Come hither, shadows from the yonder

The last gasoline lamp is dimmed for the night. A shadow is dancing in the kitchen, given life by the flickering candle. Wayne walked coolly towards the swing door, past some cigarette stubs and blotches of dried ale and spilled beer. Dull thuds are heard from the kitchen, washed mugs placed atop some wooden surface.

He sat below the swing door just behind a worn rocking chair. He scribbled on the dust covered wooden panel. Still quiet like he has always been, save for some occasional utterance. The moonlight showers him and casts a long shadow behind him. The air is still and dry, typical of the West. It's only going to get colder as the night progresses.

Sometimes he'd just lay there and fell asleep. On other nights, he'd stare intently into the distance - a dark void in the dead of the night. He has better vision than most inhabitants of the small town. Sometimes, he moonlights as an astronomer under the moonlight but he couldn't make out the shapes in the dark expanse above.

Many hours ago, the place was alive with gleeful chatters from the customers and occasional roars from boisterous miners. He'd find comfort amidst the hubbub. When the last light is snuffed out, then loneliness creeps in. It's almost a routine.

Yet, faithful Wayne continues waiting. Expecting. Hoping. Patiently. No one asks why. No one bothers to. Some sensitive souls would stop, observe and tried to make out his mind. Then they'd go on with their business. Tonight, like any other nights, Wayne sat there. Scanning around and observing the wood grains on the swing door and then shifts his attention towards the dark horizon in front. Soon, it'll explode into a vivid orange fireball but for now he'd just relish his quiet moments alone.

Around his neck is a pendant inscribed with: John. And beneath it: the observer. He licks his paws and swings his tail. And he waits.

Of the Palm Court and the Bell Tower

September 24, 2008
...hey bro... u must come down to kl for my wedding yeah

April 20, 2009

Hellos!

How are you doing!

You are invited to join our wedding countdown and celebrate this awesome moment with us as we get closer to our wedding day! Things are getting more and more exciting as we are getting closer and closer to start a new season of life together!

Now, I'm not sure about others but it's always nice to reminisce. There bound to be something to trigger that; to be sucked back to the sepia-hued days complete with an echo to every conversations and laughter.

Kevin came by the other day to USM for a meal and some catching up with Chris and myself. We're talking about the now and the then and how time really, oh well, flies. I guess we're a bunch of losers to relive our days in school over and over again but guess again, perhaps it's the one thing that'd never bore.

Back to the wedding, it's between Yee Lin (I'm used to this than the ang-moh name) and Jon (her fiance, and I addressed him like I've known him for a long time). I have photographs of my schooldays and flipping over, everyone was so young. Some with mischevious grins. Some with glistening eyes, knowing where they're headed next. Some are, well, clueless and blur. The corridor at the Palm Court along which we sit. Then we're in and out of varsity. Then we hear from the grapevine of so-and-so, of this and of that. Myself being treated to a pleasant surprise: the first message in the opening line of this post.

Their blog sure is a unique thing; to invite people to be part of their journey to the grand day. If the Catholics have the 12 Stations of the Cross, I have my stations of sort; one where I relive each point in life and how "old" everyone has become.

So, to the betrothed, I wish you a most enjoyable journey as you guys put the pieces together and lay that foundation towards a very sweet and blessed life together. I'm sure everyone like me are excited about the when the clapper strikes the resonating surface of the bell.

Mr Minty Breath

To a friend, a fruit: Litchi chinensis

Air drawn and exhaled
Formed odd shapes in the dead of night
A stake raised, a scream, a push with all his might
Poor guy lay motionless, impaled

'Twas during the afternoon
In the mall amidst the colourful festoon
That the attentive eye caught the rascal
Bottle in one hand, crept menacingly towards a girl

A sinister smile formed across his face
An equally evil grin carved a distance away
The unfolding drama, the observer, doesn't seem to faze
Continued chewing, waiting as the day gives way

He stumbled along the glistening pavement
He strode quietly, still chewing, preparing judgment
A tap on the shoulder and a blow to the cheek
Bundled into the trunk and driven to a creek

As he lay atop gravels and grass
He regretted his words so crass
Bloody thigh impaled, he won't meet Death
But tonight, he met Terror with a minty breath

What's in a name?

What's in a name? What's to a position? What's fancy with titles? I believe the net and the papers are abuzz with news of Amanda Holden, oh no, I mean Susan Boyle since her performance on the 11th this month. She now has her Wikipedia page (so has Amanda Holden). Ok, let's not digress shall we?

I guess the time has come for Miss Boyle to be in the spotlight after years of sneers, jeers and cruel teasings; even up until the moment before her it-gave-me-goosebumps performance - a rendition of I Dreamed a Dream. With a whopping 19 million views and increasing on Youtube, I'm sure many saw the cynical faces on some audience when she said she wants to be as famous as Elaine Paige.

"What? A professional singer? Did she say Elaine Paige? ", uttered Cynic #1 to her friend.
"I think so. She needs an examination up there I think", came the reply from unseen Mocker #2

Many hoped to see another William Hung. To get a good laugh over some dorky performance like we're so used to seeing them in many talent shows. We (the audience in the hall and on Youtube) hoped to fall down on the floor laughing but the opposite happened. I'm not sure of the adjective to use I think it was stunning, almost ethereal, the moment she sang the first line: I dreamed a dream in time gone by...

Wow! What else could I say? The cliched "don't judge a book by it's cover"? Or "don't be an ass and think you're so dang good"? So yeah, what's in a name or a title? Is it arrogance or meekness? The former I've seen almost everyday. Come May, I'd be seeing more when viva voce goes full swing.

So, let us dream and keep dreaming. To live that dream and to hope. Not to idle away but to be encouraged that as we function in our own niche, we'd be safe from the vultures. Oh, I'm not making sense anymore. Her performance is playing right now and I'm just mesmerized by it, and Amanda too. Ah, a lovely Friday evening.

Deceiving Yet Unstoppable

Its hands stopped moving
That very moment I knew it's got to get going
Running, floating, rowing, I don't know, perhaps it does nothing?
I could never fathom, imagination diminishing.

It stopped and I stooped
Viscid mire swallowed my boot
I sat down and pulled over my hood
I could never fathom, how could I, in despairing mood?

It stopped moving and I walked stooping
I thought it's gone and I lay incapacitated, begrudging
Then I felt the unseen, all along, moving
I could never fathom, how stupid, that it's actually not waiting

How many could understand the unseen?
Or to experience and to witness the "always have been"?
Even as we began to realize and grasp clumsily at its hem
I could now fathom; that it means being left in its wake

Time, it's been said, waits for no man. The author tried to understand the unseen time and how it moves. How everything is relative to it. Like the waves and billows, it gets messy and complicated when one tries to imagine and understand the beginning of time. Time moves forward but I would find comfort in that time leaves its mark; a message sounding "I was here". Time begets memory. The latter being a stationary form of a dynamic time and I'm not making any sense anymore.

I have with me a dead watch yet life goes on. Like that watch, my life is full of "dead watches" too but I couldn't spend too much time holding on to it. I'd just put them up for display on my desk and wall.

Time: Unstoppable yet deceiving. Deceiving because its swiftness created an illusion of a still dimension. Having said that, I hope that with time I'd make more sense when I speak or write.

Duh Police

The Police. We'll leave no stones unturned. Nothing swept under the carpet. No skirts not lifted.

Classic responses when the people's anger boils over. Instead of having to give excuses and extraordinary explanations, why don't the police just outlaw the use of force on suspects? Whatever happened to the IPCMC? How can the police threaten to give the vote to the Opposition if the IPCMC were to be formed? Brutality, corruption, and inefficiency. These aren't perception, mister. These are facts and everyone is tired of listening to them. Rebranding, renaming, or re-motto-ing; such exercises whilst using money will never change anything if excellence, morality, and uprightness isn't hammered into them. It boils the blood when we see deaths in custody followed by bizarre excuses with a smirk. After that, when it comes to turning the stones, magically, everything falls into place - nicely, I may add.

Not that I wish for someone to take the rap (I do actually)), but there must be someone to answer for the death (or deaths, over the years). Real answers and not denials masked by lousy excuses. Biasa-lah, let it simmer for a while and people will forget all about it soon, eh?

Life in Motion: Daddy and the Sharks

"Bienvenue en Marseille", the captain's voice rang out from the speakers
"Welcome to Marseille", came the English translation.
I took out the note from my shirt pocket and had another look at the places I'd like to see and things I'd love to do, if time permits. Notre-Dame de la Garde. Vieux Port. L'Estaque. The Mediterranean Cruise.

"Bienvenue en Marseille", the lady in uniform smiled when she returned my stamped passport. A golden eagle with the letters D and F below it looks really cool.
"Merci beaucoup", I replied before turning and heading towards the exit of the Marseille-Marignane, the fifth busiest airport in France.

"Would you like a taxi, Monsieur?", a balding man asked in a heavily accented English.
"Yes please", I replied and handed over the address of the hotel we're supposed to be heading to.
"Ah, the Vieux Port hotel. Let's go."

I was feeling all tired and groggy when awoken by the taxi driver. Not sure how long it took but I had a good forty winks. I handed 20 Euros to him and alighted. Checked in at the front desk and I'm already on the streets of Marseille.

I wanted to see for myself this place. After all, I've only seen rich men's boats on the marina of Monaco in the Monaco F1 GP on TV. So this is my chance to see for myself life in the port. The air was dry and cool. The sky is cloudless and breezy. Just right for some sightseeing.

In no time, I was sitting by the marina overlooking the sea; next to a few fishermen having a lively chat in a language so foreign to me. Marseille, today, has become a commercial port of sort. No longer like any other ports in the 18th century where we'd have labourers unloading the catch of the day. Now, big ships come in. By big, I meant huge - tuna ships. Just about three years ago, tuna ships blocked the Greenpeace flagship Rainbow Warrior from docking here at the port. From where I was, I could see the Notre-Dame de la Garde.

I looked out once more into the open sea. I could see ships and some birds hovering above them. Must be seagulls, I thought to myself. Do they have sharks around here? Not now, but back then perhaps? I began to daydream.

Not long ago when sharks are aplenty; when pirates practiced "walking the plank", there was a boy by the name... err... Jules. Befitting for a French. With his dad, Pietro, a French of Spanish descent, they began loading their mid-sized boat. The boy was excited, not knowing what the day would bring. He was hoping to feed the gulls when he return later. He was running to and fro, getting baits, lunchbox, a hat, a poncho, and a compass. His dad, puffing away on the boat could only look on.

They set sail and passerby could still hear the boy's glee and squeals as the boat moves away from the Old Port. Some women smiled and shook their heads. In the middle of the sea, Pietro was cautious. He have had some ugly encounters with the sharks and he'd better be careful. Alas, fate dealt mercilessly with them. The sharks began circling the boat and the boy was terrified. Squeals became a frightened whimper. Pietro tried to calm Jules and assured him that everything will be just fine. Knowing how sharks were, Pietro began emptying the lunchboxes and the baits hoping to satiate the sharks. Somehow, these creatures weren't the least interested.

That thought ended abruptly. The fishermen next to me pointed to my shoulder. To my horror, there was a freshly laid bird excrement. I got up and hastily searched for a public toilet. A great day! As I was wiping my sleeve, my mind drifted to little Jules and Pietro. How Pietro, in order to save himself, decided to throw Jules overboard. A heartless thing to do to his own flesh and blood but when one is cornered, the selfish fight-flight impulse kicks and a child is fed to the sharks.

I brought that story with me on to the Mediterranean Cruise. I was at the stern of the ship and I looked at the white trail made by the engine. Would I throw my child overboard? Will I make him or her walk the plank into the dark mouths of the sharks?

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur." A beautiful blonde attendant dressed up all in white greeted me with a tray of champagne-filled glasses on it. I declined politely. Beautiful. A mix of Norwegian, Swedish and the like I believe.
"Attends-moi, mademoiselle", I called out in broken French.

Swimming in the Sea of Self Pity? Don't!

I'm into Mandarin lately and I was listening to a song titled Rang Zi Ji Wei Xiao by Shi Xin Hui. One would be fooled into thinking it's some Barbie-girl song due to the upbeat melody and tempo. Somehow, unlike any other Mandarin composition so steep in flowery word, this one's quite easy to understand.

Listening and reading the lyrics (in pinyin of course) for the third time, I noticed upon the following:

zhe shi jie shei lai jue ding
shei bi shei hao
shei geng rong yao

How true. To loosely translate the above:

In this world, who determines whether one is better than the other, or who is more glorious / stood out more [from the crowd] . The word rong yao, to my understanding means glory (used in Christian literature but I'm not sure how it's used elsewhere).

Well? I'm thankful I find a little "advice" from the most unlikely of sources. Often, one would try so hard to fit into the mould made by other's. To follow what's hot and to flow with the current fad. It may be in the form of possessions. Or feel less than a turd because everyone is abroad studying, working. Now, who sets these standards i.e. good job, good looks, good clothing, branded apparels? Who says one have to have the aforementioned to be accepted?

Let's not try so hard to look good since if people are myopic, and most are, so be it.

[Looking into the mirror]: Julian, at least you appreciate music so just sit down and enjoy. If everyone plays, who listens? If that's the way you do things and you'd sleep at night then continue doing it. Man and his standards. People and their expectations. All of these amount to nothing more than to gratify their desire. Set out to do what you have planned and don't bother offering an explanation if in the first place they don't try to understand. Know that you can't meet all their expectations. It's pathetic how childish and selfish their school of thought is.

A Rustic Reveille

Goodbye to PM Abdullah and thanks for the many little contributions you've made throughout your tenure as the fifth PM of Malaysia. Now, regardless of whether I'm sincere or otherwise, my congratulations to the sixth PM of the country. That's about it.

I've been thinking of MCA's request of a second deputy PM and was amazed at such a request. It's both meaningless and lacked a long term goal. It only serves to satiate a selfish desire and for personal aggrandizement. Nothing concerning equality, none whatsoever. If MCA is serious about quashing the myth of the word "power sharing", it's not by installing a second deputy minister. It's by removing the "Race" column in all kinds of forms. The man on the street doesn't even care who is holding the No. 2 position since if policies and mentalities do not change, no point having someone there to purportedly "fight" for our rights. A true statesman will go all out for everyone in the country and if he or she can do that then what does the skin colour amount to? A Malay can lead if he has proven him/herself to be impartial and colour blind. Time has changed and I'm amazed how each and everyone of us are distinguished and recognized based on our names and our skin colour.

I don't know if the "One Malaysia" ideology will be just a fad which fizzles out but looking at how things were, I doubt it'll see any real changes. After all, the "Perpaduan" word had been used since time immemorial and it's just a word. Politicians use them and people of the same boat trample on it by their incendiary speeches. True unity is seen everyday by the road, at the mamak stall, in the work place and definitely not on the stage during National Day celebration nor in government functions. The former captures the real meaning of the word whilst the latter is just a gig. We're far from maturity. Everyone is selfish - on one side we have a group holding on to their rights and the other clamour for more power. Never shall the twain meet. Not in this lifetime.

I'm wary. Most speeches are rhetorics and hot air. Down the road, the captain forgot his bearing and the helm being taken over by schemers. As historic as it gets, one can only wait and see what'd be delivered.

Bye, Tun Abdullah. And thank you.

Bon Voyage: Journey to the Soul of Asia

Jules sat on the ledge gazing out into the sea
The paper flutter in the breeze, ever so gently
Grabbed a pen, straightened up, and lowered his hat
Thus he began writing, "Dear Nancy Marie-Yvette..."

I have but my best wishes
For the trip to the conference
May Spring brings, to you, renewal and rejuvenation
To cheer, encourage, and gird - for another confrontation
So, onward march into Seoul
And I bid thee annyeonghi kashipshio

A short note by Jules it is
Hoping to enliven and to bring peace
He folded the paper and tossed it into the light
It caught the breeze and then took flight