Prologue To Freedom

My nephew is about to embark a new journey in his life. A journey he, probably, has waited since the day he was born. This is probably not a bad thing, considering he has planned it all the way, albeit through my sister's life time savings. And so she claims! Whoever life savings it may be, my nephew is heading to the southern hemisphere for a bit of adventure. I do not know, for sure, if this journey will change his life but I do know he is going there with anticipations and hopes.

When I was at his age, probably a century ago, I too went away from home to further my education. Perhaps the changing of time may have changed many things but I am sure the perception of ‘overseas’ remains the same, perpetually. I say ‘perception’ because I was led to believe, not that anyone forced me at gun-point, but I just happened to embrace it with open arms. It is a surreal but real, at least at that juncture in time it was. So here it is, Z-boy for you only.

Myth No:1
All Caucasian ladies are an easy catch.
Facts No:1
If you really believe this, then there is a 1 in a 10000000000000 chance you will get laid.

Myth No:2
You get to stay away from the wrath of Mummy.
Facts No:2
Just remember the wrath of Mummy is just a skype call away, or a tap of the finger.

Myth No:3
You get to kiss a girl under the mistletoe.
Facts No:3
Too many guys out there think exactly like you. So what are your chances?

Myth No:4
There is this thing called Mixed Dorm.
Facts No:4
Mixed Dorm exists if you consider guys with long hairs and occasionally dressed like a woman in parties.

The list is endless, my dear nephew and I can go on writing all the myths but I think you are smart enough to get my pointers by now. What you will feel, especially over the first 3 months is most irk symptoms of all…….you get very homesick. I have no intention of writing what homesick really means as it may vary between individuals. But the notion of suffering from homesick is enough to get you more homesick. So beware! Now I know what you are going to say. The problem was more apparent during my time because we don’t have internet; or more importantly money to take the next flight home. We gotta be more careful here. Adult males are more susceptible to emotional changes and the domino effects that can easily bring you down to your knees unless Myth No:1 comes true. In which case, the surge in testerones will quickly overcome the homesickness syndrome.

Your next problem could be a nightmare. Yes, you have to do your own laundry. It is not the laundry but the long hours waiting for your clothes to get dried by the tumble dryer. Imagine waiting for what seems like eternity, you have no choice but to see the tumbling go round and round. In no time, you will get into a hypnotized stage and that’s when you wished Myth No:2 come true. You rather hear her constant nagging then to turn into a zombie!

I say no more but sincerely hope that you will make an effort to ‘enjoy’ your independence. I can’t say for sure how much a change NZ can do for you in a manner England did to me. Frankly speaking, how many of us like to be away from home? Sometimes we are forced to make the choice, to make that edge to do well in our future. But more importantly, do well and bring the glory home. You are obligated, you don’t have a choice.

Last but not least, and this is from my friend (he is 66 this year!), his dad told him these words at the departure hall when he left for Australia. "If you like to drink milk, do drink as much as you can but don’t bring home the COW……." hahahahahha. Get it? I think your old man is open enough to whisper these words into your ear...... oops! I may be wrong, he is following you.

2010

Hmmm..... 2009 is fast drawing to a close and we are almost into 2010. What a year it has been…..no, it should be “what a dreadful year it has been”. And it could only be one thing; a new year is one year older for everyone. Think about it, you grow more wrinkles, and IF you can see them, it means you are not that old. If you can’t notice the difference, then you are really old.

Should ageing be a worry? I mean, in terms of appearance, wrinkled skin, flabby arms, bulging stomach, tiredness. I admit I could be one of them but then again I am sure I am much better than so many others out there who are worried stiff and anxious about their increasing age. So much so they resolutely resolve to find the best wrinkle treatment (yeah anti-ageing serum), botox (I like to have that jab but is too timid to puncture my face), face lift, etc. And all these hassles, just to look younger…but less vibrant. I don't know much about human needs and expectation but I reckon it depends on a person’s perception on ageing. To me, aging is a natural process ( ..I honestly can’t take the jab, nor would I succumb to lipo-suction). And although I hated the grey hair over my baldy head, I will have to look at them as a sign of wisdom beyond my years.

I am not going to turn this blog into the musing of an old man; I admit I have been rambling wee too much over the year. I blamed it on the stress and sleepless nights to deliver my projects; ending with my body finally gave way. I was down with the flu (good grief it is not the H1N1) and it came with a bad timing; to be sick during the X’mas holidays, when it’s supposed to be fun, fun, fun! But I am not going to digress….

Yes, 2009 has been an eventful year. The global economy took a better turn, the people are looking optimistic; at least it is true in Hong Kong. The US president was made a Nobel peace prize laureate (now why do they use the word laureate?); for not doing anything. It was also a year where the entire world met at Copenhagen in the name of saving the world; achieving only in principles, and with no fixed deadlines whatsoever. Mexico spread out the H1N1; WHO quickly escalated the Swine Flu to epidemic scale. Malaysia quickly renamed the Swine Flu to Influenza A; what a name!! PKFZ ballooned into an intangible scandal; causing chaos in MCA. The Art of War was put in good use; by the president and deputy president and the rest of the young pretenders. 1Malaysia became the slogan for all Malaysia; but none of us actually understood what it really meant. It degenerated into ManyMalaysia the moment it was introduced. MACC became the talk of the town; and you can’t be seen wearing black and definitely not seen mingling in groups in town. And whilst others waited to usher to coming of 2010, here is something for all of us to ponder. “Remember, not everything has a happy ending and endings have no ends; it’s just a way of telling us a new beginning has just begun. You should always be ready to predict the unpredictable, expect the unexpected and never troubled trouble with troubles. It’s easy to fall; hard to get up. Once you’re up; you will be a better man.”

HAPPY NEW YEAR, 新年快樂 and Selamat Tahun Baru.

A Kim-Chi Christmas

I do not know if it was due to the coldness, or it is a fact, but I found Seoul a very dull city. When I arrived on Monday evening, it was pitched dark as we made our way to the city in one of the airport coaches. I must say, it was rather entertaining for what I thought was a 30 minutes ride. But the ride went on and on as if I might be sharing my remaining years with the fellow passengers. I couldn’t sleep, possibly I was under-dressed to the minus zero climate, as the coach meanders itself through the city’s clogged sea of Hyundai cars (actually it reminded me of our Proton Sagas but slightly larger; looks and feels better). Everybody around me went into deep sleep some 5 minutes after the coach pulled itself out of Incheon International Airport. There are about 2 persons awake inside the compartment, I say ‘about’ because I suspect the driver was half sleeping and quite possibly dreaming of his Kimchi and other banchans.

Nonetheless, we eventually got to our hotel. Novotel Ambassador Seoul is located in the small district of Seoul, I thought. Everything inside reminded me of good old England except for the staff. Er……..not exactly, only the ladies…hehehehe. I have to say, I have heard and read much about the plastic surgeries; I spent my time observing in lengthy details while she checks over my particulars. All I can say is, with the exception of the hair, every single feature on her face has undergone a degree of ‘adjustment’. That same observation is more or less extended to the number of air-stewardesses, except the one who served my compartment is a bloke, an ex-weightlifter from Korea to be more precise. How unfortunate, but Asiana Airlines is highly recommended should one consider a trip to Korea. Just remember not to bring the wife!!!

Anyway, it’s not that I was surprise to encounter Christmas decoration in Seoul. I know many eastern cities celebrate the festivity. On a serious note though, I think all Christmas decorations are inherently bright, yes, some brighter than others, but overall, the Koreans made them more intelligent and informative. This was the exact feeling when I first arrived Hong Kong many moons ago. What happens over time though, is they became dumber due to commercial exploitation.


Whilst waiting for dinner, my curiosity took the better of me. I asked a waitress, and yes I took a closer look at her knifed marks…., what Christmas meal do Koreans take during Christmas. Her answer came as natural as the unmarked knifed marks on her face, and yes it is Kim-Chi and Dog meat. My eyebrows rose, “dog meat?” I said. To which she pleasantly corrected my accent, “duck, quack quack…duck meat”.

Passport or Pasport?

Fill what’s empty; empty what’s full; and scratch where it itches. I can only say, “How very true”. And I couldn’t help but feel this way when I went to the consulate to have my passport renewed. The crowd in the small room is always usually small, and hence an opportunity to observe fellow bolehland citizens doing what they don’t normally do at home. And yes, despite some idiotic remarks from our very own minister that English is weird, the language of communication is …. English. It amused me thinking what a silly comment that one cared to utter just for the sake of down-playing the commonest language.

The strange thing is when you actually spoke in English, the staff on the other side of the glass wall responded in English too. My guess would be the staff in the consulate got tired of negative responses whenever they ask a question in bahasa. And naturally, or unnaturally, resolved to use the weird language as a form of communication. I have to admit, both sides of the glass wall actually spoke immaculate English. I challenged myself by closing my eyes, and for a moment I thought …….what happened to our distinct accent? Where are the “lahs”, “one” and other forms of colloquialism?

The other oddity is the cost of renewing the passport. How come they charged us a bomb in Hong Kong but much lesser back home? Is it because they provide better services here? I guess not; they don’t serve me kopi-O or curry puff while we waited. They don’t give us any free WI-FI and no GST either. Why the difference in prices, I ask? I don’t have an answer for that except I felt the pinch……..urrgggh right there!

But the weirdest thing of all is the speed in which they prepared your passport for collection. You just have to give them credit for preparing your passport for collection. I guess the limited staff discouraged them from indulging in small talks, but kept them in focus on delivering their tasks.
But the best part is………when it comes to my turn, the system went dead! They tried many times, calling Putrajaya but to no avail. I guess Putrajaya is too busy to entertain them when our streamyx or whatever work at the speed of snail and that is, if you are lucky. Anyway, the system came back much later, probably after summoning 10 contractors who spent more time filling the correct forms and insisting it is not their responsibilities, ….you know the feeling of being sent on a headless chase. At for that one moment I told myself something just don’t change, even if they don’t admit it, there are certain traits of the old habits!

A Mid-Autumn's Tale

It is supposingly mid-autumn festival tomorrow, and the mercury has yet to dip below 24C. The long summer in Hong Kong has no inkling of coming to an end, nor is autumn starting to prevail in this part of the world. The usual festivity mode has yet to take effect, counting by the number of moon-cakes one received this year. Is it because people no longer care about the festival, or is it because people has taken a sudden interest to keep one’s health in proper perspectives, or could it be the financial meltdown that made everyone more selective in who and who truly deserved the moon-cakes! I rest my case, for I have been in Hong Kong long enough to be 'sinolised’ and quite rightly think more a Chinese than a Malaysian.

The Mid-autumn festival is taken very seriously in this part of the world. The Chinese, will celebrate the Mid-autumn over 3 days, giving each day a name to signify its importance. You have ‘welcoming the moon’, ‘ushering the moon’ and lastly, ‘chasing the moon’. 17 years ago, the mid-autumn festival is nothing more than a lantern festival to me whereby you eat moon-cakes in abundance. 17 years later, the festival has taken a separate meaning. Part of it is being with the family, for a reunion dinner, and the other part of it is deciding how to spend the night with your lovely other half (if you have one, that is). Or, quite simply “When the moon is round, families unite.” "Yuè yuán, rén yuán."

I am not too sure if this was my imagination but the moon in Hong Kong is certainly bigger and rounder than the one I have seen in my home country. It is so BIG that you focused on your gaze for more than 5 minutes; you will eventually see Wu Gang chopping the cherry tree. Nah, nothing of that sort, a legend is forever a legend. You heard the story a thousand times, you can’t seriously believe there is Chang’e, the rabbit, and the woodcutter up there, would you? But it is always a nice story to tell despite silly Armstrong planting a flag there for no apparent reason. And yes, the festival does invoke a sense of nostalgia. Gone were the days when children could roam around the streets in the dark with their lanterns and more importantly without the fear of being kidnapped. It was an age of simplicity when a simple lantern is all it takes to give the child a sense of content. These days, kids don’t roam in the dark no more, the roam the net and surf to their heart’s content. Which begs the question, which generation is happier?

I am not going to digress into the importance of this festival; it is indeed a matter of personal judgment. This is the first year my Melody is not celebrating Mid-autumn with her old man. I hope when she sees the London moon today, she will remember her ever lonely dad at home. So, despite our government’s fruitless effort to have a formula 1 team, the incredibly lack of commercial intuition to ‘exchange’ the land in Tanjong Pagar, the yoyo politics and finally the comedies of mis-quotation by some of our ministers….. Yes, I like to celebrate the festival my way. Guess I will sit down to taste the latest edition of moon-cakes…..the bird’s nest version. And perhaps with a tiny tinkle of Lafitte it should go down well. Happy Mid-autumn folks.

Play it again, Sam

Some say as one aged, one’s memory tends to fade exponentially. But, it is equally true that as one’s memory faded, one will try hard to remember one’s actual age. I did not make this up; my sister merely ‘said’ this in her son’s blog. She refuses to tell her birthday age (being a female gender) but I suspect it was because she couldn’t remember and hides it conveniently under her senility.
How time flies, I still remember the years when our birthdays went away unnoticed except mum would always insist upon having us to swallow two really hard boiled eggs. And that is a sign of another year older. There wasn’t a gift, or a surprise birthday cake, or even some birthday parties, as such. It was an era of simplicity where two hard boiled eggs was all you get. I don’t remember myself going through a real birthday party, nor would I remember my sister having one. I guess we were too ignorant of the importance of birthdays. Incidentally, how important is the birthday anyway? It only reminded us we are a year older, which was fine when you are in your teens. When one gets to 40s, a birthday will only remind us the number of extra wrinkles, the problem of having to count one year less and finally, the whole idea of not wanting to remember our age.

Anyway, this is not my birthday but Sam’s. I will let her age remain a mystery but I am sure you can count the number of wrinkles on her face to make a good guess. The other mystery is her name. Sam has always been the nickname we so affectionate bestowed on her, and we continued to use the name irregardless of the other name for her. Sam is not short for Samantha but rather Sam Quat. I will not go through how the second part of her nickname came about, but I will be happy to reveal the truth if her children conveniently bribe me to a super jumbo size laksa, else my lips are sealed…….zip zip.
The other thing about this younger sister of mine is her insidious effort to make her cents worth. I don’t know which side of the genes she inherited but it will always marvel me in total astonishment every time she displays her skills. She orders her Roti Canai in the strangest way, yes the empat segi version instead of the usual circular version. Empat segi is a special order, and it has to be made to order. Instead of the mass production type, some of which ended cold and no longer flaky, you get a freshly made, baking hot roti……….all for a mere 60 cents or a little more now! She wouldn’t admit this but rather attributes it to being not so oily. I will take my hat off for her chivalric act for being so particular but I am sure she wouldn’t have it if she was the one that does the toss. Very healthy, plus her forever kurang kurang manis teh tarik. Each time I have breakfast with her, she mumbles an extra kurang. I am not over-reacting but I suspect it is age rather than health that made her mumbles another kurang. I said it before and I will say it again, for no matter how times you care to mention kurang, you will still end up with the sweetest teh tarik. That being the case, Sam will always have her means to dilute it. She asks for hot water! And you know what? Paid one, get one free.

I say no more. Happy birthday my dear sister, and may you have great health. Remember age is only a number, that is, if you can still remember it.

Postscript: Greetings from my two children who also celebrated their birthdays today.

A Connoisseur of Bak Kut Teh

Most of my early memories about, places I heard and have been, places I heard and never been, or places I have never heard and never been, have a singular commonality. And, that is their names! Last weekend, I did what I am notoriously famous for…yes, I brought my two golden oldies out for a breakfast to a place I thought was “Su Li Li”, or “Solily”, or even “Solili” whichever fitted the pronunciation of the day. I have no idea, of course (in hindsight), the real name of this place until I was confronted with the ever educational Malaysian highway signboard. It indicated “Tg. Sedili”, and you can imagine the surprise on my face, that after so many years of being misled by some idiotic assumptions on the mispronunciation of the name of a rustic town in my very own state.

Anyway, to put things in a better perspective, I have never been to this place, I must admit even though it is like some 100 kms from my hometown. Neither has my mum. The only person claiming to have a vague but brief visit to that town was my father. I say vague because my dad never fails to amaze me with his mental and memory prowess. Vague means he knows every bends and junctions, and detailed meant he can direct you over kampong roads and meanders you to the destination. With that, we set out to savour the infamous Bak Kut Teh of Sedili.

The place, or rather the “restaurant”, is in the middle of nowhere, I bet you with my last dollar that you will never believe any person with the right frame of entrepreneur mind would ever spare thought of opening business there. It is like….hmmm oil palms tree, narrow roads, and in the middle of nowhere…I know I will start a Bak Kut Teh business here!!! Where on earth do you find your patronage? I still don’t understand how this silly tawkay found a convincing reason to suggest it will be profitable venture. It is either he is mad, yup cuckoo enough to enter Tampoi mental hospital, or he has a crystal ball to read the future potentials. Anyway, the place is packed with people under the comfort of an attap roof, with only ventilation provided by a few grandfather’s fan, and yes those fans are old enough to be housed in the museum.

The Bak Kut Teh, I have to admit is indeed deliciously nice and meaty. I am not the official connoisseur, I am afraid that honour must go to my old man. Sitting down, looking at him sipping the thick soup and chewing the meat with his remaining teeth was a sheer joy, despite having the discomfort of fanning yourself to tone down the perspiration. Every mouthful is the same old remarks…good…good…fresh…not boney. I believe those remarks were genuinely uninhibited compliments, judging from the way he left his lips and cheek stained with thick soya sauce. Somehow, I do feel good looking at him savour every mouthful of the delicacy, albeit his clumsiness in table etiquette. But who cares, if it is good, it should be eaten in this manner! Say what you may, but I can’t see the difference between Bak Kut Teh and durian fanatics! Both have the same attributes, eat clumsily and enjoy the taste first lah.
After that late late breakfast (hey, it is a long way to nowhere!), my two golden oldies unanimously requested a trip to Tg. Sedili, to which I obligingly agreed. It was another 25 km drive, and it was then I discovered mum had no idea where this place was, and dad could paint the minutest details of the place he visited 40 over years ago. And he was right; Sedili is a rustic sleepy town with only short stretch of really old houses. Surprisingly the place is more Chinese even though it was meant to be a Malay kampong. We made a long trip there, only the exit without stopping. I can’t say I have done enough for my old folks but seeing them chatting happily throughout the journey is something different from the daily squabbles over little things. They were in coherence through and through, which I should say is a rarity. I guess one today is worth two tomorrows is perhaps the best way to sum up this rather adhoc trip. I hope one day, in years to come, my offspring will also reciprocate this gesture to me, and I am sure by then I will know how to pronounce and spell Sedili correctly.