My First Day in Primary School

Was pretty awful.

I was one of the kids that was scared. Now that you come to think of it, why do kids cry at school?

Hmmm, it's probably a bummer that children don't keep records of what happened, and recollection is fuzzy at times.

Let's try to do this as objectively as possible with the known facts.

I started one week late. Or was it 2 weeks? The family had just moved from Miri, Sarawak to this new place called Subang Jaya, Selangor at USJ3.

The Ministry of Education had posted me to Sungei Way, but my mum, who never takes no for an answer, got me into Lick Hung anyway. At that time, I think there was a scandal about the racket that was going on in school whereby parents donated increasing amounts of money to get their kids into THE school.

As it transpired, a particular set of parents who had donated a fair sum eventually had their kid rejected anyway, so said parents lodged complaints with the MOE about what was going on.

Which was why when my mum broached the idea of donations, the Headmistress brusquely said, "We don't do such things". Years later, I learnt that my mum had also told the headmistress that, "My son is an asset. If you don't take him in, you'll regret it."

I guess I never truly appreciated what those few words have had on the trajectory of my life thus far; those words which bought an unknown kid from the deep fetid depths of darkest Sarawak a place in the most prestigious (and only) Chinese school in Subang Jaya, and through the oversight of the class room allocation administrator, a place in the class for scions of the (obscenely) rich and connected.

Anyway, the upside of not attending school for the first week (or 2, depending on the fungibility of my memory), is that I got to stay in my aunt's place doing sweet nothing, which as a kid, was pretty cool, because my cousin had really AWESOME toys. Oh, that and the fact that Subang Airport was the main airport serving KL, so I woke up to the sound of airplanes flying overhead those few weeks.

The downside was homework. I had to catch up loads. Lick Hung was notorious for the amounts of soul-crushing homework they thought were reasonable. Coupled with the fact that my family did not speak nor write mandarin, and I knew I was going to be in for a tough time.

I think the highlight of the day was the computer lab sessions, which were good, because the computers had some sort of typing super mario program installed, and we basically played that all the time, even when we weren't supposed to. It was mainly because of that, I know to this day the mandarin words for naughty or bad, which literally translates to "bad egg".

Anyway, I digress. My first day, now that I come to think of it, wasn't awful at all. I don't think I cried. I must have confused that with that incident about a month into school when my mum cut my eye by accident with her fingernail and it hurt like hell and there was this awful prefect who was always mean to me but somehow treated me rather nicely on THAT day which made me bloody confused and which probably explains why I hate authority figures till this day.

I guess apart from the fact that I was almost kidnapped, the first day was pretty cool.

Oh, did I mention that I was almost kidnapped on the first day of school? The sheer debauchery that is KL.

Anyway, what happened was as the last bell for the day rang, my mum, my sister, and my cousin sister came to pick me up.

A primary school at closing time is the living embodiment of chaos and entropy. Picture hundreds of tiny humans running around screaming their lungs out as they're finally rid of the shackles of brutal authority (at least till the next day).

Somewhere along the line, my kidnapper-that-almost-was must have taken me by the hand and started escorting me out of the school. All normal and steady.

People often imagine school kidnappings as fast and furious, when the opposite could not be more true.

I had honestly thought that I was still holding the hands of my mum, who had less than 5 minutes earlier, been escorting me to a school bench while we waited for my dad to swing by to pick us up.

So there I was, all of 7 years old, pointing out my PE teacher to my "mum", and saying, "that's Ms Lin". And when I didn't get a reply, I did what any normal kid would do, looked up, and realised that she wasn't my mum.

So I dropped her hand, turned around, saw my family, and walked back to them.

And she coolly walked on, out the school gate, got in a car, drove away, and NEVER looked back.

None of us thought anything of it at that time.

Less than a week later the nation was riveted by the news that a school kid had just been kidnapped from outside his school in Klang. This was a time when drive-by shootings were unheard of, and snatch thefts incomprehensible myths of foreign lands. This made the national headlines.

The manhunt went on for a month.

Ting Song Sheng was never found.

Rumour has it that he was later handicapped and forced to beg in Thailand.

I was less than 5 metres away from the school exit when I dropped her hand.

It still sends shivers down my spine on how close I was to having a very different life from what I have today.

We are living in an apocalypse

We walk in underground tunnels;

Trundling along tubes of steel;

Lit up by artificial fluorescence;

Packed tightly with cells of a greater whole:

Society!

Yet each ensconced in their own reality;

Consciousness contained through the magic of mobiles;

Thoughts silenced by auditory drugs;

Mode of delivery: earphones;

No one looks at each other;

No one even bothers;

Connected yet disconnected.

We are living in an apocalypse;

And we don't even know it.

Limbo

Soft cascading snow fell upon his cheek.

He bit back his hunger and the rising urge to vomit.

No time for feeling hungry, he had to get out of the snow if he were to survive.

Where the hell was he?

Also, a gnawing feeling that was growing in his gut, not unlike his hunger, but more sinister.

Something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

It was almost as if...

Blinded by the oncoming snow, he came upon the sea almost as suddenly as it came upon him.

Strong, wet, and made colder by the deep of winter.

And in that moment it hit him.

He had forgotten who he was.

Still Learning

Dear Prof L**,

Something new happened today: I cried at the office.

Not in front of everyone mind, just my boss. Trust me, that's humiliating enough.

Strangely enough, it's not because he abused me, or scolded me (although he started off rather angrily).

It was because I had (pardon the profanity) fucked up, and he was giving me a second chance.

The truth is I lack discipline and dedication to the law, and it shows in the way I turn up late for work, or how I book a long holiday in advance in the month of August without informing him before hand (and it doesn't help that we're shifting out before the end of the month i.e. extra work).

Nor does it help, as you astutely noted when I worked at the LAB, that I am an inefficient worker.

If people think making someone angry is bad, they should try disappointing someone who has treated you with nothing but kindness, patience, and respect; it's probably 10 times worse.

So I cancelled my trip for tomorrow.

I don't see it as a sacrifice. Nothing as grand as all that. The simple truth is that there's work to be done, and no time for a break right now. Not yet anyway.

Sometimes, when I tell people my life and the "uncertainties" e.g. no call break, no fixed amount of leave, variable income according to how much work we bill, they think I'm being abused.

Truth is, I like it better this way. I would like to believe it's no Stockholm syndrome, or misguided self-aggrandisement - simply the acceptance of a non-salaried lifestyle.

And today, when I decided I would work through the holidays to finish what needs to be done, is hopefully, the day when I decide to be a lawyer.

I'm not sure if I won't relapse again. Some mistakes are so ingrained, you end up making them a few times before you train yourself to stop.

But in a sense, owning up to your shortfalls, and taking the first mental step to what is really a lifelong commitment, is simultaneously scary and liberating.

Time will tell what will become of me.


Yours sincerely,

24 and still learning

Every day the cookie crumbles

Just a quick one tonight, owing to the lateness of the hour.

Remember today as the day Maznah Mohd Yusof was arrested over a 3 year old video, because some people got offended that a Muslim owned dogs.

I submitted the text of my petition to malaysiakini, malaysian insider, and the malay mail.

Will work on one in response to this latest outrage, and the calls for Guneswari Kelly to be charged for sedition by publishing photos of school children being forced to eat in a changing room to accommodate the sensitivities of Muslims during Ramadan.

Let me say this now. I will not rest until these laws are struck down.

In a sense, I am glad that all these are now coming to a head.

There is a lesson to be learnt from all this, even if it's not the one that Malaysia thinks it is.

Being drunk at the cinema

Is kinda exhilarating...

I write because I said I would and I will and I shall and I am and so it is.

Just watched Before Midnight...the conclusion to a 3 decade love affair...with a bottle of wine...and sushi...in a cinema.

Tis' the inexorable truth of alcoholic inebriation that one's vocabulary turns to misbegotten drivel.

How do writers write while under the influence.

I string one petty sentence from the next to next, hoping to make rhyme or reason, and likely achieving neither.

Yonder thus my housemate beats out a tune on the electronic piano in the shared hallway.

What the fuck is she playing at right now? I really don't care. Sounds Japanese animeish and whathefuckerish.

Sleep beckons like the tempting mistress that she is. "Come to me", she says, "And I will end your weariness in my soft embrace".

Sleep my child. The sandman awaits you.

Sleep my child. Time is against you.

Sleep my child. Dreariness consumes you.

Sleep my child, and let the sleep become you.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

How the fuck did I allow myself to get so fat?

Hot damn fucking hell, nothing like a beer belly and a hideous slouch to motivate you to run like you've never run before. No matter that your legs are aching, your knees are giving way and your lungs are on fire....just...keep...running.

Today morning was interesting. After the not-entirely unexpected but still overwhelmingly uncontrollable episode of ennui that was Sunday Night, I woke up surprisingly early and refreshed. I suspect listening to "Hard to Concentrate" over the past few days had something to do with that, so I switched over to a crazy little thing called love.

As I was traipsing my way to the train headed to Chinatown, the same thought that has haunted me for the past couple of months now recurred, I am walking in the belly of the earth, surrounded by hundreds like me, who don't seem to realise, or don't act as if they do, that they are living the very life often portrayed in sci-fi Neo-Metropolis. You know the one where people are essentially living in underground post-apocalyptic hive colonies. Think Kowloon Walled City, but cleaner. I shuddered slightly at the implications.

Ahead, a lady with a short red skirt stands out like a flash of scarlet in a sea of grey. Funny how these things catch your eyes. She wasn't the only one sporting crimson, yet red was now all I saw. And those legs. Those long never-ending legs.

What could I do?

I followed her like the indescribably lustful male that I was. 2 steps behind, never missing a beat (although we did miss the train, but damn was it worth it).

The Japanese have a word for this: Bakku-shan. One look at her face was enough to break me out of my reverie. Cruel and mean-spirited no doubt, but a man's entitled to his own personal thoughts. I'll be damned if I censored myself.

Moving on to the next carriage so I wouldn't have to ruin my mental image of her legs in that skirt, I squeezed in with the morning crowd, and took the opportunity to stare at the faces around me. Soulless and tired, every single last one of them.

I think back to a conversation I had with a taxi driver the day before, on the fact that he couldn't stop renting the taxi, even for a day, and that meant that on Sundays, he made just enough to break even on his rental, then he would return home to spend time with his family.

Staring at the crowd that piled themselves into the subway carriage, I wonder what their stories were? Were they making something new, something more, or were they just trying to break even, because they couldn't stop paying the rent?

So I plugged back my earplugs and closed my eyes.

The show must go on.