The Thing on the Tree

I do not believe in ghosts. At least, I do not believe that ghosts, even if they do exist (which I doubt), will deliberately harm or frighten a human being.

When I moved into the house I am currently staying in some 3 years ago, my landlady told me not to take the rambutans from the particular rambutan tree behind the house. We could take the rambutans from the other trees in the house but not from That Particular Tree.

But of course Mr. I-don’t-believe-in-such-nonsense refused to listen and one day, took rambutans from That Particular Tree. Nothing happened. Until night fall.

Suddenly in the still of the night my 2 brown girls started crying, and then howled the night away. My girls do not howl. In fact, that was the first time I heard them howling. Needless to say I freaked out. I said a prayer and hid under the blanket for the rest of the night.

Since that incident, I sometimes get the feeling that there is a presence, a sense of being, a Something in That Particular Tree. It is not always there. But when it is, I feel that I am being watched.

I have to pass That Particular Tree to change the water for the girls. Once in a strange burst of courage, I actually looked up into That Particular Tree. Nothing. Just nerves. Psychology. Over-active imagination. There are no such things as ghosts.

My girls do not howl anymore. But somehow I don’t think it’s because there is nothing to howl about, I think it’s because they have gotten used to The Thing on That Particular Tree. The best part is, That Particular Tree is right at the back of my room, not 10 steps away!

But yes, there are no such things as ghosts. 

Here's to 2011

It’s the last day of 2010!

It was an interesting year for me. I did good at work, I went to India, I went to London, I attended Slash’s concert (he is the best guitarist ever, I don’t care what anyone else says), I ate escargot for the first time (not bad actually), I ran (and most importantly, finished!) a quarter marathon, I started a blog, I took up yoga.

I think I didn’t do too bad. Except that I also broke up with my boyfriend of 6 years. And that is enough to swathe all the good things that has happened this year. No matter what I do, a certain sense of woe follows me like a shadow that will not leave me.

Even as I hope for the best for 2011, I do not know if I will ever really be truly happy again.

The beautiful game

It has been such a long time since they played for the love of the game. No politics. No promise of fame or riches. No back stabbing. No bickering. No racism.

Just the younger generation giving their best for the love of their country, national pride, honour and the game itself. This is us at our best. If only we were like that all the time. We would truly be a force to be reckoned with.

There is hope yet! Well done Malaysia!

Judging beauty

I don’t understand all this obsession about beauty. Society sets the standards, and people being the fools that they are adhere to these standards so that they are considered beautiful. Notwithstanding that the definition and concept of beauty differs from one society to another, that beauty is subjective, that beauty is only skin deep.

I don’t understand why people cannot just accept each other (and themselves) for who they are, regardless of whether society considers them beautiful or not. I don’t understand why people, especially women, must always comment about the looks of other people.

To me, looks have always been immaterial. But of course, I am only human. So when I hear, for example, that ‘certain people’ have made disparaging remarks about me, I was of course offended and hurt. It is only natural. But I did not do anything about it, although I could. And the reason is very simple. I am a rebel. Always have been and always will be. I refuse to be a slave to society’s (and ‘certain people’s’) standards of beauty.

And who are all these ‘certain people’ to judge another person’s looks anyway? Really, have they taken a good look at themselves in the mirror lately? Because in my eyes, these ‘certain people’ fall far short of society’s standards of beauty. And the worse part is, they have little or no character or intelligence to back them up! They should be the last people to comment about another person’s beauty.

Now look at what they’ve made me do! I am judging the judges!

My mother always told me, “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” I try. I really do. But then ‘certain people’ piss me off and then I get all flustered and there’s no one to vent to so I blog about it.

And so, what is my recipe for beauty? (In this order:) Two cups of (good) character – kind, emphatic, polite, good manners, warm hearted etc, one cup of intelligence, a tablespoon of physical attraction (but please, one man’s meat is another man’s poison), and a pinch of endearing personal habits or traits to taste.

A recipe for disaster? Maybe. But it’s my recipe. And that is why ‘certain people’ will never be beautiful in my eyes. They lack ALL the ingredients that make up my recipe for beauty.

Still sad

It has been approximately 7 months, but I am still reeling from the effects of coming out of a long term relationship.

Most of the time I am ok. I can function like a normal human being. But then there are times when it just hits you. The memories. The good times. The shared life. The pain. The misery. The loneliness. The heartache. The uncertainty. The panic. But most of all, the grief.

And then there is no one to talk to. My parents are of the view that I made the right decision and I should move on. And that is that! Somehow I am supposed to miraculously forget the past, just like that.

Some of my friends are of the view that since I have moved on (because I am dating again), therefore I am ok. Some of my other friends are more engrossed with their own lives to listen to yet another sad story.

Of course I can’t talk to my present boyfriend for obvious reasons.

Ironically, the only person who I think will understand my predicament is my ex-boyfriend. He must be going through the same grief as me. He will know what it’s like. He will be emphatic. He will understand.

But I cannot talk to him either. For obvious reasons. Although he is probably the only one in this world who will know what I am going through.

And so I will continue to grieve alone. For as long as it takes.  

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

It’s that time of year again – the time for celebration, to be with family and friends, to eat and drink and be merry, and to usher in the New Year with renewed vows, hopes and resolutions for the coming year.

And of course, bonus!

This year, about 2/5ths of my bonus went to the lovely Income Tax Department. 2/5ths! It really takes away the joy of getting a bonus.

It’s not as if any of my money is being put to good use. Our roads are full of potholes, our public transport is uninspiring, our buildings are leaking and tumbling down, our public amenities are deplorable. Petroleum prices keep going up, poverty is still an issue, crimes are rampant, corruption is prevailing, civil and political rights are curtailed.

So where is my hard earned money going to, and what is it being used for??

I might as well ask where did all those planes and ships disappear to in the Bermuda triangle. I will never get a straight forward or honest answer.

Or maybe I will - in the form of yet another sky scraper in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. Oh joy.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!

No big deal, it's only murder

I read in the newspapers today that a man was murdered – slashed to death – not 10 streets away from my house!

Being an ardent follower of crime and detective stories (and once harbouring the ambition of becoming the first woman to head the CID division of the Royal Malaysian Police at Bukit Aman), I just had to check out the crime scene.

And I did. It was a normal house. If not for the yellow line reading “Garisan Polis” I would never have guessed that a murder had taken place at that house just yesterday.

There was no one around. No neighbours hanging around to offer some stories about the victim or the perpetrators, no forensic personnel gathering evidence, no policemen interviewing witnesses, no clues!

And then there was also no eerie cold breeze blowing to somehow signify that the murdered man’s soul was still wandering restlessly around seeking revenge or justice or peace. No birds singing. No trees rustling in the wind. No rain. No drama.

Just another normal day in a sleepy town somewhere in the East Coast. Except that a man was murdered. And then life returned to normal.

I don’t know which is more tragic – a man being murdered in a small town, or the sense of normalcy of it all.

Kuantan

There is no place like home. Every time I come back to Kuantan I feel a sense of peace that nothing else can replace. This is the place where I spent the best years of my life, growing up, discovering myself, making my dreams and ambitions come true, living life.

Like many other small town folk, I chose to work in the big city. I have been a resident of the Klang Valley some 12 years now. And yet, oddly, I still often feel like an outsider, a migrant, like I somehow do not belong.

There is a sense of realness in Kuantan. People love and accept you for who you are, regardless of your shortcomings. Whereas in the big city people tend to be more superficial. I can’t help but think that most people are nice to me not because they really care or because they are nice people, but because there is something in it for them. Of course I have met many nice people along the way, but few and far between as compared to Kuantan.

I suppose there is nothing to stop me from permanently residing in Kuantan. But at the moment the lure of the big city still draws me to its demanding splendour.

Perhaps one day when I am old and tired, when there is nothing else left to achieve, when I am done with the world and vice versa, perhaps then I shall come home permanently. There is, after all, no place like home.

Let children be children

When I was 14, I couldn't wait to finish school so that I could be off to play badminton, netball, volleyball, tennis, cards, marbles, or any other games that we would invent on the spot.

Sometimes we would cycle to far away places and explore untrodden paths, pretend we were police and robbers, princesses and dragons, pirates and swashbuckling adventurers, Hang Tuah and Hang Jebat, you name it!

Sometimes we would just hang out and watch movies or tv, read a detective story, or make up silly songs and sing at the top of our lungs to the annoyance of our neighbours.  

My ambition at that time was to be a renegade pilot of an F-16 plane. My greatest fear was having to show my father my report card. I dreaded school, piano lessons, and anything remotely resembling discipline.

That was indeed a happy time. I enjoyed my childhood. Every minute of it.

And so it pains me to know that some people think it is ok to rob a child out of his or her childhood, innocence, dreams and adventures. After all, we are only young once. Let children be children. There is no need to rush and be an adult. There is plenty of time for that.

We once thought that the Earth was flat. We now know better. We once thought that the sun went around the Earth. We now know better. We once thought that child marriages were the norm. We now know better. Or do we?

Shattered dreams

When I was 16, I had a dream that by the time I reached 30, I would have it all – a doting husband, a couple of children, a sterling career, a big house with a big garden where George, our German Shephard would live and play, a big car, and most importantly, I would live happily ever after.

Coming from the quaint little town of Kuantan, it was quite normal for 16-year-olds to have these kinds of dreams. Because in Kuantan, there was not much one can do, and not much to do. All we had were our dreams, determination and sheer hard work.

I am now past 30. I have no husband or children. I have no house. No big car.  No sterling career. No happy ending.

All things considered, I still think I’ve done well for myself in the big city. Kuala Lumpur, I mean. I have a career of sorts, am financially independent, and am generally able to take care and fend for myself.

Except that I have to tell the 16-year-old girl in me that her dreams are never coming true. And I know it will just break her heart.

Equal but not the same

As it stands now, I am a human being first, a woman second, a daughter third. All the other hats I wear – sister, girlfriend, friend, pet owner, employee etc, may change in the priority ranking with the passage of time, but the first two things that I am has never, and will never change in importance and in priority.

Considering that I am a woman second, I am deeply disturbed by this offence in the Penal Code known as ‘enticing or taking away or detaining with criminal intent a married woman’.

First of all, there is no corresponding provision for enticing, taking away or detaining with criminal intent a married man. This obviously connotes that women are weaker than men as they can be easily enticed, whereas men are strong and therefore cannot be enticed. And yet every year the statistics show that more men have extra-marital affairs than women. Who is really the weaker sex?

Secondly, this offence only applies to married women. So it is not an offence when someone entices a woman who has been in a 10 year relationship with her boyfriend. But it is an offence when someone entices a woman who is married for a day. The difference is a piece of paper called a marriage certificate. How superficial.

I can’t help but imagine that the draftsman who drafted this offence lost his wife to another man. Unable to accept the fact that his wife could leave him for another man out of her own free will, he drafted this nonsensical offence out of agony and spite. In his simple mind, it simply could not have been his fault (for he is, after all, a man!), and it could not have been her fault either (for she is too stupid to think for herself), so he just blamed the man she ended up with.

Women have come a long way and yet archaic legislation like this serves as a grim reminder to all women kind that the battle for equality is far from over.

George Orwell got it right when he wrote “All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others”.

I beg your pardon

The person who coined the adage “sticks and stones may break my bones but mere words will not harm me” was obviously not from Pakistan. Because in Pakistan, mere words can not only harm you, they can kill you!

I am of course talking about the case of Aasia Bibi, a Christian mother who was convicted by the Sheikhupura District Court for blasphemy and sentenced to death. She was charged under a certain blasphemy law existing in Pakistan, after an altercation with fellow farm workers who refused to drink water she had touched, saying that the water was “unclean” because she was Christian. Aasia Bibi had apparently made some derogatory remarks about Prophet Muhammad in retaliation.

In any country with race, religious and ethnic diversity, legal restraints are somewhat justifiable for the greater good of society, i.e. to maintain peace and harmony amid the diversity. If everyone is allowed to say anything about any race, religion or ethnicity with no holds barred, the eventuality is surely chaos, mayhem and anarchy.

I do not have a problem with this so-called ‘blasphemy law’ itself. What I do have a problem with is that a group of lawyers in Pakistan petitioned the Lahore High Court in Punjab not to allow the President of Pakistan, Asif Ali Zardari to pardon Aasia Bibi while her case was pending in the courts.

I understand that Pakistan is a ‘democratic parliamentary federal republic’. I have no idea what that is. But from my limited understanding of the various political systems in existence, the President is the Head of State and is given certain privileges peculiar to the President alone. This usually includes the power to pardon a person convicted of a crime.

I do not know the legal system in Pakistan in detail, but if the power to pardon is an exclusive privilege of the President, then surely the Lahore High Court cannot, and should not, have the power to override that privilege. To me, this screams of a case of separation of powers gone horribly wrong.

The Lahore High Court should have thought about the repercussions of its decisions. I wonder if the Lahore High Court, or for that matter, the group of lawyers who petitioned the Lahore High Court, took into consideration that the next time around, it may be a Muslim who is convicted of this ‘blasphemy law’ seeking clemency from the President. I wonder if they will be just as zealous, or suddenly develop new found mercy for a fellow Muslim.

At the end of the day, isn’t it God’s duty to judge the actions of man?