman Negara (LGS)

Oh Ancient Mother, who watches over our very heart beats,
See, O see your children's desperate plight
Our forest had grown dark, the light fails and retreats,
It seems like life itself had taken flight.
The land was bleeding earth into brown choked rivulets,

Oh Ancinet Guardian, protector of all living things
Hear, o hear your people's despairing cries,
The land ails and fails to provide as once it did,
The water, the air poisoned with lies
Our bellys are empty and our children beyond comforting.

Oh Ancient of Ancients, who dwells in all we know,
Feel, O feel your spirits dire impotence,
As spirits of steel and smoke surround and grow
And care not for keeping the natural balance
Our familiars, our guides are silent and cold.

Oh Ancient One, our hope as in the rising morn,
From amongst us you arose a special son,
Your child, my child and our hope and light reborn
Born to stand in the gap of dreams and reason
To lead our people back from past beyond

Oh Ancient One, joy again brightened our face,
Aha! Aha! Aha! The sweet melody rings,
No longer do we sell the future of our race
To fill bellys and for forgetfulness drinks
With heads held high facing newly bright days

O Mother of Mothers, who comforts and dries tears,
Know that our hearts, briefly warmed have grown cold.
For the light flickered and fell before his years,
He bore his people's hopes, the boy who was old,
O Mother of Mothers, comfort him and dry his tears.

A Book, A Movie, A Song

Thank you all for your wonderfully diverse but helpful comments and advice to the previous post. Like in that post, the squirrel remains in a pensive and philosophical mood and the wanderings of my mind led me to this discovery.

A number of times, I have come across bloggers who do a meme on the books that they have read. They would share about the latest books they have read, favorite author etc. and very often, which have been the books that have influenced their lives most.

I have always not participated cause, when it comes to books that have influenced my life, my brain usually draws a blank. One because I am not a prolific reader, two because I am not a serious reader (i.e. I do not like to read heavy intellectual tomes) and three, my reading list is a little embarrassing.

So, as I said, I was surprised to make a discovery of what may be the book that has been most influential in my life (apart from the bible) during my recent mental wanderings. The book is "Ring of Bright Water" by Gavin Maxwell.

Well, it is actually a series of books including "The Rocks Remain" and "Raven Seek Thy Brother". For those of you who are unfamiliar about Gavin Maxwell and his books, I have posted on it before. Follow this link. It is essentially an autobiography of a journalist, author and naturalist who purchases a small piece of land in a remote part of Scotland; his own personal bit of heaven which he named Camusfeàrna. The books also detail his relationship with a whole menagerie of otters; his first love, Mijbil; his long time companion, Edal; Teko who brought fresh hope; and the next generation including Mossy and Monday.

How has this book (or series of books) been influential in my life? Well, I first read "Ring of Bright Water" when I was about 13 or 14 years of age and I think it was the first book that taught me to love animals and especially animals in the wild. My current career in nature conservation some 3 decades later stems from this love that was first planted as a seed then. That makes it a major influence indeed.

The books were also a very brutally honest record of the difficulties, both personal and financial, that Maxwell faced in trying to make his little piece of heaven work. There were also the disasters and tragedies that struck. At that young age, this was my first time reading about a very human icon. He may be author and naturalist extraordinaire but he was far from faultless and far from knowing all the right answers. He made me appreciate that heroes are humans too and the real heroes are the ones that get up after being knocked down and start re-building again.

Maxwell could probably have continued his successful career or even entered into the diplomatic service but he gave it all up for a simpler life amongst his otters and outdoor pursuits in his tiny remote corner of Scotland. My dreams have been affected by his. Success is not as the world measures but by your own sense of happiness in doing what you love. I still seek a little piece of heaven on earth even now.

As I prepared for this post, I came across the old theme song for the movie based on the book. I had actually forgotten how wonderfully poignant and inspiring these words were to my younger self. They are wonderful. The song was sung by Val Doonican and here are the lyrics, followed by the song itself.


Where sun and wind play on a ring of bright water
That's where my heartland will be
The deer on the hill in the first snow of winter
the gull in the sky winging free

I wandered away from the dark crowded city,
Leaving my old life behind,
And came to a place where a ring of bright water,
Dazzled the care from my mind.
So I live with the wonder of the sky and the sea
And I'll always remember who revealed them to me

But now you are gone with your whirlpools of laughter
Racing me down to the sea
But I always smile when a ring of bright water
Echoes your laughter to me.

(key change)

But now you are gone with your whirlpools of laughter
Racing me down to the sea
But I always smile when a ring of bright water
Echoes your laughter to me.
Echoes your laughter to me

Music for a Funk

I am feeling a little down. My wife is away, traveling and I miss her. I got the flu. Work is piling up and so are the bills. And, there is conflict at work. I don't do conflict well. I guess you can say that I am in a funk. I had no idea what to post tonight but I went over The Walking Man's blog and something happened as I read his poem, TIRED OF BEING WET AND COLD?

The poem somehow reminded me of the lyrics of a song that was a particular favorite of mine when I went through my depression period. This 1969 song was sung by the singularly talented Peggy Lee and was written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. The song was inspired by the story "Disillusionment" by Thomas Mann, written in 1896. You know that you are depressed when even the greatest joys, greatest excitements and the greatest loss leaves you with nothing but a numb, empty feeling.

So in line with my current gloomy mood and my philosophy of "why should I suffer alone?", I would like to share this dark song which is ideal for stewing in a funk. For those of you who mistakenly thought that I was going to play funky music, you can leave now. It's music for a funk and not funky music.

Five by Five

Five by Five is the phrase that Faith (the rival slayer from the series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer) uses to indicate that everything is okay. I thought it would make a good title for this meme from Jelica and Ruslan over at Budapest Bits, my new friends and favorite blog from the Balkans and Central Europe. This is because the meme requires 5 answers under 5 topics.

It has been awhile since I did a meme. For some of the older readers, some of my answers will already be familiar but I hope this will be of interest to some of my new friends here. It also falls on me to prod 5 others to take up this meme. Please don't feel obliged or pressured but it would be nice to know a bit more about you. I dub the famous Five to be;
1. Lorac at Ahhh...the Cottage Life.
2. thisrainykitten at my blog.
3. Sally at Sally's World.
4. eastcoastdweller at In Search of Isis.
5. Cabcree at Cabcree.

FIVE FAVORITE SONGS:
1. I Can’t Make You Love Me (Bonnie Raitt, 1991)

Just think this is a great song. Soul wrenching music and lyrics.

2. And So It Goes (Billy Joel, 1989)

I proposed to my wife by singing this song, so it is very precious.

3. Alone Again Naturally (Gilbert O'Sullivan, 1972)

An early melancholic favorite.

4. Anything But Ordinary (Avril Lavigne, 2002)

My current theme song. Great lyrics and outlook to life.

5. Scarborough Fair/Canticle (Traditional Arr.; Simon and Garfunkel, 1966)

Great traditional song and wonderful anti-war anthem.

FIVE FAVORITE FILMS:

1. Running on Empty (1988)

This movie is about family, love and sacrifice. Always makes me cry.

2. Blade Runner (1982)

Probably the best Science fiction movie ever. Shows a dark side to the progress of

science.

3. Before Sunrise (1995)

A simple story of a chance encounter on a train but I think one of the most

romantic stories ever.

4. Thunderheart (1992)

A spiritual journey and a story of injustice against native peoples.

5. Sleepless in Seattle (1993)

Another movie that makes me cry. Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks make a great

romantic comedy combination.

FIVE FAVORITE BOOKS:

1. Ring of Bright Water (Gavin Maxwell, 1960)
This book taught me to love animals
2. Watership Down ( Richard Adams ,1972)
This book also taught me love animals but also to question human systems of governance and beliefs.
3. All Creatures Great and Small (James Herriot, 1972)
This book also taught me to love animals and gave me a better sense of life's hopes, dreams, ups and downs.
4. Rendezvous with Rama (Arthur C. Clarke, 1972)
I love the premise of this story. Very humbling.
5. The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever ( Stephen R. Donaldson,
1977-1979)
A great fantasy story played out against the lack of faith of the hero.

FIVE FAVORITE CRUSHES:

1. Susan Hampshire
(British actress with large cleavage – what do you expect, this was my adolescence crush.)
2. Sophia Loren
(Italian Screen Sex Goddess – a bit older now but still controlled by raging hormones. I
like my women meaty and curvy)
3. Natalie Wood
(American Actress – beginning to see women as people. Natalie remains one of my
favorites. She is strong, yet vulnerable. And is she ever so pretty).
4. Gong Li
(Chinese Actress – Even stronger, yet vulnerable. The Asian version of Natalie Wood).
5. Isabella Rossellini
(Italian Actress, daughter of Ingrid Bergman who almost made this list too. What can I say. She’s stunning at 55 years old. Graceful beauty and aging well).

FIVE FAVORITE RANDOM THINGS:
1. Walking in the rain.
2. Swimming in a jungle stream.
3. Spending time with my wife.
4. Dinner with friends.
5. Laughter of Children.

Never Again?

The Tugu Peringatan or Memorial Monument was completed in 1966 to honor the more than 11,000 soldiers from Malaysia that made the ultimate sacrifice for their country starting from World War I and on to World War II, Independence and the Emergency Period (a period of communist insurgency) and the Confrontation (with mighty Indonesia). The 15 m high bronze statue was the biggest in the world at that time. This monument is an important icon on Malaysia's path and history of nation building. We proclaim to the fallen, their families and all Malaysians now and in the future, that we will "never forget".

In contrast, the May 13th Incident seems to be something that Malaysians of all persuasions seem to want to forget. On May 13th 1969, race riots and sectarian violence erupted in Kuala Lumpur and some other parts of the country. By the time the smoke cleared, it is believed that more than 2,000 men, women and children were killed. Most of them were innocent and defenceless civilians. Official figures claim less than 200 killed. Many will forever be lost to their families allegedly coated in black paint (to make racial identification difficult) and buried in unmarked mass graves. There were stories of great brutality but there were also stories of great bravery and integrity on the part of the police, armed forces and ordinary citizens. Many stories tell of neighbours protecting each other irrespective of race or political leanings. However, a certain innocence of race harmony would be lost that day too.

Just a couple of days ago, a prominent journalist wrote that his young grand-daughter had no idea about the May 13th Incident and that in his opinion this was a good thing as this meant there is hope for the young generation to bring the nation forward without these baggages from the past. So instead of "never forget", we are being encouraged "not to remember it anymore".

I have to disagree. I think it is both a responsibility and a need to "never forget". To all those who were murdered, we cannot forget. Not because we should seek to perpetuate a legacy of hatred and to promote revenge but to ensure that their deaths serve a purpose in warning us from going down that dark path again. In remembering, we can learn from history and avoid the same mistakes in the future. "Never forget" can than become "never again". However, those who do not learn from history's mistakes are doomed to repeat it again. I certainly hope for Malaysians that we learn and do not repeat our mistakes.

Unfortunately, despite the monuments and memorial days that we see around the world, I sense that most of the world is neither remembering nor learning from the past. World War I was the war to end all wars. Never again was the cry; yet within a few years, we were on the road to World War II.

Last century saw the Holocaust. We set up memorials and said never again. Yet just as the Jews were persecuted under Nazi Germany, today the Palestinians suffer under the heavy boot of Israel. Sure, we can analyse and given reasons and argue who has more rights but in my opinion oppression and killing of the defenceless will always be unjust. Why did we not learn?

Genocide, ethnic cleansing and even fracticide has occured again and again. The Khmer Rogue and the killing fields of Cambodia. The horrors of Rwanda. Even now, it is happening in places like Darfur, Sudan and the world seems unable and unwilling to do what it must to stop it.

I think that the first step to "never again" is to make sure that the whole world "never forgets" the lessons of the past. Instead of re-writing history, being politically sensitive and hiding these incidents, we need to do even more to highlight them, to teach about them in schools, universities and museums and to make sure that these terrible deeds are exposed before the powerful light of public consciousness. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Let us instead remember, learn and prevent these horrors from visiting us again.

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.

Unburied Nuts from 17th November 2006: Goodnight, Mrs. Legatt

The "Unburied Nuts" series is an unashamed effort to recycle some of my earlier postings when I am too stressed out to create something new to post. This offering is certainly from the earliest period when the Lone Grey Squirrel was not so grey but going through a mid-life crisis anyway. I hope you like it.

As we travel through life, we pick up a lot of junk. Not surprising, I am a bit of a pack rat and will not allow things I collect to be put out for a yard sale without a fight. For me, these are more than just items, they are symbols of my life journey. More than things though, we each meet a whole host of people. Some have been a big influence on our lives while others less so but they all touched our lives and were part of the shaping of who we are and what we believe. Some of them taught us great life truths and yet others got us wondering about life.

Tonight, I find my mind traveling through time and space until I find myself sitting by the bedside of Ms. Legatt. My younger self was a thin insecure teenager who found himself thousands of kilometers away from home in a strange and cold place called Brighton, United Kingdom, so as to have the opportunity to study. Once a week, I took part as a volunteer in a community out reach project. My assignment was to visit shut-ins. These are elderly people who are pretty much bed-ridden or house bound. Food is sent to them by Meals-on-Wheels which are run by other volunteers and they get a visit from the community nurse a few times a week. Very often their only other visitors and social contact was with volunteers like myself.

Brighton Pavillion

The truth was that for many of the community volunteers, visiting shut-ins were the least desirable of assignments. There was always the smell of urine or worse. The rooms or apartments were generally unkept and you might be asked to clean mouldy dishes or throw out the rotting garbage. Many felt that the hour spent there was the most boring way to spend 60 minutes.

Not for me. I was able to ignore the lack of hygiene and cleanliness and perhaps I was also alone in a strange land, I was genuinely able to enjoy the fellowship and because of that I was able to learn quite a lot. So I spent many hours visiting and sharing a cup of tea and a cookie with Ms. Legatt at her bedside. Ms. Legatt was pretty much alone in the world. She had no close family. She was diabetic and bedridden with an amputated leg.

However, we made a connection and in her tales and stories, she was a young girl with the world at her feet. She was thrilled to learn that I was Malaysian. It seemed that she spent the best part of her life traveling in the Far East. She was adventurous for her time. She took on a job with the British Foreign Service and left the dreary British shores soon after the end of the Second World War aboard a warship. Her first port of call was in Singapore where she served in the British Administration and took part in the post war rebuilding. I know many British, like Ms. Legatt, were really carrying out their imperial and colonialist duties. Yet, I believe Malaysians inherited a relatively prosperous and peaceful country at independence and in part it was because of the services and sometimes sacrifice of these servants of the setting Empire. So in all sincerity, I wish to say thank you to all of them.

Ms. Legatt spoke of some girlfriends of like mind and spirit. They made Singapore their playground. They partied and attended all the social events. They rubbed shoulders with high society and my eyes opened wide at some of the adventures and hi-jinks that she related that she sweared involved the crown prince, heir to the Sultanate of Johor.

It was a colorful and exciting life. Ms. Legatt was one of the flowers that shone brightly at the twilight of the Empire in one of the most exotic parts of the world at that time. Somehow she never married, eventually came back to Britain and grew old alone. Somehow she was forgotten.

I remember Ms. Legatt tonight and wonder about my own life. How would I be remembered? All my memories, the victories I celebrate, my loves, my friends, my struggles, my fights, what would they mean when I am old. Who would remember? Who would care? What would my life really count for? Why am I pondering these things? Well, I am about the age where I am due to have a mid-life crisis and as one of my friends is prone to say, “it’s right on time.”

Seriously, I think it is good to take stock of our lives from time to time to see if the things that occupy us, whether it is our work, careers, hobbies, friends, dreams, problems really remain as important against the test of time. As for me, I think you lived a full life, Ms. Legatt and you contributed to shaping a great country. Many may have forgotten but I remember and I enjoyed tea, cookie and friendship. Good night, Ms. Legatt, wherever you are.

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.

Suffer Little Children

I spent this weekend attending a workshop on Christian Counseling. It was a mixture of learning about counseling as well as receiving some counseling as part of the process. A great portion of the weekend focused on our responses to events in the early part of our lives which resulted in us adopting inappropriate defence mechanisms which in turn cause us to develop self-destructive behavior. For many of the participants, bad reactions to certain actions of our parents was a very common factor.

The workshop is not blaming parents for what happened because being parents are a tough job and yet a single slip at the wrong time can have a major negative result in the child's life. For example, in one case, the child was anxious after seeing something spooky on television and goes to the father for reassurance but the father teases the child by pretending to be scared himself and said "Scared, scared". A seemingly innocent incident but the child becomes easily spooked by almost anything because she does not feel secure.

Another example is when a harassed mother promises a young child to get her a long desired toy but fails to do so due to the rush and busyness of the day. Again something that can easily happen but the child could develop an unwillingness to trust people as a result.

And so many of the participants had such experiences with their parents which have led to some hangup or another.

Later though, I had the opportunity to take part in an informal conversation with some of the participants and one of them was a full time Christian worker with abused and abandoned children. He shared this story about a eleven year old girl. Her mother brought her one morning outside a Christian Shelter for Children and told her that she would be back to pick her up that evening.

Two and a half years later, this quiet and shy girl finally opened up to a student volunteer and told her that she still hoped each day that her mother would come for her one evening. Then after a short silence, she asked the volunteer, " What do I have to do to survive the reality of my situation?" It was as if she was finally coming to terms that her mother may never return. The volunteer was herself from a broken home and was able to share her own experiences. The little girl thanked her for not avoiding the question.

Needless to say, I was greatly touched by the story and it put all of our gripes about our parents in context. Not that some of the problems arising from actions of our parents were not serious but clearly, we were all reminded that having caring but imperfect parents is so much better than being left behind by your parents or having no parents at all.

I think I will do something for the kids in the shelter.

Valentine Love Clinic

How are you all? It's hard to believe that it has been one year since the squirrel asked me, Aikenvoodoo-U Cassanova Lovelace the Great Witch Doctor, to give advice to lovers. Valentine's Day has come round again and some of you may do something foolishly romantic and one thing leads to another and before long, marriage is being considered. This is not good. Too many marriages fail today because people are not ready for it or have unrealistic expectations. To help you decide whether you are ready for even a serious relationship, I have prepared a few questions. I hope it will be helpful.

QUESTIONS FOR MEN

Are you a man?

If your answer was “No” or “Not sure”, there really isn’t much point in discussing this further. If your answer was “Yes”, I would ask to see proof. You see, you are not a man unless you have gone through a rite of passage into manhood. For example, in my village, a young boy would be expected to go out into the wilderness for one week by himself, find a lion to fight with and bring back a handful of hair from the lion’s mane. That handful of lion’s hair woven into a bracelet was proof of our manhood; our certificate and license to marry.

What is your proof of manhood? Of course, I understand that you wimpy city dwellers do not have access to many lions but there must be something that you can do to prove your bravery and strength. Canadians do it by playing ice hockey and their toothless grin is their proof of manhood. If sports is not your thing, going on a holiday with your future mother-in-law is quite close to tangling with lions.

Do you own livestock?

Women like to know that their man can provide financial security. If your answer is “No” then you are not ready for marriage. If you have not even prepared ahead for your dowry, you clearly have not planned for your financial future. My last wife’s dowry cost me 6 cows, 2 goats and 8 chickens which is pretty much the going rate these days. Livestock remains important even in the Western world except that it is represented slightly differently. Believe me, women are more likely to say “yes” to you if you own a 600 horsepower Ferrari rather than a 200 horsepower family van.

What is eix = cos x + i sin x?

If you can’t even understand this simple equation how are you going to understand women. They are far more complex. You are not ready for a relationship with a woman.

QUESTIONS FOR WOMEN

Have you ever had a pet?

If you have never taken care of a pet, then you are not yet ready for marriage. Having a pet (preferably a dog) prepares you to cope with a demanding, whiny and dependent individual. You do know that majority of the bachelors out there are not even house trained, don’t you?

Do you believe that you can change your man into Prince Charming?

If you said “No”, you are entering into marriage with your eyes open. You are a realist and know what you are getting into. If you said “Yes”, then you are about to learn that the frog that you kissed and turned into Prince Charming will soon turn back to a toad after marriage. Men are animals. Get used to it.

What is eix = cos x + i sin x?

If you understand this, you are way too intelligent. Men will feel threatened. You can continue your career as a rocket scientist but at home with your husband you need to speak like Jessica Simpson’s Daisy Duke in the Duke of Hazzard. It’s not difficult; just practice.

Before and After Magic

I know that my recent posts have been on the dark side so I thought I would step back into the sunshine with this one.

I once had a discussion with a friend about going into a partnership to set up a gym for those who want to lose weight. This business venture did not go very far. In fact it kind of broke down when we realised that we were both overweight ourselves and would be poor publicity for such a business. Someone did suggest that we could pose for the "before" photo but we would have to hire some skinny look-a-likes for the "after" photos but we lost enthusiasm for the project.

Anyway, here are some equally improbable before and after photos for your incredulous enjoyment.

"Way to go, girl!"

"I feel like a new man!"

"Is that what happened to Michael Jackson?"

"After many dental appointments and many,many, many years later......"

"Whoa! Dem things look like gills!"

"Your results may vary"

I hope you have enjoyed the magic!

Mama Africa

"Miriam Zenzi Makeba, singer and activist, born March 4 1932; died November 10 2008."

I was thinking of a topic for a post when suddenly "The Click Song" came to mind. This song was made famous by Miriam Zensi Makeba the South African songbird. However when I started searching around for videos of the song, I discovered that this great artist, at the age of 76, collapsed and died just last month in Naples, Italy, while performing on stage at a concert in memory of six Ghanian immigrants killed apparently in a gang slaying.

So now the purpose of this post, is more than introducing an interesting song but to also mark the passing of a great woman. She was known as Mama Africa Makeba and loved not just for her songs but for being one of the most vocal and visible anti-apartheid champions. Shortly after the Sharpeville massacre in 1960, Miriam heard that her mother had died, but her own South African passport had been revoked and she was prevented from returning home for the funeral. Thus began 30 years of exile.

She initially stayed in the USA and collaborated with Harry Belafonte on some projects and won a Grammy with him in 1966. Her first return to the continent of Africa came with a visit to Kenya in 1962. The following year she gave the first of several addresses to the UN special committee on apartheid, and South Africa reciprocated by banning her records. Shortly afterwards, she was the only performer to be invited by the Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie to perform in Addis Ababa at the inauguration of the Organisation of African Unity.

She also became involved in the civil rights movement in America and was popular in many countries (she was given citizenship by 9 countries). However, some of her actions were also controversial and loss her some popular support. Nevertheless, she remained well known and loved and was called to sing in the concerts celebrating Nelson Mandela's release from prison.

The Click Song is the English name ("Qongqothwane" in Xhosa) because the song involves the "click" sound which is found in some southern african language but has no equivalent in English.




She also collaborated with Paul Simon in the Graceland album project and took part in a number of his African tour concerts.

A Better Way

Muhammad Yunus (Photocredit: LGS)

The current economic crisis has revealed the flaws of an unregulated free capitalistic financial system. The biggest flaw to the system is clearly the greed of men but closely associated to it is the expectation of continuous growth and ever increasing profits. Doing business to achieve maximum financial profit is just not a sustainable model for the world. It does not eventually, for the majority, promote a better standard of living, a healthy environment nor reduce the widening gap between the poor and the rich.

I am not an economist but I realise the current profit first approach and profit always increasing expectations are fundamentally wrong in that it does not recognise a real world with finite and depleting resources. It's time to replace that approach with a new sustainable approach. There must be a better way.

I recently had the privilege of hearing Muhammad Yunus, the founder of the Grameen Bank, give a speech. Muhammad Yunus and his bank were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006 for this reason:

"Muhammad Yunus has shown himself to be a leader who has managed to translate visions into practical action for the benefit of millions of people, not only in Bangladesh, but also in many other countries. Loans to poor people without any financial security had appeared to be an impossible idea. From modest beginnings three decades ago, Yunus has, first and foremost through Grameen Bank, developed micro-credit into an ever more important instrument in the struggle against poverty."

Basically, Muhammad Yunus lent small loans, primarily to women to help them develop business ventures that would enable them and their families to break out of the poverty cycle. An example would be where a woman sews clothes for a living. Hand sewing, she can maybe complete 5 dresses a week and earn barely enough just to keep the family fed. However, with a loan of just USD1oo, she could buy a sewing machine. With the new machine, she can sew about 20 dresses a week, earning enough to repay the loan and slowly enable her to extract her family out of poverty. The large traditional banks would never lend money to poor people in this manner.

The Grameen Bank has now helped more than 7 million people in this manner and has remained profitable with a high repayment rate and a low but achievable interest rate. It is now a model that has been copied in other parts of the world.

During his speech, he told a story about one of the earliest woman that took part in the scheme. She was able to build up her business and provide for her family and break out of the poverty cycle. Years later, she invited Yunus to attend her daughter's graduation from University with a doctor's degree. Yunus showed a picture of him posing with the woman and her daughter on that graduation day. He then asked the audience to consider how the daughter was different from the mother. Was she more intelligent? No, he proposes that the only difference was that the daughter had the opportunity that her mother never had. Microcredit creates the opportunities. He stressed that the mother was not poor because she was not intelligent but because she had never got the opportunity to do better.

It was not an easy road for Yunus and the Grameen Bank either. There was opposition from violent radical leftists to the conservative clergy who told women that they would be denied a Muslim burial if they borrowed money from the Grameen Bank. Nor did the voices of conventional banking and business think highly of his efforts. In commenting on his Nobel Peace Prize award, The Economist stated explicitly that Yunus was a poor choice for the award. In their words "...the Nobel committee could have made a braver, more difficult, choice by declaring that there would be no recipient at all."

This may not be a total answer to what ills the world but might it at least be pointing to a more realistically sustainable financial and business model; one that addresses the issue of sustainability and defeating poverty. Maybe this is one way towards a better way.

I Wish to Make a Police Report

I hope you enjoy the picture. Regretably, the rest of the post has had to been erased.

Postcard from Luxembourg

I am a little short of time tonight so this won't be a long post. I was also searching for inspiration and thought if I could just select an old photograph from my collection, I might just write a quick story about the photograph. And then my eyes came across an old post card that I picked up 25 years ago. It was a postcard from the small European nation of Luxembourg.

The City of Luxembourg is small but very hilly and wooded and was the very first walled city that I had visited. Its towers, walls and embankments are visible in much of the city which made it very interesting. Here and there, one was filled with the urge to shout " Man the Ramparts!" and rush silly-nilly to the wall and play act at repelling the invaders.


All of which leads me to these closely linked to pictures below. The first one shows my partner in crime. His name is Joseph. He is an American and we met I think on the train and decided to pair up to take in the sights of Luxembourg. What can I say about him? He is pretty much your average American backpacker, full of exuberance and derring-do. Oh, there was one other thing. He was the son of the cartoonist who did the comic strip "Frank and Earnest". My tiny claim to fame!

Okay, back to the story. Since I am telling it, I will say that the innocent Malaysian was led astray by the seasoned American traveler. Yes, that's my story and I will stick by it.

At any rate, we walked around the city the whole day and eventually found our way on a winding road in a heavily wooded area. As we were on a hill, we could make out the city below us in between the top of the trees. The truth was that we were lost and it was getting dark rapidly. We kept on walking. By my reckoning we should have been close to a monument called "Les Trios Glands" or the "Three Acorns" (see last picture below).

Soon we were walking in pitch darkness and not liking it at all. Suddenly through the trees on the slope below us, we saw very bright lights. So Joseph suggested we cut through the woods and go down the slope towards the lights. It seemed like a better option than continuing along the pitch black road.

So off we went, half running, half slithering and half falling (okay, I know my maths ain't great) down that slope. As we were reaching the bottom, we could hardly control our momentum and suddenly we found ourselves launched into the air. Luckily, we did not fall too far but as it turned out, we landed on the top of the roof of the Trios Glands.

We briefly enjoyed the view which few tourists would have enjoyed as the roof of the monument was officially out of bounds and the monument was in fact closed for the night. We stealthily exited by jumping down to the slope on one side of the building. It was very exciting trying not to be caught.

We left the building behind laughing and in good spirits. The adrenaline was high from falling down the slope and then avoiding detection in a prohibited area...........and that is the only reason I have for what happened next..............somehow we accidentally put out the eternal flame that was burning at another monument nearby.

Well, that was my little tale of misbehavior in Luxembourg during my young and foolish days. Nowadays I am still foolish but too old to jump off rooftops. I hope that the Luxembourgian police will not appear outside my door tomorrow morning. If they do, I have only two things to say to them. One "Lighten up" and two "It was all Joseph's idea."

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.

The Gentleman Gangster

When I was growing up, each neighborhood, community or village was the territory of one criminal gang or another. They were busy with their various illegal activities which often took the form of syndicates running illegal gambling syndicates, smuggling alcohol or other contraband (drug trafficking was not yet rife) and the occasionally demanding protection money from businesses.

The strange thing was, these gangs often saw themselves as guardians of their territories or communities. For example, they never robbed from their own community. If anyone tried to rob a member of the community or break into a house in the neighborhood, you could even count on the local gangsters to help in capturing the culprit and almost certainly beating him up. They were strangely protective in that way. Sure, they made their money from criminal activities but they took care of their neighborhood and protected it from outsiders. In fact, a common way to address a gangster was "Tai kor" which meant big brother and indeed they were our big brother.

When I first started to work, one of my early jobs was to follow a team of health and medical officers to rural villages and to test the microbiological quality of their well water. I also had to carry out a survey and ask the home owners some questions on their attitudes and habits with regards to health issues. Some of these places were located in "New Villages".

"New Villages" were villages that were formed primarily of Chinese that were forcibly relocated by the British military into locations that could be guarded against Communist guerrilla activity during Malaysia's struggle with the Communist Insurgency of the 1950's and 60's. The gangs there grew very protective of their villages from any outsiders.

Anyway, before venturing into these New Villages to carry out our door to door medical survey and well check, we had to get permission from the police and the local political party officials. Our team leader was also smart enough to know that we also needed to inform the local gang of our purpose and get their permission too.

On one occasion, we failed to meet the local Tai Kor and get his permission. After we had visited a few houses, the gang obviously learnt that there was a group of people moving around in their territory. As we were walking down a lane between the houses, our team of five were accosted by ten armed men. Five were in front of us and five behind so there was no chance of escape.

I remember thinking that I was too young to die. My group leader bravely went forward to meet the gangsters. The leader of the gangsters wanted to know why we were bothering the women in their homes while their husbands were away at work. My leader hastily explained our purpose and said we were here to help improve the health of the people. After a few more questions about our equipment and about our survey, the gangsters seemed satisfied that we were not a threat to their community but their leader slapped ours hard on the face for failing to show proper respect and asking their permission before going into the community. Then they let us go. Needless to say, once we got out of that lane, we took the rest of the day off and never finished the survey.

Anyway, the gangsters of those days had a code which was in their own way strangely chivalrous and if you were a member of their community, you could count on their help if you were in trouble.

I say this because today's gangster is no longer a gentleman and no longer follows a code to help those in his territory or community. Sadly, a recent incident reinforced this point. A young man returned home at 3 am after finishing work as a restaurant worker to find his mother suffering a serious asthma attack and having difficulty breathing. He left her with an older brother and ran out to the main road to try to flag down a car to try to get her to hospital. The first car went by without stopping. The second car stopped. There were four men inside and they offered to take him to get help. Instead, they took him to a cemetery 300 m away and beat him up and stole his handphone and money. The unconscious man was discovered by neighbors. Both he and his mother were sent to hospital. He suffered several broken ribs but his mother passed away as a result of the delay in getting her treatment.

What kind of person/s does this? Not rendering help during a medical emergency and instead robbing the helpless and causing death. The Tai Kor's of old would not have stood for this.

Tales from the Forest

The equatorial rainforest in Malaysia is said to be the oldest forest in the world. It is a wonderful place busting out with life in a myriad shapes and forms. It can also be a disorientating and scary place. Even hardened scientists who visit the interior regions regularly seem to have lost their veneer of rationality and have given at least token acknowledgment to the traditional beliefs of spirits of the forest. The following is the tale told by one such scientist.

Our story is set on the slopes of Gunung Ledang, the fabled mystical Mount Ophir of legend. A young forest officer was leading his team in the forest to do an inventory of trees and tree species in the low foothills of the mountain. They had been moving around from camp to camp for over two weeks, doing the inventory as they went along. This is hard and relatively boring work which was compounded by the ever suffocating high humidity and heat.

Once they had finished their task, the forest officer decided that for a bit of recreation , the whole team would hike up the trail to the beautiful and cool summit of Gunung Ledang. The team was enthusiastic and they set off. All these men were fit and made good time up the mountain; stopping along the way only briefly to admire the beautiful stands of hill bamboo and for a quick dip in one of the streams.

As they reached higher up, the young forest officer felt very good. He began to pick up his pace and soon overtook all his team members and continued at that pace and began to leave them behind. Even as the gap between him and his team grew, he would stop once in awhile to exhort them to hurry up. Some of the team were men with many years of experience in the forest and the young officer felt elated that as their leader, he could show that he was fitter than the rest.

Soon he had lost contact with the team as he surged on upwards. However, within about 100 metres from the summit, suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his right leg. Thinking it was a cramp or a pulled muscle, he sat down by the side of the path and started to massage the leg. Even though the pain went away, his leg felt strangely weak and he himself felt incredibly tired.

He sat there trying to catch his breath but he was too tired to move. Eventually, his men came by and passed him one by one until all had gone on to the summit. Still, the young officer was not able to move. Eventually, after setting up camp, some of the men had to return down the mountain to carry him and his equipment up to the camp. The young officer could not understand why he felt so weak and tired. After a quick dinner, he just crawled into his tent and slept.

The next day, he woke up and found his strength fully rejuvanated and he was none the worse for wear except that he was profoundly embarrassed that his men had to carry him up the last 100 metres. The trip back down the mountain was fairly uneventful but all the way down, his right leg felt unusually hot especially around the inner thigh area.

When they reached the bottom and made it to their vehicles, he decided to take off his trousers to examine his thigh. To his surprise, he found a large mark on his inner thigh that looked very much like the print of a hand with the fingers and thumbs all fully extended. The print seemed to be impossibly black. One of his senior team member, a wizen and experienced forester, also saw it and immediately placed his boss into the jeep and drove an hour to a nearby village.

At the village, he brought his boss to see the village bomoh or spirit medium. The bomoh looked at the mark and in a voice that sent shivers down both their spines said, "Anak, anak, puteri jumpa adik sombong sayang."

The young officer was profoundly changed by what he heard. He returned to the city and the mark remained with him for over two weeks before it finally faded away.

And what had he heard that had changed him? The bomoh had said "Son, son, the Princess found you to be proud, my love."

By this the young officer felt that he had been taught a lesson in humility by none other than the mythical Princess of the mountain. Squirrel's Believe it or nuts!