Jauh Perjalanan Indah Permandangan

The Malay title of this post can be loosely translated into English as beautiful scenes (or scenery) from distant travelling. The gang of scientists and psudoscientists made their way to Sungai Siput, Perak to attend the akad nikah (Malay for marriage solemnization) between lab supervisor Dr Normi Yahaya and Prof Dr. Basyaruddin Abdul Rahman.

The gang from Lab 418, two MIA

It's a first for me, I mean the traditional Malay wedding. If we have lots of banana leaves and Hindu priests in the Indian wedding; the everything-red plus lots of food in the Chinese, here I experience first hand the event right from the beginning to the end, one so steeped in culture and religious (Islamic) values. And yeah, they have tea ceremony just like the Chinese thanks to Dr Normi's mixed parentage.

The kadi, the witnesses, the groom and the bride's dad (second from left)

The bride is lovely and the groom complemented her perfectly. There were wedding gifts spread over a part of the hall, both from the bride and the groom's family. After prayer and a short sermon by the kadi (see here for explanation; some men knowledgeable in religious matters), it proceeded with the groom accepting the mas kahwin and witnessed by the two witnesses as well as the bride's father (as the wali representing her daughter). The kadi then pronounced them as husband and wife.


Armed with my Olympus digital camera (with the light sensitivity set to the highest, ISO 640), I fought tooth and claw (not) with the pros and their DSLRs. I'm glad I got some really nice pictures. The rest, I think, is history. The food's good and the place is great. The pelamin (wedding stage) looks great and word has it that the bride's father is the master craftsman behind it.

The bride's family. From left: Daddy dearest, hubby, lil' sister, bride, mommy

The gang left the place at around 3 pm and head towards Ipoh. Some, of course, elected to head straight for home. I brought with me an unforgettable day, one filled with laughter and the grins of the newlywed. Whilst in Ipoh, I was in the bookstore and a book caught my attention. It's by Leil Lowndes with the title How to Talk to Anyone - 92 Little Tricks for Big Success in Relationships.

Behold, the following excerpt from one of the chapters; something which I will elaborate on next time.

The exact moment that two humans lay eyes on each other has awesome potency. The first sight of you is a brilliant holograph. It burns its way into your new acquaintance's eyes and can stay emblazoned in his or her memory forever.

Not sure what really happened but I think the holograph and the emblazon parts were missing in whilst we were there in the wedding reception. Yeah, the cat's tail is out of the bag. Hanging almost lifelessly from between the zippers. I met someone there.

Thinking Aloud

The Chinese man with a moustache is seen loitering outside the semi-detached house. Quiet neighbourhood and that area terminated in a circular cul-de-sac. Another Chinese bloke came out and handed a small wad of cash; in a multiples of 50 I presume. The guy with a moustache quickly left after grabbing the money.

Mr Moustache is dressed in a different colour today but it's still a polo T albeit of an inferior quality. This time, I saw him enter a much bigger house. This one has a dog with a pink nose, a black Citroen 2CV (or something similar, I'm not sure), and another 7-seater MPV. I love the interior: vases, china with dragons on them, some wooden sculptures and a shelf full of books, besides the modern electrical appliances. "An antique dealer" I thought to myself. "Not easy dealing with old pieces. After all, who buys antique items everyday?"

"But I don't have that much", the bespectacled man said.

"I need it for [unintelligible]" Mr Moustache replied, eyebrows lowered.

"Here, this is all I have. I need the rest for the week's expenses."

"Thanks, I'd be back..." I waited with bated breath. "To return the cash." He turned away, still laughing. Creep.

It's wonderful how our mind works. We'd weave the most interesting of stories or those with tear-eliciting plots. Ah, with imagination I know no bounds. I could penetrate walls. See through walls. I could even move from one point to another, both having totally different settings, the instant I wish to do so. Sometimes, true stories seemed like fiction and I couldn't believe it myself.

I see Mr Moustache again. "Son, do you have some cash?"

All Set to Go

Sitting, chin on the table, pen in my left hand I began writing the following. Lacked rhymes but I'm happy that I've managed to string together the must-have words.

Where the fanfare ends, the journey begins
Love catalyzes perpetual homogeneity
May each day be new and the grins sweet
Bliss forever, ending never

Alma Mater's Call

Been thinking of the school rally from just now. And how I first learn it from the back of the exercise book with a brown cover; complete with musical notations too. And today, we sang it for the last time with the Brother Director, Rev Bro Paul Ho.

So Saints / Xaverians and La Sallians all over, sing it out loud and with pride.

All through our college a voice is resounding,
Promptly respond to your duty's sweet call,
Hearken you all for the trumpet is sounding,
Your mater's proclaiming her watchwords to all

(Chorus)
Forward her children dear,
Ever with hearts sincere,
Render with joy to your mater her due,
All that is vile reject,
Heaven will e'er protect,
Sons of St Xavier's valiant and true,

Labour will conquer your motto still bearing,
Forward with courage in ways that are just,
True to your standard, be doing and daring,
As faithful Xaverians in Heaven your trust

Happy 64th! Birth pangs of true democracy

Imprisoned on her birthday. Would anyone want that? Or be incarcerated and detention order be renewed when it ends? It ain't easy going against I-am-afraid-of-losing-power-phobic generals.

Happy 64th Suu Kyi!

Goodbye, Brother

It was 7.40 am when I reached school. The atmosphere is gaiety, full of anticipation. I made my way past the statue of De La Salle into the green-tiled porch, pass the gallery and hall. Seems like the hall is all prepped for some reception. Then there he was, standing at the door of the school archive, Brother Paul Ho. I walked up to him and said to say hello. He was there smiling, shook my hand and spoke for a while.

Continued to the basketball court where the assembly is held every Friday. Ah, friends and old Xaverians. It was a happy affair. Handshakes and hellos. And I don't even know everyone there. See? Told you we're somewhat bonded. I'm not going to describe everything in detail but there were speeches, old faces (shoutout to Mr Loh Chee Heng and Mr John Tan, not forgetting Bro. Charles). Mr Anthony was up and about. Mr Loo, my History teacher. The ever beautiful Pn Narinder (Chemistry), the lovely Pn Doreen (Biology), Pn Gan (MUET; who came and promote a commemorative notebook), Mr Ian Howell (looking great, eating well I suppose), Mr Samynathan (the guy who asked that I start Perlumbaan Ketiga many years ago), Mr Ong, Mr Dr Sim. There were plenty of new faces too... (no comments, yet).

Doesn't look 55 at all, does he?

Parting speeches are about niceties and praises, cliches and stuff but in today's speech, I agreed with one thing: That is in other schools, we greet our principals by Sir or Mr So and So but we call our's Bro. It may be just another title but I agree that it portrays a relationship above that of a student-teacher. And yeah, one guy called us "visitors". Gosh! We're Xaverians and not even ex Xaverians.

With him like the other teachers, we could easily relate to them, open up. I remember how Bro Paul would enter the class every year to hand out the report books and how he'd look through the marks and grades for each student. There, he'd offer his two cents. We all love his stories. His days in Manchester. I also remember how we're feted to movies when we stayed in the school hall (30 August 1998) for some National Day performance the next day. Then there were disciplinary board meetings and sometimes he'd drop by and the rest is history.

Gosh, he looked far better than I do

"So?", some would ask. It's just that I'm glad and happy to be led by an able man and he did a great job running the school. I'd not forget our charity drive and how he'd encourage us to give and give and give. *Laughs* And then there was Sukan Tara. How, for bearing his namesake, the team would try to come out on top only to disappoint him. He'd be there cheering us on. One more thing, he's someone really expressive and he's straight to the point to. Talk to him about a certain issues and he'd give you the most honest of answers.

The school is definitely going to be really different without the man in white. True, the La Sallian spirit lives on but more than 150 years with these great educators, it needs some getting used to. Already, my friend beside me said that students at the assembly today don't know Mr John Tan. Give it many more years, Xaverians/Saints will only learn of the La Sallian spirit from books and their teachers. Provided the latter grew out from the big La Salle family. As I leave the compound, I leave with yet another noteworthy chapter of life. Nevertheless, like I've said, thing are going to be different. That said, the school will always be around and it would serve as a reminder, no, reminder sounds too stoic. Impassive. Rather, a place we relive our memories. A place we learn to touch hearts.

I just love the sight of this, June 19 2009, 8:40 am

Thank you, Brother, for the thing you've done and for the memorable time. Have a great time and God bless. Labor Omnia Vincit.

Update: Obnoxious 5xmom has great pictures here. Woot!

The La Sallian Heritage

No, I'm not spinning a yarn and speak at length on the school's heritage. Rather, it's interesting to read an article in The Star Online by one Dr. Goh on the handing back of 'Saint' Schools to the La Salle Brothers.

Like many, I'm sure there's at least once the thought of what would happen when the last Brother Director leave. Speaking with fellow Saints, some voiced concern over how the school will be run. Will there be Charity Week? Would another day be set aside for Founder's Day?

Yes, being a sekolah bantuan modal means that we have to be able to depend solely on ourselves and boy, it'd be easy for all if it's sekolah bantuan penuh, innit? The article revolves around handing back the school to the Brothers to administer and how one could do that by going through some guys who can shake the Earth when they speak. Whilst engagement / dialog / discussion or whatever they're called is a good thing, and that one should not stop hoping, I don't think it's too much to say that that matter would be - at best - be tossed around before everyone quieten down.

After all, isn't it the government's aim to standardize and uniformize schools in the country, apart from national and vernacular schools? The most a minister can do, if it does eventually gets there, is to pay lip service to the matter and it'll be a matter of time before everyone forgets about it.

That said, and although somewhat cynical, I'm all for the lobbying and stuff and we'll see outcome. To sign off, the two paragraphs below from Dr Goh's article summarized the aim in mind, 300 hundred years ago, when the teaching order was founded by De La Salle.

I believe making St John’s and St Xavier’s fully-aided schools and mandating the La Salle Brothers and the respective boards of governors to administer them is the answer. Taking both schools private sounds great in theory but in practice, funds would have to be raised all the time. Fees have to be charged and revised upward regularly.

Those students who cannot pay would have to be barred from attending classes. The La Salle Brothers would not be comfortable with a fee-based regime. Their philosophy is to provide education to those who need it, not only to those who can pay for it.

I'm missing school, who wouldn't?

St. Xavier's Institution: That Which Build and Edifies

School days occupy my thoughts more and more lately. More so when June 20 is looming. Tend to be in a pensive, reflective mood lately. It's not that everything is over when Paul retires but then 150 years is a long time and with the daily running of the school revolving around that foundation, it isn't easy to come to terms with the fact that everything is going to be new again. People would argue that, you know, the tradition and stuff are still there but then it's just different without seeing the man in cassock. Not that the students need a daily fix of seeing their principal but ask the older boys, they grew up and left school with the likes of Bro Michael (a.k.a Lau Hor), Brendan, Casimir dot dot dot; all educators in their own right. [Often] when featured in the papers, we'd read of how Xaverians spoke at length concerning life in school and how it's an unforgettable chapter in their life. All with admiration and sentimentality.

Was trying to include the five La Sallian characteristics in my last post but it just got too long. And this, coming from memory and a little help, I hope is the correct one (I stand corrected):

1. Faith (in God)

2. Zeal

3. Fraternity

4. Solidarity with the Poor

5. Together and by association

Picking up from where I left the last time, the lesson seems to get better as we advance from Form 1 through 6. It's where I meet a beautiful soul. One who cares and always moved by love. Always with smiles and hugs to spare, isn't it warm? Huh? I guess that's what touching hearts meant.

Am not doing so much of praising human being but rather the school, the institution, the foundation and values on which it's build. Before I sign off, anyone reading this, head on over to Obnoxious 5xmom for an interview with Bro Paul, his take on school, the teaching profession, and everything education.

St. Xavier's Institution: Camaraderie and Mirthful Years

It was around 6.35 a.m. when I walked through the silver gates; the schoolbus was pulling away with an unceremonious blast from the exhaust. It was chilly and the building's facade - which I will come to love - seemed ominous. "They'd do with some lighting," I thought to myself.

School's facade: The flag and lighting during National Day and the 150th Anniversary is magnificent

Made my way from the green-tiled porch, through one of the three entrances, into an area with art exhibits. Also visible was the huge Chinese lantern, the one you'd see only during procession and not your ordinary flammable plastic fish and dragon. I'd see a big entrance with the words "Heah Joo Seang Hall" above it. I continued on past the stuffy area and made my way along the corridor. The ping pong area was on my right and on the walls I could see, not decorated table tennis champs but rather, framed pictures of the past La Sallian brothers in their black (some white) cassocks. Did a tour of my own for a good hour in the place I'd call home, the one place where I'll be emotionally attached. I walked back to the green-tiled area and the place is alive with parents and my soon-to-be friends. Crisp and really white school uniforms with matching olive green trousers. I'd literally smell the scent of new fabric on some guys. The place got stuffier by the minute. We then congregate inside the school hall, sat for an hour or so listening to this guy in white cassock.

De La Salle, when I first walked on this green-tiled porch

"Say, good morning Brother when you bump into me," he began. "Greet your teachers".

The rest is history what transpired that morning came to be a part of us, Xaverians, or La Sallians if you like. The date was 5 January 1998.

Thus began my journey in secondary school, one filled with too much memories and each a very good lesson. Being a missionary school, the funds depended very much on our own. Over the years (six for me), we've had numerous fund-raising events: Charity Week and Canteen Day. Huge sums were raised and given away to various charities and the leftovers for the school. Now, the word missionary may sound "dangerous" to some but all my life there (six to be exact), the only thing the La Salle brothers try to do was to produce quality individuals.

The Palm Court (Source: Obnoxious 5xmom)

My first three years, like the next three years, were precious. The bond among us Xaverians (or Saints) is there. The teachers are like friends, you know, the kind where you'd speak to freely about anything. And I mean everything. The barrier wasn't there and far from it, the patronizing attitude you'd see elsewhere. The lessons were great. After all, most guys were old boys and one'd rest knowing that their teacher is nothing but dedicated. The one thing I'd treasure from my days in school will be the camaraderie between myself and my fellow Saints and myself with the trachers. Nothing beats that. And I hold my neck out, daring anyone to show me another place where I'd experience that mirthful days. Trust me, no other place on Earth and varsity is a far cry from it.

I may be like Peter Pan but if varsity is a microcosm of the world, then the school is the microcosm of a warm and loving home, something almost ethereal. Have a Heart, Knowing Your Heritage, A Safe School, 150 years of Touching Hearts, etc. These are the different themes we'd hear each year and while they may be just another phrase to some, there's definitely something to bring home at the end of it.

Friday assembly is my favourite apart from the almost daily fix of street soccer. Although the wait may be painful, I just love hanging around chit-chatting and appreciating God's creation of man's companion - women. *winks* Ocassionally, while congregating at the basketball court, we'd be able to see - live - exhibitionism from one of the rooms in City Bayview hotel just across the road from where we were. The school band, previously known as the Corps of Pipes and Drums, played some of the best tunes, a real treat for many of us. Need I mention that these guys are champions in many competitions in conjunction with National Day? OVer 40 weeks of schooldays a year and one would be forgiven to think that boredom do creep, after all things repeat themselves. Not for me though. It seems that if fun doesn't come, we'd go searching for it, and in the process got ourselves into trouble. Boys will be boys, eh?

The 19th will come upon us in a few more days and it'll mark the end of the La Sallian tradition - one which governs our day to day function in school and without. Bro Paul Ho, the last of the La Salle teaching brothers will call it a day and will have extra hours on Play Station now. I have, with a few friends, visited the school since leaving in 2004 and I must say that each time we went back, there are changes. The pleasant ones would be some upgrades and refurbishments to certain areas of the school. The quadrangle area where we played street soccer (we play it anywhere with space to spare) now has fences. Ah, something akin to the "cage match" in wrestling. Bring it on, grrr...

Quadrangle, this and a few others are places we let it all out. Really, whenever there's a space to spare; two goalpost markers and we're off (Source: Obnoxious 5xmom)

We're not going to deceive ourselves that things will remain the same forever, though. We have more teachers now. By more, I mean those that are out of sync with the La Salle tradition. I've heard comments on their working attitudes and just how far they're willing to go for the school and the students. Certainly, the breed of Xaverians/La Sallians are dying off. Balding old boys retired and dedicated "college" teachers are calling it a day. Math, Chemistry, Biology; it's time for them to see the world. I was wrong when I thought the new wave would take over and carry on the tradition. I'd just see it in their eyes - the motivation and the reason behind their being a teacher.

I'm sure that others like myself wouldn't just stand by and criticize the post-La Sallian brother administration but fervently wish that the Ministry doesn't send more out of sync fellas.

There goes part of my life in my beloved alma mater, a place I call home and a place I still have yearnings for.

Operation Aphrodite

Thursday, June 11, 1200 HRS: The first bomb was dropped and detonated right on the predetermined target. Such was its precision that it tore through the balmy afternoon in Universiti Sains Malaysia. Collateral damage was almost nil thanks to the inertial guidance system similar to the one used in the US Peacekeeper missile. The target below was totally caught off guard and no one preempted that although intelligence report and intercepted chatters showed increased activity and border skirmishes. Amid the daze and disbelief it was revealed that over 18 months ago, the frequent communication originating from Kuala Lumpur to the Lorraine Region of France actually paved the way for Thursday's operation. It was perhaps the most devastating after Shock and Awe in Iraq back in 2003. A second smaller but similar one is expected to be detonated exactly 20 hours after the first. The number of casualties weren't immediately known but it'd take a few days before communications destroyed by the resulting shockwave could be up and running again.

In the epicenter - in a room packed with 14 scientists and pseudoscientists to be exact - it came as a complete surprise. I was in that room when halfway through some idle chats it happened. It came like any other flying object, guised in a harmless whirr; almost quiet even as the chain reaction was set in motion. Air around me seemed to be sucked away and voices around me seemed so distant. The heart fluttered and for a moment, I lost my ability to speak and sat there staring into space.

"Is this it?", I asked myself. The other 13 seemed to be in some sort of a trance. Some forced themselves to smile and some in genuine disbelief. And then someone pressed the "Play" button.

I went to an eatery serving Hakka noodle (I had yam rice actually), ate and discussed the day's happening. Driving home, I kept thinking of what transpired between 1200 HRS and 1245HRS. Part of me still reeling from the news.

I'm speechless. Blank. Questions came thick and fast. Where? When? How? What? My supervisor: She has come a long way; seen a great deal of things and having most inflicted on her. On some days, the gloom seemed overwhelming. Now this news? No one knew, at 1200 HRS, how to react. It was a complete surprise, the sort when your company's CEO says, "We're closing down in a month's time". Before we adjourned and part ways, we tried throwing some questions at her hoping she'd enlighten us. Alas, some went unanswered.

Entering Vale of Tempe and its snaking road, I wound my windows down and I find the air hitting my face refreshing. I smiled. My wish is granted. Though the disbelief and the surprise still lingers, it was the most pleasant thing I've heard in months.

There she stood in her orange-red baju kurung, our supervisor began...

"Everyone here already?"

Half leaning on the wooden table by the window, arms folded, she continued, "Mark your calendar on July 11. You guys are free to come over to my house..."

I could see the word "barbecue" in bold on everyone's forehead.

Dread came upon us when it wasn't "barbecue" which came out.

"My house in Perak", she said. After a moment's pause, she dropped the radar-guided smart bomb, grinning, "I'm getting married."

By the time this one is published, the second metaphoric bomb will be detonated in and around the varsity; thus claiming more casualties after the university's student selection disaster. She specifically said, "Keep this among yourselves. I'll drop the bomb on them (colleagues) tomorrow."

So, to my project supervisor Dr Normi Yahaya, a heartiest congratulations as you take the plunge into the married life. A sacred institution established by God, and one that's meant to last. Be blessed and have a great time ahead.

Cloak of Power

My intense aversion towards rape notwithstanding, I'm of the opinion that the right to be presumed innocent until proven guilty be extended to suspects remanded to "assist" in investigations.

Yes, we know sometimes that such buggers got off the hook when we know full well he did it. But for the Enforcers to play the role of Executioner isn't appropriate to say the least. For anyone who has watched the anime Death Note, I'm sure some of you, throughout the series, may tend to side with Light. I did too. Back in the real world, I don't condone the act of taking the law into one's hand.

It's true these officers may know that this guy is guilty but they're bound to act within the provisions of the law. The only thing that separates them from the street thugs are badges and uniforms.

Speaking of uniforms and authority, I've met with uniformed personnel almost daily and I've got to say this: This pathetic men think the world is beneath their soles and you only need at most 30 seconds to experience how patronizing they are towards the supposed "inferior" students.

Oh, how envious I am towards my fellow students of Middle Eastern descent. And I have, for the past 3 years, asked what is it that I've done wrong to warrant such behaviour from the men in blue. I'm not stupid to just blare things without unsubstantiated, err, proof. I observe things in the lab and I bring that with me outside the lab. I've seen enough: the partiality, the unfairness, the reserved-politeness, and whatnot.

There must be some sort of complex in them that causes them to think that the uniform brings with it power and authority. If the university academics take pride in their prefix, then the guards their uniform. Again, I'm stereotyping and bundling the good ones together with the bad apples but what choice do I have? If nine out of ten cars in Penang are black, what are the chances you'd find a black car when you cross the road?

The uniform doesn't mean anything. If any, it only means that you're bound by law and code of conduct. And you wouldn't need a uniform or a manual to learn courtesy, respect, and fair treatment. You're very much flesh and blood beneath; and let not your nakedness show further.

End of An Eventful Three Months

"You may begin now". I thought I hear that all the time; beginning from primary one right up to my final year in varsity. Of course it wasn't in English all the time.

It's a novel thing, personally. Though the amount of preparation is crazy and literally back-breaking, the examination marks the end of an eventful 3-month stint at Disted.

For every lesson, these 20-odd fellas remind me, in every way, the time when I was sitting in their places albeit in school uniforms and more covered up (I'm talking about shoes here). I can understand the dryness (read boring) that comes with the lesson and the sleepyheads. The knowing nod and absence of blank faces is perhaps the most rewarding thing.

Some thought being called "sir" is, you know, dignified. But I'd rather they address me by my name but too bad no one did. For the record, a handful calls me "teacher". Gosh!

Whatever it is, things have nearly come to an end. Another 30 minutes or so and their battle is over. A delight to "see" myself in a third person cracking my head and writing so quickly. I noticed, too, that two of my students, like myself, are left-handed.

My weekend will be spent in Turky marking their papers but after a hectic but memorable three months, time for a break. I'd bring with me the sights and sound of AS Biology in DISTED, the sleepy ones, the bright ones and the quiet ones. Truly, a class of 20 with myriads of personalities, just like that of amino acids and proteins.

Yesterday Again

Depending on how you see it, June 4 until June may be, in a way, significant. June 4 this year marks the 20th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square protest; or rather the day the military sent tanks to disperse students and intellectuals. Information is available on the web and I wouldn't add anymore to it.

It's just that I'm bemused how the Chinese government could block access to various internet sites because its June 4. With their Ping Pong Diplomacy to reach out to the world, opening up and forming ties, its funny how controlled and calculated these attempts at "reform" are. Going into the tenth year of the 21st century, everyone sees how everything is controlled and anything critical of the Communist party is severely dealt with. All these occur daily beneath the lustre of vast development. More freedom of information wouldn't hurt the republic would it? Guess they' felt threatened. After all, a reform-minded Gorbachev worked to the dissolution of the Soviet Union.

Enter June 6, the year 1944.
It marked the day the Allied forces landed along the coast in Normandy, known popularly as D-Day. It was the largest seaborne invasion at the time and was part of a military campaign known as Operation Overlord and an important part of the Allied forces' battle in the European Theater during WWII; which culminated in the Liberation of Paris. Memorials are set up and the events remembered up until today. Nobody attempted to play down any events during WWII and countries like Germany and Japan do acknowledge their war past and seek reconciliation.


To sum it all up, history could be a good teacher only if we're willing to own up and subject ourselves to it.

A word of caution though, history is interpreted differently depending on how one sees it. Taking war for instance, history is a pride for the victors and humiliation for the defeated ones. Often, history is written, rather subjectively, by the victors. Which brings me to the point that one should view things from every angle and yet be enthralled as the events are replayed.

I am.

A Day in Northern India

It was a hot afternoon but surprisingly blustery. The two groups reached the destination at different times. Scents of burning charcoal and firewood greeted us besides the trays of food and pots of curry lined up inside the restaurant.

We've exhausted our ideas on the venues for lunch and gotten bored with the usual haunts when Mimi came up with the idea of eating flatbread and chicken cooked out from a tandoor, hence our location on Friday.

Poring over the menu, we're really spoilt for choice and by the time orders were taken and food served, behold, each was essentially different but one thing's for sure, they all looked red and with a generous helping of raw onions and carrots.

Everyone chowed down intently with occasional giggles when the fellas, seated opposite of each other, eyed their counterparts and perhaps they way they eat. I was using my hands; yes, two hands. I just can't break up my food into small morsels with one hand without having to risk deforming them. Imagine, with the gravy around, it'd be like pouring water on a slice of bread and then mash them up. I looked in awe how Mimi, Syura and Firdaus separating flesh from bones (literally) skillfully.

The said fingers. Notice the flower motive in the background. I wonder why so many laughed at the batik.

Kak Mimi looked up, smiled, and said, "Ni-lah yang dipanggil expert".

"Yeah," I said. " Takpe, I guna kedua-dua belah tangan. Lagipun tangan kiri I tak digunakan."
She nodded knowingly with a smile. The three fingers on my right hand are lightly stained with a beautiful hues of orange and red as I'm typing although the scent of chicken tikka and garlic is gone now.

This is the umpteenth time we from the same lab had our meals together. Of course, we don't do that everyday. Sometimes, we'd get food and snacks for one another. Someone remarked to me about how warm this lab seems to be when she started work in here.

Syura, Yours truly, Kak Mimi

This lab is warm... I've never been close with Malay before, hugging them, having lunch or dinner together...

- One-zero, through an e-mail correspondence

Surely, a display of affection and love takes place at the most insignificant of places. In the market. At the bus station. In our case, the lab. And even in restrooms. I don't know what to call this thing but it is popularly known unity or perpaduan as it is called in the national language.

Like I said, what we see in the media isn't unity in all its essence. It's somewhat staged. Orchestrated. Scripted. Call it what you want but I still think it's superficial. There isn't a single criterion which will scream out "It's unity!" but rather a relationship between human beings established and held by love, concern, and respect for one another. Does the story above becomes meaningful only because it involves individuals having the names Firdaus or Syura? And emphatic no. It doesn't have to do with race or creed. Often, we're given the picture and idea of colours when it comes to preaching about unity. Why? To put it simply, everyone should be taught love and respect. And that's about all to it.

There's nothing in the English (or any other language) lexicon that could sum up the warmth, and the mirthful moments we have with others. That, like all kinds of relationships can only be tagged rather frivolously but only by experience could one comprehend it.

The Square Root of Three

A creative way of using numbers, math and the like in the scripts of Harold and Kumar: Escape from Guantanamo Bay. No praises or abuses but I find it better than Scary Movie. Square root of three... I'd never have thought of it up to this point. No thanks, in part, to my dislike for numbers. But I love The Oxford Murders to bits! Some say it's credited to David Feinberg but whoever composed that, it's clever. Here goes, behold the Theodorus' constant:

I fear that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
A three is all that's good and right
Why must my three keep out of sight

Beneath a vicious square-root sign?
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick
With just some quick arithmetic

I know I'll never see the sun as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality

When, hark, just what is this I see?
Another square root of a three

Has quietly come waltzing by
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
And with a wave of magic wands

Our square-root signs become unglued
And love for me has been renewed