I am listening to Sri Mulyani Indrawati (the managing director of the World Bank) on Bloomberg this morning as I write this and her sentence caught my attention. "Corruption is always an enemy to development," she said to Charlie Rose. Appropriate for today. As the Malaysian government states grand plans to move towards being a developed nation, she may have missed a very important point, if she does not stop to listen, today.
Today she demonstrates a fear observed by many as she, despite many a chance to engage with her people, she hardens her heart and comes down heavy handed on her people. As I read reports on my bbm, and instant messengers of tear gas and such I think that she stands attacked, her credibility questionable for she seems to, with her response, support the animal that may trip her up on her journey towards development. The animal? Corruption.
So as supporters of Bersih, and those down at the rally today stands in demand of clean and fair elections for the country, I hope she hears the cry of a nation for a leader that may bring her towards advancement. I hope she hears and she acts. For all those who know me well, they know this, that I am non-committal, apathetic and indifferent. Where rallies are concerned, I hate crowds, where people are concerned I am the most cynical, thinking the worse of them and bearing only the slightest hope in seeing any good in them. But in the wake of today, I feel the need to gear up some hope and push this cause a little further only because I believe it is truly a fight for a good cause - towards cleaner and fairer elections.
This must be important enough, I thought. The reason? The very reaction of the government. Her ungraciousness towards her citizens seems very telling, of her fear, which infers much about her nature. I dare not judge her, but I daresay this, that her action speaks much of her intentions, and inspired much passion to stand up, for transparency.
Her stance may prove all the more damaging. I of course would not have been the first to observe this. Many articles have on Malaysiakini, The Malaysian Insider and other portals have commented on the reaction of the government and one facebook note I received quoting a Brigadier General (Rtd) Mohd Arshad Raji said this:
"The Bersih movement as I know has since its inception been at the forefront for an electoral reform that they believe is mired in controversies. Bersih 1.0 rally that attracted thousands to the streets for the similar purpose resulted in the fall of five peninsula states to the hands of the opposition during the 2008 general election. Tun Mahathir concede that the matter in which the government handles the Bersih 2.0 affair can be disastrous to the Najib regime during the upcoming ge. His forthright statement cannot be ignored, but I see little hope in Najib making any concession to Bersih for their demands to be heard. Taking this hard line against the people's wishes this time around will lend the final blow to Najib's admnistration and to UMNO/BN's 52 years of continuous rule."
As Thomas Paine, wrote, when a government fails to safeguard its people, their natural rights and their national interests, he opined, popular political revolution is permissible. The government had shown a great resistance towards a fairer system for her people, and for this reason, Bersih's "war" is justified.
Ironically, South Sudan celebrates her new found independence today. While her streets are filled with celebration, ours are sadly filled with evidence of a government that seems to be uncaring towards her society. Should a government such as this stand? As tear gas hopes to cloud the people and confuse them of the true cause they are down in town running amok for, I say they should uncloud. I dare hope that through this rally we are convinced enough to be suspicious of the government's objective in acting for the best interest of her people.
I wrote once, that the country I live in is a beautiful one, I still believe it is. And yet I am not dramatic enough to say I am agonised, not yet, for there are countries in worser state than this. But I believe the leaders of our country have the very power in their hands to raise up a country that can stand journey towards advancement. This rally i believe is not a hiccup, it is a recognition of what may be necessary in the next step towards better.
There is much reason to stand up for transparency, for it affects all, quite profoundly. I would be much saddened to see citizens sobbing at the consequence of a failed political system, because of a government who failed to stand and see its flaws, admit it, and fix it, all for its subjects. Sure that is not our only issue, but I dare hope, set us up towards advancement.
I hope.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Secret Garden
Sandra Dee and I often go sailing in the sun, and we would often share secrets, deepest darkest ones. But of late, I cannot come, for it has been stormy, so very stormy, and Sandra Dee and I have to wrap ourselves tightly around those secrets we never dared share, with anyone.
I don't think it is the secret that is the stake, but the inability, or the desire not to share it. It was that fateful Sunday, when I suddenly acquired a deep desire to maintain my perfection that I know her eyes see and I began fiercely protecting my reputation. Vanity I guess it was. Vanity rather than pride. And I began to bury my sins deep down, further than she could ever dig, and we enjoyed our time in the sun, while she shared her all, and I, I shared all that strengthened my reputation of being quite perfect.
The only problem is, with secrets, the ugly ones, they grow. Funny that, must be a rule of nature or something, because mine grew wings, and ugly fangs, and the more I kept them, the stronger its will became, to shoot up from that deep dark chest and show its ugly face. Yes, I have began to deplore, hate my dirty ugly secrets, and the worse part is, I have come to love Sandra Dee who only loves me, for what she could see. And so I often prayed it became stormy, and we went sailing, less and less.
She was right, secrets pull us apart. And my efforts in keeping secret after secret, has caused her to fade to the background behind them secrets I now protect with all my strength. So every Sunday, I am left alone, just me and my deep dark secrets, and I grew lonely.
Sandra Dee, her heart so pure, she came up to look for me one stormy Sunday eve. Her fair hand came knocking at the door, and I, I, did not open it. But her pure heart and fair hand, never gave up, she came knocking, and knocking again. And one dark night, when I lost sight to loneliness, I opened my door, and there she saw, me and the dark ugly creature I kept deep inside, from her.
What she did next, I will never forget. She was such an angel, fair and bright. She lay me down, and put me to bed, and sang me a song, so haunting, I shan't forget. And she picked up a knife, and turned her fair face, and struck the looming dark secret, down and watched as its life drains from it. She coaxed me and told me, that it was okay, and that I was perfect, in her eyes, always, forever and a day.
And I am thankful to Sandra Dee, who set me free from my secret that overtook me. And to her, I will always stay, true and pure, forever and a day. The ugly sins, I held within, I killed each time I showed her, and if only I realised, long ago, it was not myself, but it was that, I would never be perfect, without her.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
grandfather's clock
Her lower back was propped against the seat of the pew and her knees rested on the knee rest. Her hands were tucked close beside her and her head was bowed down. I moved in to sit in front of her and turned to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved as if she was in fervent prayer. Her nose screwed up occasionally and her eyebrows, animated, occasionally creased together nearly colliding with each other. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. A sudden wave of emotion, more like, peace came over her and she sat still, bowing her head yet again. 10:10am.
An hour and a minute. and so it passed. grasp it hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute so it passed.
I must wake her, we must savour this moment together. I know if we didn't I'd regret it forever. I put the hot milk in her bottle and slipped the cosy over the bottle hoping to keep the milk warm, just until we get there. I put my coffee into my thermos mug and stirred the teaspoon of honey in. I picked her up from her bed and the sleepy little girl lay her head on my shoulders. I put her in the car and then carried the milk and coffee out. I drove out and bowed my head to thank God for dear little Sara. I picked her up and gave her her bottle. She opened her eyes as she sipped the milk slowly, and suckled on the bottle. I sipped my coffee. I sat on the bonnet of my car with her on my lap and we stared out into the endless openness in front of us. I kissed her head and placed my lips on her head as I said a little prayer for her. With one hand she forced me to hold onto the bottle and she let go. She turned towards me a little and wrapped her little hands around my waist and laughed. She turned her face towards the rising sun. We watched as God poured colour into the darkness,and as the sky lightened, bit by bit, as the reflections and shadow lightened and the calm, the peace, the serenity, the beauty burst forth in its fullness before the day broke through, and she had to go back to the restraints that held her in, and so must I. 5:55am.
An hour and a minute, and so it passed. Grasp it, hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute, so it passed.
They laughed at the games they played. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They watched the sunset while singing Coldplay. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. The band played jazz and they made a fool of themselves eating ice cream and swaying to the music across the street. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They walked and walked and it felt as if the sun would never set, they talked and laughed about the story each of the fluffy clouds tell. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They drank soup from a cup. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. An hour and a minute, another hour and a minute. The talked about what they could do, an hour and a minute and so it passed. chocolate almonds, an hour and a minute. movies, an hour and a minute. an hour and a minute, another hour another minute. tick-tock, tick tock. on goes the city clock. 12:12pm, 1:11pm, 2:22pm, 3:33pm, 4:44pm.....
My grandfather's clock was to large for the shelf, So it stood ninety years on the floor; It was taller by half than the old man himself,Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, And was always his treasure and pride....
And then eternal minutes that break your heart, and you ache every minute you are in it, and yet, the minute never ends.
But it stopped, short never to go again, when the old man died.
They panicked, he was in great discomfort. Difficulty in breathing. She could tell it was a great difficulty. He gasped and she rang the doctor's office for an oxygen tank. The hospital should've sent you home with one. No they didn't. Well you've got to go down to the hospital and get one. Off they went. Amidst the panic their hands found each others and they held on tight. She fought with all her might to get him down there. He needs oxygen. He NEEDS IT NOW. The doctors gave him one, and sent him home. Just a day ago they broke the news to them. Chemotherapy would give him an extra month. Tomorrow was the first dose of treatment. They went home, with the oxygen tank, and savoured each other's company till the morning came. 4:44am.
An hour and a minute. and so it passed. grasp it hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute so it passed.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro, Many hours had he spent while a boy; And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know, And to share both his grief and his joy.For it struck twenty-four when he entered the door, With a blooming and beautiful bride.
It will come by your way no more, no more. It will come by your way no more, no more. An hour and a minute so it passed.
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.
Timeless joy, wishing it be crystallized. Wrap it in eternity dew, shelve it upon heaven's shelves. So when you go through it's pages, it's albums, of that your scrapbook, may you find. may you find, this hour, this minute. grasp it hold it. Timeless pain, is it ever the same? Is it ever the same?
We used to laugh a lot because we thought things will never change..la la la. You and I are floating on a tidal wave...hum hum hum. I look in my heart hoping it will never be filled with temporary fragments of gap, empty meaningless gap. Time wasted.
an hour and a minute. and so it passed. wasted day wasted nights. choose you must. Empty moments, go without. Timeless treasures. Seal them, you must.
an hour and a minute, and so it passed. grasp it, hold it one cannot. What will you fight for? what will you give it for? Why are you standing there? why are you standing there?
She was numbed speechless. She watched him grapple and struggle to live, but the pain, the physical just stood in the way. He told her he loved her. Her heart broke another time today. Another time. She watched in horror as the medication and blood soaked his t-shirt. What is that? They watched in horror. The chemo-drugs leaked out the very incision they made in his sides. Unbelievable. She shook her head and picked up the phone to call the ambulance. He held her hand tight. I love you, she said. Love me this hour, this minute, for tomorrow I may be no more. Time of death. 4:44pm.
An hour and a minute. And so it passed. Grasp it hold it, one cannot. An hour and a minute, did not pass. This hour this minute remained. It remained.
Ninety years without slumbering
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock
It stopp'd short, Never to go again
When the old man died.
She looked out the window at the clock tower, 4:44pm. And the hour, the minute replayed in her head once again.
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.
She looked out the window at the clock tower, 4:44pm. When oh when, will the clock tick again?
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old................man........
She stepped beyond the restraints. And the clock, ticked no more...
Cobwebs of time, imprisons her no more...
But it stopped, short never to go again, when the old man died.
4:44pm.
4:44pm.
4:44..........................
An hour and a minute. and so it passed. grasp it hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute so it passed.
I must wake her, we must savour this moment together. I know if we didn't I'd regret it forever. I put the hot milk in her bottle and slipped the cosy over the bottle hoping to keep the milk warm, just until we get there. I put my coffee into my thermos mug and stirred the teaspoon of honey in. I picked her up from her bed and the sleepy little girl lay her head on my shoulders. I put her in the car and then carried the milk and coffee out. I drove out and bowed my head to thank God for dear little Sara. I picked her up and gave her her bottle. She opened her eyes as she sipped the milk slowly, and suckled on the bottle. I sipped my coffee. I sat on the bonnet of my car with her on my lap and we stared out into the endless openness in front of us. I kissed her head and placed my lips on her head as I said a little prayer for her. With one hand she forced me to hold onto the bottle and she let go. She turned towards me a little and wrapped her little hands around my waist and laughed. She turned her face towards the rising sun. We watched as God poured colour into the darkness,and as the sky lightened, bit by bit, as the reflections and shadow lightened and the calm, the peace, the serenity, the beauty burst forth in its fullness before the day broke through, and she had to go back to the restraints that held her in, and so must I. 5:55am.
An hour and a minute, and so it passed. Grasp it, hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute, so it passed.
They laughed at the games they played. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They watched the sunset while singing Coldplay. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. The band played jazz and they made a fool of themselves eating ice cream and swaying to the music across the street. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They walked and walked and it felt as if the sun would never set, they talked and laughed about the story each of the fluffy clouds tell. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They drank soup from a cup. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. An hour and a minute, another hour and a minute. The talked about what they could do, an hour and a minute and so it passed. chocolate almonds, an hour and a minute. movies, an hour and a minute. an hour and a minute, another hour another minute. tick-tock, tick tock. on goes the city clock. 12:12pm, 1:11pm, 2:22pm, 3:33pm, 4:44pm.....
My grandfather's clock was to large for the shelf, So it stood ninety years on the floor; It was taller by half than the old man himself,Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, And was always his treasure and pride....
And then eternal minutes that break your heart, and you ache every minute you are in it, and yet, the minute never ends.
But it stopped, short never to go again, when the old man died.
They panicked, he was in great discomfort. Difficulty in breathing. She could tell it was a great difficulty. He gasped and she rang the doctor's office for an oxygen tank. The hospital should've sent you home with one. No they didn't. Well you've got to go down to the hospital and get one. Off they went. Amidst the panic their hands found each others and they held on tight. She fought with all her might to get him down there. He needs oxygen. He NEEDS IT NOW. The doctors gave him one, and sent him home. Just a day ago they broke the news to them. Chemotherapy would give him an extra month. Tomorrow was the first dose of treatment. They went home, with the oxygen tank, and savoured each other's company till the morning came. 4:44am.
An hour and a minute. and so it passed. grasp it hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute so it passed.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro, Many hours had he spent while a boy; And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know, And to share both his grief and his joy.For it struck twenty-four when he entered the door, With a blooming and beautiful bride.
It will come by your way no more, no more. It will come by your way no more, no more. An hour and a minute so it passed.
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.
Timeless joy, wishing it be crystallized. Wrap it in eternity dew, shelve it upon heaven's shelves. So when you go through it's pages, it's albums, of that your scrapbook, may you find. may you find, this hour, this minute. grasp it hold it. Timeless pain, is it ever the same? Is it ever the same?
We used to laugh a lot because we thought things will never change..la la la. You and I are floating on a tidal wave...hum hum hum. I look in my heart hoping it will never be filled with temporary fragments of gap, empty meaningless gap. Time wasted.
an hour and a minute. and so it passed. wasted day wasted nights. choose you must. Empty moments, go without. Timeless treasures. Seal them, you must.
an hour and a minute, and so it passed. grasp it, hold it one cannot. What will you fight for? what will you give it for? Why are you standing there? why are you standing there?
She was numbed speechless. She watched him grapple and struggle to live, but the pain, the physical just stood in the way. He told her he loved her. Her heart broke another time today. Another time. She watched in horror as the medication and blood soaked his t-shirt. What is that? They watched in horror. The chemo-drugs leaked out the very incision they made in his sides. Unbelievable. She shook her head and picked up the phone to call the ambulance. He held her hand tight. I love you, she said. Love me this hour, this minute, for tomorrow I may be no more. Time of death. 4:44pm.
An hour and a minute. And so it passed. Grasp it hold it, one cannot. An hour and a minute, did not pass. This hour this minute remained. It remained.
Ninety years without slumbering
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock
It stopp'd short, Never to go again
When the old man died.
She looked out the window at the clock tower, 4:44pm. And the hour, the minute replayed in her head once again.
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.
She looked out the window at the clock tower, 4:44pm. When oh when, will the clock tick again?
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old................man........
She stepped beyond the restraints. And the clock, ticked no more...
Cobwebs of time, imprisons her no more...
But it stopped, short never to go again, when the old man died.
4:44pm.
4:44pm.
4:44..........................
Sunday, June 5, 2011
hello, goodbye, what is your point Mr.darcy?
That is not the point, his voice rings in her ear. That was what he always said. She never got his point, never, but in the beginning, that did not matter.
They lay, side by side staring at the ceiling and the sinking realisation drills deeper into his rational mind, and her bottomless heart. And as the core, the centre of that hard sharp fact reaches a depth that verifies its hard truth, they both saw that they their worlds are miles apart, and she, began to feel a rising feeling that, despite their hand-holding, and love-making, they each stood alone, on their own side of the world. And the ceiling spun, like the drill that is drilling into the depth of her, hot tears streamed quietly from the corner of her eyes, and her world, the one where she built with happy memories of him and her, crumbled. They may not be, after all.
"Yet each man kills....."
That is not the point, his voice rings in her head. That was what he always said. She never got his point, never, but in the beginning, that did not matter. Days have passed since they talked, not about anything worth talking about anyway. What to have for dinner, what they are doing in the weekend, nothing they say to each other really mean anything, make any dents, build up, or break down. I guess maybe that is why they decided, to argue. And then the minute they started arguing, they argued, but at least they felt each other's presence. Of course he always had a point, and she never did, to him, she never did, feelings are not a valid point. And so we hear him say over and over again.
"Yet each man kills the thing he loves...."
That is not the point, his voice rings in her head. That was what he always said. She never got his point, never, but in the beginning, that did not matter. That is not the point, the words rang in her head, over and over and over again.
What happened Darcy, what happened? Elizabeth had feelings, that is what happened. She lay, on the ground as he stared, angry at her selfish ways, doing only what she felt. He could not understand, the realities of her that feels because he was a rational thinking man, always managing to exercise self control, always managing to calculate risks, and walk straight. She was always running, jumping, flying, but tears stream down her face as she asks him, is that not why he loved her in the first place? But that was not the point. Not the point. Not the point...
And in that moment, where her anger, frustration, pain, sadness, and all within her overwhelmed her, surged up from inside and grew to surround her, more and more, for he refused to acknowledge it, ate her, she ran, and jumped and hoped very hard she could fly.
But she could not. And so there he stood, staring at her as she lay on the ground, five floors below, frowning at her selfish ways, and his hatred welled up from within him. The hatred he had rationalised burst through his rational man, and he shouted, with all his might, curses no one dreamt he could say. And the broom hit the fan.
"yet each man kills..." Each woman too I say.
But that was not the point, the point is, she is now dead.
And all she wanted was to prove, her point.
Yea, selfish I say.
On whose part? Mr.Darcy and hers, I guess. Both.
Hello, you say, goodbye, said I.
.......
“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword!” Oscar Wilde
Monday, May 16, 2011
Chad Scholoft and the pink butterfly
It was an awfully small window in time their paths crossed, and yet they met, Chad and Maya, and for that she was glad, because he showed her the pink butterfly could fly.
It was rather trapped, the pink butterfly, and Maya watched it every single day, helpless. She was often like that, helpless, and staring, often wishing the could help but she often froze indecisive of how, or what to do, or maybe it was the fear of what could happen if she helped that froze her. So she sat and stared at the fluttering pink thing inside the glass box.
She pondered her life, often feeling much like the pink butterfly. Fluttering around, frustrated, seeing the world beyond the glass box, and yet resolved to flutter around its four corners. Dejected the butterfly would rest, in the corner on the top right of the box, because there was where it felt the least trapped. No matter how hard it fluttered its wings, it hit the glass ceiling of the box, much like her, dear Maya.
When Chad walked in and saw the pink fluttering wings he felt it. The hero in him jumped at the knowledge that he needed to reach out to smash the glass box, so he wrapped his fists tightly around the handle of the umbrella he was carrying. Funny he had that, for he hardly carried an umbrella, or anything that would burden him, or stop him from moving quickly. He slowly approached the glass box and watched the pink butterfly flutter.
Smash the glass will you? She pleaded. He looked up and his eyes met hers, he recognised that anxiety, that urgency in her voice. Wait, he whispered, she has to be ready to take flight. Maya was starting to get impatient. The pink butterfly was idle today, and it fluttered and flew, and rested at the top right hand corner of the glass box. He released the grip on the umbrella a little bit and shook his head, maybe tomorrow. She shrugged.
They walked off into the sunset in opposite directions him patient, and her, angry that he had not rescued the pink fluttering insect. She of course could not do it herself. She did not know how, just like how she flew around in her head daily revisiting her dreams, in the four corners of her mind, reluctant to let herself do them. She had been idle for years now, fluttering each day, before resting at the top right hand corner of her own little glass box. Waiting.
Day after Chad met Maya at the glass box, and waited, patiently. He was familiar with this, he knew if he smashed the box out of time, the butterfly would never have taken flight. So he hoped and urged daily for the little pink thing to gather enough ferocity, enough courage, enough energy. And day after day Maya just hoped and wished Chad would smash the glass box.
Chad often wondered why Maya did not smash the box, she needed to, for the pink butterfly was hers to free. He would accompany her anyhow, for it was he, and only he that could show her how. Everyone else was accustomed to being stuck in the box, he was the only one in her life that helped her remember there were things other than the glass box. He knew that. So he met her daily at the glass box, and reminded her, not of the possibilities she knew, but of how, he could live beyond the box.
He sat, wistful looking at the sun, and opened the window wide enough for the sun to enter in. Just a few months ago he was trapped, he thought. But one day he thought he wanted different, and he climbed through the window and never looked back. He hoped that Maya would like him, climb through that window one day. She was trapped much. She should jump, just like he did.
Maya often felt like a bird in the cage resolving to believe what she was told, that she has to make the best of the cage and be grateful for being fed. And he, there was a point in time where he would have broken down, shattered to tiny little shards, yet he’d find himself reassembling the pieces and move on, as if nothing had happened.
It was one day he was resolute, and he somehow cajoled enough will in his body to listen to that innate call. With the energy and one moment of passion he saw through the window at the lies he has been told about life. About how he should continue seeking to please others. And in that one moment of anger he jumped with all his might and shattered the glass box, to pieces.
The pink butterfly was restless that night. Something stirred and it all of a sudden knew, it rested on the top corner of the glass box to muster enough strength for tomorrow. For tomorrow will be different.
Chad set out as usual, in his straw hat and bermuda shorts towards the glass box. The weather was stormy, and he had to make many-a-stops and by the time he got there it was way past sunset. He slipped down the road into the the little alley and down the hill behind the coconut trees towards the sandy beach, it was almost sunset and he could see her shadow. He approached quietly and watched as Maya swiftly swung the umbrella into the glass box. He stopped and watched as she whispered to the fluttering pink butterfly that it was free to fly.
Maya had decided on different. She had put on her yellow dress, and her green flip flops. Something in her was resolute. She had walked towards the door, but instead of turning its knob she turned to climb out the window. And now, in that calm sunset, after the thunderstorm Maya, with umbrella in her hand smiled, and beside her fluttered the pink butterfly.
Little did she know, it was smiling, and so was Chad.
And they walked off into the sunset, in opposite directions, but he knew they will meet again, outside this glass box because that day, she jumped, with all her might.
(this entry is dedicated to Ali Imran K and the words in italics are his. thanks for reminding me Ali :) )
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