AverDim

The Big Goofy Eared Buddy

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 16:34:05 GMT

You cannot imagine the relief I had felt when I had finally parked my car in front of No. 6. He has been in my mind the entire day. I could not concentrate proof-reading the submission, I did not have the appetite for lunch. All I wanted to do was to return to him.

I dumped my laptop bag onto the chair and got changed. I showered her first, as usual, then finally him. They did not get their weekend bath, you see. When he circled her as I shampooed her, I could already smell him. That stench that I have been fearing since 3 weeks ago. That stench that came back to haunt the both of us while I was away for the four days.

I could see that he was trying his best not to bite me as I attempted to finally clean the ear. He was nipping at my hands, pulling at the towel. He was agitated, he could not stay still. He seemed like he just wanted to sink his big teeth into something.

I dried him off and tied him while we wait for my mum to come pick us. In a sudden fit, he bit the ropes that held him captive and pulled so hard that two of his teeth fell out. They plunked onto the floor just like that, two massive canines staring jaggedly at me. Blaming me for their premature death.

My mum could sense that the both of us were angry with her for being late. I was going bonkers looking at the clock and wishing that she would arrive faster. My baby was in pain. My baby is going crazy. Mummy, hurry up. My baby wants me to stop this thing that is without my powers.

We got to the vets finally. He tut-tutted. At me, most probably. I�m such a horrible owner. His right ear was infected again. I have been taking utmost care of that ear. When I wake up each morning after that last medical procedure some 3 weeks back, I brushed my teeth and went downstairs to apply the creams and drops into his ears, and wrestled him down to spray the repellent that he hates so much. I repeated the ritual when I return from work. Shoving the pill down his throat twice a day proved much easier, surprisingly.

But here he was. In a worse state than before. Just because I had left him for four days, for four rainy days. The maggots in his ear this time round is apparently larger. They irritated him so much that he scratched his ear till it bled, continuously. Coupled with the bacteria, they were eating his ear slowly. I am now just praying that they have not gotten to his ear-drums.

As the doctor prodded his ear, he was whining like a sick puppy, shoving his head between my armpits like he always does when afraid. He wants his eyes closed, he wants that familiar feel or something warm around his muzzle. So he whined as I whispered empty promises to him that this ordeal would be the last, wriggling as he was.

It was gut-wrenching to see my beautiful baby crippled in such a manner. His eyes were forlorn, allowing only glimpses of a glimmer. I left him there only hours ago, at the vet�s. The procedure to remove the maggots is scheduled for tomorrow, and he will be there for a couple more days.

I returned home to see his blood all over the house. His usual sleeping spot. The floor of the porch. The walls by the shoe rack. The pots. My slippers. The rug. God.

You know, dogs really are not just mere play things. You cannot buy them and keep them just because they look cute, and then neglect them and leave them to die when they have outgrown your fancy. Dogs are not just mere animals. They are friends. They are partners. They are companions. That bond a master shares with a dog is something so very precious and unbreakable.

If you know of anybody thinking of buying a dog like a German Shepherd, a Rockweiller, a Dane or other similar big dogs, please tell them to think thoroughly. they are some of the most amazing living creatures in the world. They are intelligent, they are loyal. But they take a great load of TLC and patience.

I did not consider my leaving to be a big problem when we bought my baby. I mean, how hard can a dog be, right? When I had left for Manchester, he longer got his regular walks, he no longer got the proper scrubs and rubs he needs for his skin, he no longer got his regular brushing, he no longer got his teeth brushed. He no longer got the regular and proper cleaning those massive ears need. Nobody plays tug of war with him anymore. When I returned, his skin was dry and flaky: fungal. His ears were not pink. He was abound with energy, energy he could only release onto the tiny Terrier at home.

I guess in retrospect, the family cannot be blamed for this. It was probably not them that decided on my baby. I have been thinking that this home is probably no longer adequate for him. I wish I could bring him with me. I wish I could have him cuddled by me during those cold winter nights.

Dogs are not simple creatures. They are not toys. They are like babies. To be loved, to be cared for. To be understood, to be given friendship.

Now I just hope that that silly thing would come back to me with that big goofy ears of his all pricked up.

Triple Revolution

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 08:57:08 GMT

We are now only arguably emerging, albeit barely, from the final throes of one of the worst global economic crisis the modern world has experienced. It is now the time for rebuilding, to pick ourselves up from the mud, rinse through and be reborn. The land now is fertile, like the bush having been eaten up by a blaze so strong only Mother could create. It is a time when the ashes of our past is to be used to allow for a rapid growth of a new, stronger generation. It is a time when the greens born of hope sapplings begin to dot the scarred land as the smoke slowly disappears. It is supposed to be a time of slow unveiling of the butterfly that has long been encased in its silk.

The sudden jolt to the position of the world's economic superpowers have left some in disarray, and most unable to substantiate their current placings in the world rankings. Many are left with empty influences that are based on matters of the past, based on finances that are long gone, and based on promises that can surely never be realised. This is a time when the bold, the agressive, the dreamers, can reach out from the bottom rungs and climb up the very real new world order. This is the perfect moment for worms to become dragons. In a time when new alliances are made, new forts being build, new lands being claimed, new viable alternatives being forged, the underdogs will finally have their day to make their stamp.

In relation to many of our more developed neighbours and that of the western world, Malaysia is in a surprisingly good position amidst this economic scare. Our reserves are typical, our commerce have not been as badly hit due to our Asean and Asian fallbacks/links. Our strategic locations and cheap natural resources can be worked to our advantage: trade-routes, cheap tourism, cheaper labour, cheaper manufacturing.

I have to say, there is no better time than now to make a move and finally get a freaking slice of the world. While the rest of the developed world is slowly cutting their losses, rebranding and regrouping to reestablish their lost emminence, we should mound a thorough offense with our current upperhand. Sure, we won't be the new superpower, but we can finally set a strong and viable groundwork for it!

But of course, we are not doing so. Instead, we are still squabbling amongst ourselves, within ourselves. We are still arguing about the same things since before the British left our shores as colonials. We are still arguing who can be called Malaysians. We are still arguing about languages. We are still arguing about which race is superior. We are still arguing about sensitivity. We are still arguing about boundaries. We are still arguing about unfairness. We are still arguing about who the rightful minister is.

Really now. What we should be arguing is about how to take advantage of the Americans and make them strike a deal with us that is very much in our favour! We should be arguing about how to promote Malaysian tourism to the Brits! We should be arguing about how much we should be charging the Singaporeans for our services in light of their sudden vulnerability! We should be arguing about how we can now make the Ringgit:USD ratio somewhat closer to 2:1!!! Make international policies favourable to Malaysians for Malaysians. Sow the seeds now when the land has been tilled for us!

But we are not. Why is this so?

I think it has to do with what I term the Triple Revolutions. The recipe to a great nation is simple: politically, economically, socially. Every great nation has these three components freed of oppression. All these three components are separate, and each must reach its own independence in order for a nation to realise its dreams of greatness.

Malaysia (the then Malaya) went through a political revolution of sorts when it sought independence from the British. It was a radical change. Dear God, the Malays, Chinese and Indians were united to free the nation from the 'evil' clutches of the whites!! They, for a moment, are no longer at each other's necks! But this truce is merely a political one, and one that will subsist as long as there is a political need for it. Its goals are political, and nothing else. Nevertheless, this political revolution ensured our independence as a nation, it gave us our sovereignty. Hence the first of the triple revolution, the political revolution, given us our political independence.

We were then merely a land putting out ores tilled from our lands and raw materials planted and tapped. We were merely agricultural in the economic sense. It took us several decades and some major risk taken far beyond our comfort zone as small minded peasants to make our little mark on the world industrial map. Ridiculous (for that time) policies were made and stuck to, and a nation unknowingly held its breath for a frutiion that will only be realised many years later. History shows that these gambles taken were taken well. This risky economic revolution have transformed Malaysia from a mere agricultural nation to one that now produces its own car (albeit from 'stolen' technology), produces electronics, manufactures clothes, exports petroleum and so on. The second element of the Triple Revolution, the economical revolution, has gave Malaysia its economical independence.

This double revolution has got us to where we are now. We are now a nation that is sovereign, we make our own rules, we decide how we live and die. We are now a nation that is independant of other industrial nations around the world for manufactured products, we are no longer at the absolute mercy of the 'developed countries' in the economic sense. We no longer need to beg the British to buy our rubber, nor the Americans to buy our oil. They don't want it, their lost.

We are now a sovereign, and fairly rich.

But we are far from even being a dot in the world, let alone a superpower. Singapore, no larger than our Federal Territory, is often the name we use when describing to foreigners where we come from. They often remember Malaysia as that place they flew over from Singapore to Thailand. Even though we have greater ports than in Singapore with top-class facilities, the world would still rather go to the island. We have amazing natural resources, but we have no idea where they go.

We are a sovereign, economically independant nation with a pre-historic mentality. We are, in the literal sense, fuckwits. We are still not the presence our potential allows us to be because we let people fuck with our brains and are happy because they did not rob our decency by buggering us instead. We let our politicans tell us as a society what is allowed and what is not. We let the world tell us that we are inconsequential. We let our subconscious tell us that the Singaporeans are better than us just because of their kiasu nature.

As a society, we are not independant. We cannot think for ourselves. We have to let others do the thinking for us. We let others decide what is best for us. But hey, do you go to the doctors and ask them if your hand hurts?

It is high time that we embrace the third revolution, the social revolution. It is never too late. It is about time that we start thinking for ourselves, and to start telling the politicians who work for us what we want, what we need. To tell them straight to their asses (where most of their brains are) that we are taking jackshit from them. It is high time that we do not listen to people who tell us that we are racists, that we should hate our neighbours who are a darker or lighter shade to us. It is hightime that we speak our mind, voice our opinions, and fight for our rights as a free society. It is when a nation that is socially free from the grasps of selfish powers with vested interest that we can begin to flourish, where the goal of the political and economical independence garnered to be focus for the betterment of the nation, the society as a whole, across the freaking board.

It is high time that we come together as Malaysians, let our cultures blend beautifully like the ice kacang that we love. It is about time that we tell people that it is alright to put your arm around your brothers and sisters of a different colour and religion. Put our differences away.

Many may gawk at this. It may even be weird to some. That is why it is called a revolution. Only when we are independent in a social sense, will we realise our true potential. A utopia will not be that farfetched anymore.

The Hee Hee Ha Ha Police Force

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 04:34:03 GMT

"Is it true that all your recollections of the event of 2001 is highly dependant on that official report?"

"Yes, it is true."

"So, do you agree that since it was not written in this very brief looking report that you did brief the suspects and the witnesses on the procedures and purposes of the Identification Parade, it is highly unlikely that the said briefing took place?"

"I disagree."

"But surely if you had done it, you would have written it, agree?"

"I disagree. I may not have reported it, but I definitely did it according to procedure."

"But how can you precisely remember an event that happened in 2001? You just said that all of your recollections of the said event is highly dependant on the official report that is in your hands right now."

"...I stand by my stance."

"So is it also true that since it was not reported here how the suspects were brought into the Identification Parade room, there is a possibility that the witnesses would already have seen the suspects prior to identification?"

"I disagree."

"The same could also be said of the clothing and tidiness of the suspects. Were they given proper attire and slippers and opportunity to shave (since they are Indians) since they are all in lock-up?"

"Yes, they were."

"But you can't be 100% sure, since it was not written in the report, and that you have identified earlier that your recollections are based on the report?"

"I...disagree."

This kind of incident in a court hearing would result in the credibility of the evidence to be highly compromised. The police officer's laziness casts a doubt over the integrity and quality of the Identification Parade, and hence one of the main evidence supporting the prosecution's case can safely be said to now be nugatory.

While this issue is small in this current case, defence lawyers have been known to win their cases on such technical terms. In essence, they win not because their clients are not-guilty (I am not implying otherwise), but because the wrong charges were filed, because the police officers had not performed their duties accordingly, because the investigating officers had not filed in a proper report to back their claims, because some evidence had not been stored properly and had been compromised, because the corporal had not jotted down the service tags of the confiscated chips hence have no way of linking them to the robbers and the list just goes on and on and on.

It is repulsive. In just a week and a half in the courts in Klang, Shah Alam, Kuala Selangor and even Kuala Lumpur, you have no idea how many of this technical loopholes defence lawyers have taken advantage of.

While of course I do not want my mentor to lose his case, but I highlighted to him that to win a case on technical grounds is just plain disturbing. We could be letting real murderers walk free just because a proper documentation was not filed!!

He looked at me with a grin and shrugged. "That's how the ball is played right now."

I thought aloud then, "Well, at least after that grilling you gave that sergeant just now, he will be more proactive and attentive in his future duties. I guess even if the prosecution lost this case based on that ground of technicality and the shortcomings of the judiciary were to release a real robber into the streets, at least in future this officer will not let a murderer go due to his lackadaisical efforts."

"You'd be surprised. This is the second time I am questioning this same officer on the very same matter. The first time was before 2001, before this case that is."

Speechless, don't you think? The current minimum qualification to enter into the police force is completing Secondary 3. To say that the police officers we are churning out now are plain stupid might be a little harsh, but it is beyond doubt that the collective quality is way below par.

We need smarter police officers. We need disciplined police officers. There was a time when the force was filled with respected individuals. They may not have been the brightest people, but they are honourable, they have integrity. Even some of the then 'licensed gangsters' were terrifyingly effective. Right now, the force can safely be said to be made up of high-school drop-outs in the complete sense. They are not academically sound enough to pursue upper secondary, they are not well-liked enough to get a job as an office-boy. Societal unwanteds who have nothing better to do. No wonder the PDRM are scorned and laughed at these days. No wonder the helm sways in the slightest breeze. I fear that this is now the common assumption of the force, and one that I cannot seem to disagree with.

Just when I thought the force cannot get any worse, I keep realising my own fears! First, you hardly see them catching any bad guys. Now I find out that when they actually do catch them, these bad guys can easily escape justice because some kapchai police mandek forgot how to spell.

Farcical. A total farce.

We Need a Social Revolution

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 03:15:06 GMT

From the New York Times

*Took the words right out of my mouth. We need a social revolution*

By MARJANE SATRAPI

Published: July 3, 2009

PARIS � Six years ago, I went to listen to a man, whom I will not name, in a caf� in Paris.

He said it had been 24 years since he had been back to Iran, that he had to leave right after the revolution of 1979 for political reasons.

He talked of many things, and he ended by saying: �Once you leave your homeland, you can live anywhere, but I refuse to die anywhere other than Iran � or else my life will have had no meaning.�

His statement touched me very deeply. I�ve thought about what he said, not just understanding him intellectually but feeling his meaning with all my heart. I, too, was convinced that I must die nowhere other than in my country, Iran, or else my life will also be meaningless.

At the time I heard this man speak, it had already been four years since I had been home.

Yes, I call Iran home because no matter how long I live in France, and despite the fact that I feel also French after all these years, to me the word �home� has only one meaning: Iran.

I suppose it�s that way for everyone: Home is the place where one is born and raised.

No matter how much I am in love with Paris and its indescribable beauty, Tehran with all its ugliness will in my eyes forever be the �bride� of all cities around the world.

It�s a question of geography, of the smell of the rain, of the things we know without ever having to think why we know them.

It�s a question of the Alborz Mountains protecting my town. Where are they? Who will protect me now?

It�s a question of the unbearable smell of pollution, a smell I know so well.

It�s a question of knowing that the blue of the sky is not the same everywhere, nor does the sun shine the same way in every place.

It�s a question of wanting to be able to walk under my own blue sky, of wanting my own sunshine to caress my back.

At the time I heard that man speak it had already been four years since I had been home. Today it has been more than 10 years. To be precise, 10 years, six months and three days.

During all that time, I believed I would live a few more decades without ever being able to walk in my mountains. But 18 days ago, June 12, 2009, something happened, something I never believed I would see in my lifetime: Iranians, crowding into an extremely tiny space of democracy, usually left just large enough for them to vote for a president whom the Guardian Council had already approved, truly voted.

The question much of the media asked before the election was: �Are Iranians ready for democracy?�

�YES!� came the answer, loud and oh, so clear.

With a voter turnout of 85 percent, they started to dream that change was possible.

They started to believe �Yes they can,� too.

It�s likely needless to remind you that this was not the first time Iranians showed how much they love freedom. Look only at the 20th century: They launched the Constitutional Revolution of 1906 (the first in Asia); nationalized the oil industry in 1951 (the first Middle Eastern country to do so); mounted the revolution of 1979; and engineered the student revolt of 1999. Which brings us to now, and that deafening cry for democracy.

Almost 20 years ago, when I started studying art in Tehran, the very idea of �politics� was so frightening that we didn�t even dare think about it. To talk about it? Beyond belief!

To demonstrate in the streets against the president? Surreal!

Criticize the supreme leader? Apocalyptic!

Shouting �Down with Khamenei�? Death!

Death, torture and prison are part of daily life for the youth of Iran. They are not like us, my friends and I at their age; they are not scared. They are not what we were.

They hold hands and scream: �Don�t be afraid! Don�t be afraid! We are together!�

They understand that no one will give them their rights; they must go get them.

They understand that unlike the generation before them � my generation, for whom the dream was to leave Iran � the real dream is not to leave Iran but to fight for it, to free it, to love it and to reconstruct it.

They hold hands and scream: �We will fight! We will die! But we won�t be humiliated!�

They went out knowing that going to each demonstration meant signing their death warrants.

Today I read somewhere that �the velvet revolution� of Iran became the �velvet coup,� with a little note of irony, but let me tell you something: This generation, with its hopes, dreams, anger and revolt, has forever changed the course of history. Nothing is going to be the same.

From now on, nobody will judge Iranians by their so-called elected president.

From now on, Iranians are fearless. They have regained their self-confidence.

Despite all the dangers they said NO!

And I�m convinced this is just the beginning.

From now on, I will always say: Once you leave your homeland, you can live anywhere. But I refuse to only die in Iran. I will one day live in Iran...or else my life will have had no meaning.

MARJANE SATRAPI is a writer and filmmaker whose works include the book and film �Persepolis.� Her most recent graphic novel is �Chicken With Plums.�

The Time Particles

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 07:49:41 GMT

It�s already July. Where did the time go?

In another couple of months or so, I will be jetting back to Manchester for another stint.

The long used phrase �the year is short but the hours long� has been plaguing my mind like an incessant itch, more so during this summer holidays than ever.

Why does time during the summer holidays pass by so very fast? I have set in motion several experiments around the northern hemisphere to test my theory, and the results are indeed very promising, colluding with a suspicion I have been harbouring for ages now.

During summer, the total heat energy present in the immediate vicinity is considerably much higher than that of other seasons. The little-known-about time particles (as I would like to call them) present in the environment will absorb this energy (net energy movement to equilibrium), increasing in their vibration and rotation. Its kinetic energy invariably increases, evident in the haphazard movement of these minute particles shown in my experiments. Now for the icing. These time particles have a very unique relationship with all time-keeping contraptions. Their variation is directly proportional to the movement of these time-keeping mechanisms.

This theory would also explain why time seems to move much slower on rainy and gloomy days or during winter.

But you may ask, would not time in summery locations then move way ahead of time in wintry locations?

I have a theory for this too, but I shall await the results of my experimental counterparts in Australia to feedback on their data before I dare release a more technical exposition. However, if you must now, the gist of the theory is that during the change of the temperature from night to day, at one specific point the time particles will either have a sudden and exceptional increase or decrease in speed so as to offset the gains or loss during the day, depending on whether the change in temperature is one of reduction or increment. Wait, do not lose your marbles just yet. What is meant here is that, let us say it is summer now. Time is moving much faster than normal. At one point in the evening, as the temperature drops significantly, time will move exceptionally slower than even those in the wintry locations, a slowdown so significant so as to offset the gains of the day and return it to relative normality.

Yes, this may seem farfetched. But I kid you not. I swear, this time round the Nobel will be mine. Albert will no longer stand in my way.

Yours,

Dr A.S. Shole

The Smile Collector

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 15:52:44 GMT

The number falls.
One by one. Sometimes they fall in groups.
Like migratory birds.
But they are not migratory birds. 'cause sometimes, more often than not, they do not return.

People leave. They always do.
That's why the weaker ones choose to leave first.
It's easier to break hearts than let our own be broken.

Sometimes though, we long to brandish a blade to sever a link.
But those borne of blood bends when forced.
To straighten when the world seems to turn in on itself.

We all want to run.
But we run for different reasons.
Like when we eat.
Or love.
And hate.

She collects hair.
In a jar she keeps by her lamp, next to her Bible.
She says every strand has a story to tell.
Even the orange ones.

I collect smiles.
In a jar in my head, next to my bible.
I say every twitch has a story to share.
Even the inside out upside down ones.

Political Expediency

Sat, 27 Jun 2009 17:35:29 GMT

I was one of the many sceptics when the nation hoped (and still do) with bated breath for a political change in the form of the Pakatan Rakyat, even though they had scored an unprecedented and astounding upset in the March 2008 elections. In the subsequent aftermath, many harboured a distinct glimmer of hope that PR will surely end the not so secret of Barisan National's political and social tyranny, and take over the political and administrative helm of Malaysia.

The existence of an opposition finally being able to hold their own is definitely very healthy. Their presence has kept BN on their toes for many months after the March elections, giving them a thoroughly tight yank on their balls and opening their eyes to the fact that the people now have a viable alternative to BN. Many thought the reign of BN, the sole government of Malaysia ever since independence, was at an expedient end.

But I do not wish that to happen, for the same reason that it will probably not happen. Not in the near future anyway, unless something extremely drastic were to grip the entire nation and cast it into a revolution.

First and foremost, PR is a relatively new establishment (for lack of a better word). They are akin to a new born gazelle tossed into the savannah. Gazelles know they must learn to run before they can walk in order to survive, and they want to. But like all newborns, their legs are weak, feeble. The young are thus prone to the disastrous nature of the universe they live in. They can barely keep their legs rooted to the ground. Such is the case with PR. They are mere offspring walking the tried and tested road. They are yet to possess the muscle memory needed for crucial reflex actions. PR still lacks the experience of time, trial and tribulations to move its limbs as one, making it a really awkward entity that seems to pull its core to the four corners of the world. If PR can somehow pull off an upset in the next elections, I fear the sudden gain in tremendous governmental power will get to their politically young head (as a unity) and the loose political understanding that binds the 3 main factions of PR will unravel in definite bickering. Such bickering is already evident right now! PR may be lauded for allowing individuality, but the current extent of individuality insults our intelligence. 'Pakatan' my stinking foot konon.

No, in terms of moving as a cohesion, BN still has the upper hand, although this has been marred in recent generations to something more recognisable as an UMNO iron-fist. Therefore, I do not want PR to win unless they can be sure that they can substantiate their win, and hang on to it; even if for only a term. For if PR were to win, and then go their separate ways during the term over some squabble, BN will walk back in on red carpets and the people will take a few other generations to regain their ability to hope for a clean and healthy political scene; BN will rule for yet another 50 years.

In addition to PR being a young conglomeration of sorts, their apparent leaders too are 'young'. As charismatic as they all are, they have never been given the opportunity to lead in the biggest of scenes save for Anwar and Nik Aziz. Even these two esteemed (it is submitted here) men have enough silly moments to make me cringe each time I imagine them anywhere near the helm. These people (PR leaders) have always been the opposition; they have almost always only been criticising and picking on the mistakes of the government. Will they be able to substantiate their position when they do finally take over the government? The recent failings in Perak and the hushed hoo-hahs in the other PR ruled states prove otherwise. The leaders of PR were utterly inapt, ridiculously short-sighted and repulsively slow in dealing with these matters. In my eyes, they are not yet ready.

These are the two major failings of PR that have confirmed my earlier suspicions after the March 8 elections: they are not ready. So, until the day that they have grown and iron out all the kinks and weak links so as to be impregnable to definite failure (as they are now), I vehemently do not want them to win. If they cannot do that, then please, get out of the way. They failure as a federal government will do no good for the political scene: BN will use it to fuel their war against political freedom and democracy. They will use it ala May 13. That is my gut feeling, and I still stand by it.

However, even after March 8, PR was and has never been my hope for the betterment of Malaysia. They are too�volatile�an entity. Their union is based on simple and loose understanding. Their component parties are of very different political and social backgrounds and aspirations. I have no idea what can come of this. Their sole goal now is to topple BN, that is what binds them together. What then after?

No, PR is not my answer. My answer came a year or so after the March elections in the form of the UMNO change of power. All Malaysians know that the apparent convention of our local scene is that the president of UMNO is the Prime Minister. So when Abdullah announced his resignation, I saw a glimmer of hope. This hope was inevitably crushed when KuLi (Tengku Razaleigh) could not mount a proper challenge for the Presidency due to the obviously unfair electoral system (brainchild of Mahathir. One of the things that I admit is most foul). KuLi was Malaysia's best and nearest bet to a political revolution, for the better. He is a man of vast experience, of strong character and of reputable intellect. He would have made an impeccable and indomitable Prime Minister, a possibility surely not missed by Mahathir when KuLi was ousted from his DPM post. If KuLi were to claim the helm, I can see the cronies and smelly old hands thrashed out of the cabinet, to be subsequently peopled by fair and more importantly, abled, individuals. The moral-bound KuLi (which, rumours has it, lost him his ascendency in the UMNO elections) would have weeded out corruption . I can see KuLi setting us back in the right direction; in my eyes, I was looking up to him as the man who will give us our independence from self-tyranny: the final revolution Malaysia needs to realise her greatness in the international stage.

But like I said, that dream and vision and hope was crushed. By the very system that Malaysia must be rid of. A system that cannot be rid off unless the person in power decides to be rid of it. Goddammit, it is a fucking cycle so very vicious.

I'm a Douchebag

Sat, 23 May 2009 12:23:00 GMT

I woke up, drew the curtains apart and it was a decent sunny day. Not the best of Manchester days, but I'll take it.

There was this woman who was circling the wooden owl in the garden across the road from where I live. I could see her clearly through my 3 by 3 window. *shrugs*

Got my teeth brushed, admired how bad I looked in the mirror, and then decided I needed my morning wake-up call. As I went to get my mug by the window, I glanced at that lady, who was by then staring cock-hard at the owl. *errr...?*

Then, while I was making my coffee in the kitchen, I noticed from the window there that the lady was out cold already lying on the grass by the owl. Hmph. Must be a drunk hobo or a whacked Brit sunbathing in her raincoat.

I watched her for close to 20 minutes from my room window as I read about the Perak fiasco, and she didn't move a muscle. I could not see if she was breathing. Passer-bys took double glances but walked on, probably thinking the same as I: hobo.

I could not take it anymore, I have no freaking idea if she was dead or alive, hobo or not. It surprised me that it took me so long to finally decide to go check on her. I grabbed my hoodie and rushed out all commando *cough*.

When I got to her, another 3 guys were already shouting at her trying to wake her up.

We then discussed what to do with her.

Is she dead?
Naw, she's breathing.
Do we call 999?
Dude, it's a waste of their time.
RSPCA then.
*silence and cock-stares*
She should be fine right?
What if she's got a heart-attack.
Then she's dead.
Go shake her man.
Dude, why must I do it? You go.

A kid then grabbed a skateboard and prodded her with it. No response.

So there I was, thinking whether to go check on her or not. I was actually thinking of how dirty she was. OMG. I am a freaking snob and a hypocrite while we are at it!!!

Who would have believed I was playing with cadavers just over a year ago!!

Pathetic.

I walked up to her and felt for a pulse. Yup, she's a live.
While the guys slapped her around a bit to try wake her up, I checked her pulse.
Steady, a little lower than normal, but steady.

She soon came around, blurry-eyed.
Owh hello love. I'ma aight. Just the alcohol, I'ma aight.

We helped her up, asked if she was okay. She said she was fine "Thank you love".
And porceeded to attempt to roll a cigarette.

Fuck, alright. She's okay. We left her there, and after her smoke, she went back to playing dead until the next group of worried people wake her up.

Why did it take me so long to react? Why didn't I just go up to touch her and feel her pulse? What is wrong with me?

Hypocrite, hypocrite. Fuck this shit.

Of Parisian Notions

Sat, 02 May 2009 11:09:23 GMT

I wrote an entry entitled "of Parisian Notions" shortly after my trip to Paris, but never posted it because it was too typically sappy and corny a post. But I've never gotten back to it ever since. So here are merely the pictures, and perhaps some commentaries here and there?

******

I believe that the hype surrounding the glory that is Paris inevitably led many to agree that Paris is indeed an overrated city. Immediately following my trip there, I have to admit that I felt the same way too, somewhat kind of disgruntled that Paris did not leave me with as sweet a taste on my tongue as I had quite imagined it to be. However, in retrospect, I have to say Paris did warm me real good afterall.

I believe it was not so much the typical tourist sights that blew me away, it was more so the typicalities of the localities that won me over in the end. Sure, the Eiffel and the Louvre are tantamount to a great holiday, but for me, my priorities lie somewhat differently. My idea of a visit to another country is not so much those monuments and sights that we can always find in postcards (although they are crucial), but I prefer to look for those experiences that no picture or travel book can tell you. It is the culture that I seek, the mannerisms of the people in their everyday life. The way they lift their cups of coffee to their lips and sip it. They way they kiss their significant others so passionately in the tubes. The way they dress so elegantly (as compared to their more...Viking British peers). And you know what? The French have such gorgeous smiles if you really take the time to look at it. In that respect and in retrospect...Paris did win me over.

On a bus to Liverpool to catch our flight to France.

Incredibly huge. And you know what? Incredibly expensive too. A few of the things in there can pay for my University tuition fees man.

The wide roads of Champs-�lys�es.

A view of Parisian roads atop the Arc de Triomphe.

Another view from atop the Arc. This time with the Eiffel Tower in the skyline. That was a pretty damned awesome moment.

At a restaurant along the Champs. Food was rather pathetic and pricey. But the manageress was so nice! As we were leaving, she insisted on showing us the sites that we MUST see when in Paris. She got us a map and started ticking off places in the middle of the entrance to the restaurant, making her customers walk around and under us.

The lower floor of the Eiffel Tower. At the top, you get an incredible view of the whole of Paris, and get first hand account of how organised the entire city is.

Inside the Notre Dame.

The Louvre. I wish to admit to the contrary, but I was only romanticised by the paintings and care no more for the sculptures and artifacts. I personally got bored after the pictures (which was most enjoyable). A day's visit would have been enough for this unrefined traveler.

Now, as you may or may not know, the Louvre houses the incredibly famous Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci. In my personal opinion, it is another piece of overrated entity that the world worships just because they think they have to to sound refined. But then again, that is my personal opinion...and who am I to judge. While this piece by da Vinci is not his best technically, it is arguably one of his greatest paintings. The power of Mona Lisa lies not in what she is, but in this...

The whole of the Louvre felt so huge and empty as Lyn and I walked its halls. But this little place here, where Mona Lisa was imprisoned behind a plastic perplex of sorts, surrounded by a makeshift hemisphere of a barricade some 15 to 20 feet in
diameter. Mona Lisa is great because of the love affair she has with the people of the world. People are somehow, for some reason, astounded by her. She pulls them all in with that inaudible melody, like the Piper and his rats.

Awesome bar owner dude who was so freaking nice. He gave all 6 of us free shots each. And the tiramisu there is. to. die. for. I'd lick this guy's balls for a free tiramisu.

The quaint hotel we stayed in. We had a daily dose of the reknowned Parisian croissant for every breakfast. Simply amazing. Screw you Delifrance you con-job!

Adieu. For now.

Wrong Century

Sat, 02 May 2009 10:49:44 GMT

I was in my early primary school days, perhaps 7 or 8 then.
We were all in a car, my uncle, myself and my cousins, heading off to somewhere for something.
Somehow, the topic of my ambition cropped up.

I want to be an inventor.
Owh. What do you want to invent?
Something that will change this planet.
Like?
Like a car that does not use petrol.
What does it use then?
It will...absorb the sun light. Or use grass. Or something like that.
But...those have already been invented.
Owh...

I was born in the wrong century man.
Dalton and Da Vinci had it easy.
Newton realised that an apple falls and he became immortal.
Pfft~