An all seeing-eye? I think not...

A few of Malaysia’s more outspoken bloggers and columnists have attacked the Eye on Malaysia, saying there are better ways to spend money. I’ll reserve comment. All I can say is, you would think something called the “Eye on Anything” would offer a widespread, all-inclusive view.

If I had lived my whole life without ever visiting the Eye, I would have been happy. I suppose I could appear kiam siap to some people, but I just like to know that every cent I spend is going to a worthy cause. What constitutes worthy? With me, it’s complex. RM10 for a ticket to just any ol’ movie for mindless entertainment’s sake: fail. RM10 for an ice-cream cone and coloured gel pen to cheer myself up on a bad day: pass. And so on. I’m sure not everyone would agree, but they’re not living my life, so there. So, RM15 is not something I’d usually spend on a Ferris wheel ride, because I’ve never understood the attraction of Ferris wheels. And being nonconforming me, I’m resistant to hype, publicity and everything that hordes of other people are doing.

But I’ve recently begun attending a college zone cell group again, and someone wanted to go there, and that someone happens to be the one who drives most of us to cell.

Now that I’ve gone, all I can say is that the name is really misleading. There is so much more to Malaysia than the KL city centre and the surrounds of Tasik Titiwangsa. So much that you do not see at the Eye. What things, you ask? Why, things like...

... the indescribably yummy banana pancakes from Penang. The ones that are liberally sprinkled with sesame seeds, fried in Planta, and are probably your heart’s worst nightmare... but bliss on the taste buds.

... the beggars you see in larger Malaysian cities, who just about break your heart with their disfigured bodies and raggedy clothing... then raise your suspicions with their Starbucks collection cups.

... the still remarkably clear waters off Sabah, where exotic fish (including nasty little ones that bite, but don’t draw blood) live.

... the views you get driving on the PLUS highway on a clear day (when you can see foreeeeeeeeeeeverrrrrr... sorry). All that blue and green can just about blind you with its beauty. Just add one Brahmini kite out on his daily hunt, and... bliss.

... the visual and tactile beauty that is only found in Nyonya beadwork. One pair of finely crafted shoes takes up to 50 (wo)man hours to sew... and that’s before it’s even made up into a shoe.

There is so much more to this country than what you see from 60m above Tasik Titiwangsa. Beautiful things; ugly things. That contrast is what makes the fabric of a nation, the warp and the weft. Frustrations aside, all things considered, I love this country. But what did I see as the wheel went round and round? The affluence of the nearby homes. The glaring brightness of the Twin Towers. And the slow-moving traffic of downtown KL. If this Eye gives some people the only view they will ever have of Malaysia, I’m sorry for them indeed.

That was Zen, this is Tao

Disclaimer: This post is not intended to put down anyone; if by any chance the people in question see it, they will have no doubt who they are and should know that I'm stating the facts.

I've been hesitant to post about this incident because I don't want my motives to be misread, but I realise that 1) it's not likely that anyone actually reads this blog anyway; and 2) people can interpret anything their way, but as long as I know why I write and my conscience is fine with it, let it fly.

A few months ago, I was asked to choreograph a dance for a church event. This I did, gathering the dancers I needed and rehearsing independently with them because the leader who'd asked me to do the job was buried over her head in other work.

Twice before the performance, she came to view the choreography, and both times she gushed approval. The second time was five days before.

Three days before the performance, she blew into the hall like a very small, but very strong, hurricane and snapped that things had to be changed because the dance was "too Zen".

How she had managed to drastically change her mind in two nights, I still don't quite understand. The bottom line is, we managed to change the choreography to something she would accept, and in the end the dance was one of the least of her worries because there was a power failure on the day of that event.


My question is...
How can a dance be described as Zen? It's a variation of the question I always ask: how can a dance, referring to the motion itself, be referred to as "Christian"? Isn't "Christian" an adjective applied to people who've made the conscious decision to believe that Jesus was God sent to earth as man; that He died; and that He came back to life on the third day? How does a dance piece "believe" anything, being a passive, intangible object?

Back to "Zen", then. I choreographed the piece to reflect the importance of prayer, humility, submission and Scripture in our faith. Apparently, some people who viewed the last few rehearsals took issue with the movement motifs I had chosen to reflect these traits, as they resembled the prayer movements of other religions.


Lines in the sand
Where does the boundary between "arbitrary gesture" and "assigned religious symbol" lie? If I place my hands together and bow my head when I meet a Thai or Nepali, is this a religious act? More and more people, thank God, will tell me that no, it's an accepted greeting in these cultures.

In that case, I'd venture to say (and may I be corrected if I'm wrong) that it wasn't spiritual discernment that made certain quarters reject the dance; it was ignorance and fear. Fear of the unfamiliar; fear of appearing "un-Christian".

Why did I not say all this then and there? Because we were counting down the hours to the performance and the priority was to do whatever worked. Because my reason for agreeing to choreograph the piece was to come up with a work that would glorify God; not to give my artistic expression exposure. Because I was tired from that and Drunk Before Dawn and all I wanted was for it to be over.


My limits aren't your limits
I realise that living as a Christian today involves walking many fine lines: socially, professionally, culturally. The fact is that for each of us, the lines fall in different places. We need the courage to accept that if something's all right for me, it may not be for you and vice versa. It was a tough lesson, but one that this experience taught me in spades.

Oh and the title? I did have a split second of wicked inspiration when I wanted to change the choreography to something different, but just as Oriental-inspired, and shoot this wisecrack at the leader. But I didn't. Peace at all costs, yada yada. Plus, it was late at night and I wanted to sleep.

I Refuse To Be A Libran

My boss and colleague whose birthdays fall after and before mine, respectively, both align themselves to the star sign Libra and keep referring to me as a "Libran" too. I've made it clear from Day 1 of this job that I don't believe in horoscopes and refuse to have anything to do with them personally, but it doesn't appear to have sunk in.

When I was 10, my mother ordered a personalised zodiac sign letter tray for me; I never picked it up. Fast-forward 16 years later, to my first month on the job at this magazine, when I was offered a spa review called "The Zodiac Ritual". I only agreed to do it on the understanding that I would not play up the zodiac aspect of what was clearly nothing more than a marketing gimmick to differentiate that spa from the multitudes that have popped up in the Klang Valley.

People may think me overly nit-picky to so strongly stand against something that's become such a natural part of our culture, but I happen to know that the stars don't have any more control over my existence than I do over theirs. The last I checked, acknowledging and believing in something you know to be wrong is called either delusion or denial. I don't know about the next person but I prefer not to live in either of these two states. Even having to edit and proofread the monthly horoscopes for the magazine where I work is a required part of my job that I constantly struggle with.

I'm no monkey
As for Chinese zodiac symbols, I know many Christians won't even acknowledge them (although most of these people don't seem to mind listing their "Western" zodiac symbols in their online profiles) but it's something I use as a calendar system. It helps me to remember how old people (mostly my relatives) are, based on the sequence of years. I don't read Chinese horoscopes and predictions based on one's animal year, either, nor will I agree that I have certain character or physical attributes due to my birth year. I'm still waiting for someone to give me a strong, Biblical reason why I should stop even acknowledging the Chinese animal calendar system.

I don't force my anti-Zodiac subscription down anyone's throat; I respect everyone's need to arrive at their own convictions over any issue. I just state what I believe and why, and then it's up to them whether they agree or not. I only wish the same could be said of the people around me who still insist on calling me a "Libran".

A hurting person spoke to me...

... and when I finally had the patience to listen, this is what I heard:

"Don't assume you have the right to tell me whether I should or shouldn't cry. Whether you would have cried if faced with the same pain doesn't make a difference to me and what I am currently feeling. Anyway, you can't possibly feel the exact same pain I feel because you're not God. My nerves are my nerves; if you saw me cut then took a knife and cut yourself, that would be your pain, not mine. It's the same with my heart. You can't know what it feels.

"However, if you dare admit your inability to do anything to remove my pain, you may sit by my side, take my hand, and cry with me."

Deprive me not

What are the things that you absolutely must have or achieve in your lifetime?

For most people, it boils down to: a home of their own, meeting and settling down with "The One", making a name for oneself in a given industry... or maybe climbing at least one really tall mountain ("really tall" being a relative measure) or owning a European car with an unpronounceable name.

For one man, at least, it was different.

"Two things I request of You (deprive me not before I die)," this man prayed.

"Remove falsehood and lies far from me..."

Not "keep me far away from annoying people like that family down the road that's always sending their kids over to borrow a few shekels of salt for their baking".

Or "deliver me from travelling Persian salesmen". (Maybe I read too much Asterix when I was younger.)

Or "please grant me a really hot wife with thighs like jewels, a neck like an ivory tower and breasts like twin fawns... by the way, that sounds like it would make a really great song!"

But a humble request for a truthful heart.

"... Give me neither poverty nor riches — feed me with the food allotted to me;
Lest I be full and deny You, and say, 'Who is the Lord?'
Or lest I be poor and steal,
And profane the name of my God."

I used to think I have simpler tastes than most, because I really don't aspire to own a huge bungalow or win a Pulitzer. Ultimately, what I want out of life is to pursue the best in every moment, and everything else will follow. And maybe one way to get to the best is to remember, and pray with, this old-time proverb writer that I will live a life of truth; a life of constantly "being content".

"Deprive me not before I die."

STOP or I'll...

How would you complete this threat?

"Stop or I'll shoot" is a common one. But I'm non-violent.

Anyway, why this entry? Because last week, from the moment I got up on Monday morning it was go, go, go with barely a pause. I was even thinking in my sleep of how the pages looked and which ones I still needed to clear. I dreamt that we hadn't actually closed March and woke up in a cold sweat before dawn.

Thursday night, I was so filled with remorse about having taken Friday off that I could barely allow myself to leave work, and that after having worked almost straight through lunch. When I finally left, my weary head thought it would at least get a half-hour's rest before my appointment to see a movie with friends. Then, when I arrived home, I realised (with the descending, discordant organ notes from a bad '60s horror movie) that I'd left not only my employee ID tag but also my wallet containing IC, driver's licence and cash in my drawer at work. So I took off in a run back to the office (which, thank God, is near home), hardly able to keep my eyes open. By the time I got home, I had just enough time to shower and eat before I left again. *And* I had to top up my tank so that I could safely reach PD later that night. Oh yes, PD. I was planning to watch the movie, then go home to grab my stuff, and drive for two hours to the nearest place I can go to feel totally at home, yet not have 101 things begging for me to attend to them.

I reached home with my wallet (and a whole bunch of other things I'd also left behind without realising) and saw that I had even less time than I'd thought. So I did what any sane person would do. Let me rephrase that. I did what anybody wanting to stay sane would do.

I stopped.

Kicked off my shoes, put down my bags from work, kept my dinner, and sat on the sofa with my eyes closed for five miutes.

It didn't matter who I had to meet in 25 minutes' time, whether my stomach was rumbling, or that my cat was pacing peevishly around me with her "I'm hungry" face. I needed to stop doing stuff for a moment.

Five minutes later (because I was, after all, on a schedule) I got up and went on with whatever I had to do. I didn't feel as rested as if I'd got my half-hour nap, but my mind was refreshed and definitely, peace was restored within.

I think too many of us have forgotten how to be still and experience life for what it is. Not that work or relationships ought to be neglected while we sit down over a steaming cup of tea, but we are meant to lead balanced lives and that's something that I and many people I know are still struggling to achieve.

My five minutes of silence may have pushed back my schedule and made me late for my appointment, but as I work towards cutting down on the things I need and want to do, it looks like something I have to keep forcing myself to take.

This blog is Not Dead

It's not that I haven't anything to say, just not the time to express it well enough.

I have not become too lazy to post. No, no, no.

I've just been so surrounded by activity over the past month, from Drunk Before Dawn finally being performed, to the KK trip (and more performances), to Christmas and New Year's, not to mention that fun time of month when we close the magazine, that anywhere that I can have peace and quiet is most welcome. Even if it's only my blog.

So I'm only breaking this silence for a while.

Drunk Before Dawn was superlatively good. For some odd reason, I feel compelled not to blog about it because the total experience defied words. There were nasty parts along the way. There were uplifting parts. But on the whole, as I said, it was good.

Since the year has only just begun, and I've had little time lately to reflect on all the good things in my life, I shall take a moment here to thank the Lord for...

... my new niece, Natalie Toh Tik Chu, much-loved firstborn of my cousin and his wife. There's nothing like a little baby to make you stop and rediscover what the important things in life are. According to Natalie, at the moment, they are food and sleep. Haha. No. I know there's more to life. Which is why I would also like to express my thanks for...

... the year just ended, which if I were to sum up with a theme would have been The Year Of Inward Travel. Not in some off-the-wall, dude-what-have-you-been-smoking way. Just, very rationally, that I was given so many opportunities to contemplate my life in sum and detail during the year, and as far as I can help it I'm going to use that to my benefit.

... the opportunity to perform on stage once again. It's something I've really missed, and I enjoyed it so much. Wardrobe malfunctions notwithstanding.

... the many friends I've made and deepened friendships with in the past year, and my faithful old friends.

... all those moments when for a split second I wished I had a camera (still or video) to record the occasion. I ended up with better than pictures; I ended up with memories. (I'm starting to sound like a photographic paper advertisement. This could be worrying.)

Childhood comfort foods: Tea

I know. Tea isn't a food. But I plan to make this a series (like Cats In My Life, which unfortunately I've never expanded beyond Whiskey, the sweetest cat ever to walk this wicked earth) and "Childhood comfort foods and drinks and anything else that can be tasted" is just so... prosaic?

So. Tea. The story is, this morning I was jauntily walking to breakfast with my colleague when The Unthinkable happened. You know it's not really your day when you can't even get as far as the office door without bleeding. I opened the door without noticing that my foot, inadequately protected by a strappy sandal, was in the way. I actually heard a disgusting "sqqqsshhhhssss" sound as tempered glass and metal sliced through toe flesh. And yet somehow I still thought I could walk to breakfast and deal with the "scratch" later. Until I looked down and noticed the blood oozing. Then, as I walked to the bathroom to rinse it, really oozing.

I turned around and walked back to my cubicle. If that's what happened when I was just walking around indoors, who knows what I might get up to on a road with real traffic? My kind colleague went down to buy our breakfast since our attempt to walk out for food got aborted.

(Yes, this is about tea. I'll get to it soon enough.)

One and a half bungkus of nasi lemak later, with the toe still extremely tender and bleeding, I went to the pantry cupboard, took out a teabag and made myself a cup of tea.

And lifted the steaming mug to my lips. I happened to breathe in just then, and as I smelled the bitter scent, I paused.

The toe still hurt, but I suddenly felt better.

Tea.

When I was growing up, most of my days were spent at my nanny's house. Before I was old enough for the formal education system to claim me, those days were bliss, mostly spent playing with either Poh-poh, Auntie (when she wasn't busy with housework or cooking) or one of my older "siblings" from the Lim family. Or sleeping. Or watching TV. Or sleeping.

Somehow, even when I was too little to understand much else, I knew that 4pm every day was a special time: teatime.

It was a ritual that now, on those rare occasions when I'm with the Lims at teatime, I miss participating in regularly. From boiling the water in the whistling kettle to scooping just the right amount of tea leaves into the strainer in the green enamel jug, it all screams "home": not home the place, but home, that time in childhood when I was secure and happy. To this day, I find cream crackers dry and tasteless but still enjoy eating them. The only reason I can think of is that teatime always involved cream crackers and butter, not just tea. And tea was always with real milk ("the kind you can pour," I thought as a child, "not the powdered kind.") and lacings of sugar, before Auntie sternly told me off for putting my dental health at risk.

Ah... tea. One whiff of it can bring back so much in faded photographic colour. And take my mind off the pain of a deeply cut toe.

A post about many things

I think this article should be required reading in every secondary school and college in the country. Girls should read it because I think, most often, it's married women who give up their "selves" for the sake of harmony or "happiness". Boys should read it because it might still happen to them, and because they have to learn along with the rest of us that along with everything else in life, the primary purpose of marriage is not one's own happiness.

If our school system valued educating students with real life skills as much as it does mouldy, regurgitated facts, we'd see a lot more happy, healthy adults. Mid-life, quarter-life or any-other-fraction-of-life crises would be few and far between because we'd all, male and female, know what we want and do whatever is within our power to get it, while trusting the Almighty to get us there.

It's been almost eight months since I ended my last relationship, a painful decision mostly because I hate causing pain to other people. I am still sorry for hurting him but don't regret my decision. I know marriage is about sacrifice and servanthood, but I still firmly believe that it's about sacrificing and serving while being yourself, not the other person's ideal. Not a suppressed version of yourself who laughs at jokes you don't really find funny, bites your tongue when you're being insulted or put down, or keeps quiet when talk of a life vision that really doesn't match up to your own comes up.

I've had quite a rocky life in terms of relationships... not only romantic ones but those with both parents and some of my relatives. I learned from a young age to be the "peacemaker", pursuing peace at all costs even when it wasn't healthy for everyone involved. Looking back, and even now at one of my relatives now who's still trying to stir up trouble from last millennium (literally), I think everyone involved just needed to grow up. I mean, yelling at your spouse in public; swearing at family members (well, swearing at all); throwing silent tantrums when you don't get your way... if that isn't immature behaviour, tell me what is.

Anyway, I'm not posting this as an excuse to mouth off on those members of my family who aren't likely to read this. That's a little bit like pushing an anonymous poison-pen letter through the mail slot and then running away. One thing I decided when I began this blog is that it won't be a channel for attacking people with. I do occasionally criticise behaviour or actions that I don't approve of, but it's never a deliberate nip at the person behind the wrong.

Wow, talk about random stream-of-consciousness rambling... I know it's uncharacteristic of me to put so much personal stuff on my blog, but today feels different.

Oh yeah, while I'm being random (when am I not?) let me just say that I don't blog to get a reaction or because I'm desperate to see my work published. Not that I don't value everyone who reads [thanks for dropping by :o)] The biggest reason why I do this is because I want to, and hopefully somehow my words will achieve some good. That's all.