My Afternoon At Kensington Gardens

Some time back, I went to London. During the approach into Heathrow, I managed to take the above picture of Kensington Gardens, which was originally part of Hyde Park. That's the (obvious) Round Pond with Kensington Palace to its left, across The Boardwalk.

As usual, I headed straight for the lovely park with my camera and (then-new) Nikon 70-200 f2.8 VR lens. A guy and his new toy, no obstacles to deter them. Straight to shooting around Kensington Gardens, en-route to Nahar Cafeteria at Mara House. Needed my fix of nasi campur and teh tarik. 10 Sterling Pounds for the meal, aiyo! A man and his hungry stomach, no obstacles to deter them, too.

Some of the hundreds of shots I took that day:






Then this little girl caught my eye. Cute little 'un this one. She was with two ladies, the older one presumably her mom and the younger one pictured below in the green jumper.

A short moment after this snapshot, they were all having snacks back on their picnic mat. I then continued to enjoy my zoom lens with shots like this:

That same cute girl from earlier on was back at the edge of the pond. I took this shot below of her and I began to focus on the swans and ducks, when there was a splash and some screams.

I turned to look, with my viewfinder of course. And my finger instinctively pressed the shutter and caught this piture.....

The poor little toddler was about 10 meters from where I was so I had to dash towards her. Her mom got there first and she promptly jumped in. It was slippery beneath. Thus, they were both slipping and sliding. The mom was gasping for help. When I got near them, I had a momentary doubt. Around my neck was a few thousand bucks' worth of equipment and should they have a swim in the murky waters of The Round Pond, I will face a murky situation indeed.

Proudly, I overcame the selfish thoughts to reach out for the lady's hand. But I still found myself in a tricky situation. The lady was just too heavy for me to pull out. I was myself slowly slipping into the water. Timely assistance came in the form of a middle-aged man. He took my other hand and together, we managed to haul mother and daughter out of the pond.

Mom thanked us and got straight to cleaning themselves up. I thanked the good 'uncle' and he just went 'Jolly good show, ta!' and off he went. Relieved that my photographic equipment was intact as was my pride (could've had to call for help had I slipped in), I decided to escape to somewhere safer:

... where this Pakcik (uncle) dishes out the best comfort food for me this side of The Round Pond,

NAHAR CAFETERIA!

Permission To Reincarnate, Sir!

I read this in the news a few days back:

I was tickled silly, gigglish at the irony of the headline. The article piqued my curiosity enough to Google the subject. I've even bought and commenced reading this book by one Stephen Batchelor.

I would think that 'living Buddhas' would mean 'Bodhisattva' - an enlightened being destined to be a Buddha, but purposely remaining on earth to teach others. Buddhist reincarnation concepts can be read about here. The authorities in China want the final say over the appointments of reincarnate monks. Red tape and rubber stamps. Wonder if there are forms to be filled.

Seventeen pages into the book now. Interesting. What's more interesting is this website I stumbled upon: The Reincarnation Station. One needs only to answer some simple questions and at the end, be told what you'd be reincarnated as in the next life. Me? I'll be a tiger. Grrrowll.....

A Simple Pleasure in San Francisco

No too long ago, I was in San Francisco. Great city. And it's summer. One of my favourite things to do there, apart from stuffing my face ( which we'll get to soon ), is a simple but professional shoe shine.
Along Market Street, there are at least two shoe-shine booths. This particular one is in front of Virgin Megastore. The contraption above is where one rests one of his feet.
Both booths are manned by African-American gentlemen. Soul music blasts from their masta-blastas. On this occassion, it was Percy Sledge, Barry White, Otis Redding and The Platters. These were the few that I could identify.
For 7 US$, your shoes get the deluxe treatment which is claimed to retain the out-of-the-shop shine for at least two weeks. For 20 bucks more, the leather gets the ultimate treatment, which is going to make your walkabouts appear spanking new for 3 months! Being a cheap dude on a budget, I sheepishly declined the superior service. So Mr.D then got working on mah shoes.....

...while his partner, dozed holding his cup of coffee. Must have been the regular ashtray-brew most diners serve in the country. Free and unlimited pouring! But I digress.
Mr D started by rolling up my jeans a notch, before cleaning my Florsheim boots ( purchased at 50% off from One U) with what seemed like soapy water. Then it was an assortment of creams and black polish, and cream again.
After what seemed like 20 minutes ( judging by the number of soulful singing from the masta blastas) , he was applying the finishing buff. Voila! I was eight bucks poorer, with a pair of shiny boots. An extra buck for the tip.

To me, it is money well spent. It is a simple yet fulfilling pleasure. Simply because I am TOO LAZY to polish my own shoes.

Gone Bananas, Over The Flower

The banana flower caught my eye recently. And my heart, too. I was so taken with it that I took around 30 shots of the bloom. On top is my favourite photo. It wasn't my first encounter with it, but it certainly was my first 'crush' on it. Funny how I did not realize how beautiful and captivating the flower is.

The flower matures eventually into the banana fruit bunch(es). It is also used as an ingredient in cookings in The Philipines (kari-kari - a beef stew), Laos, Vietnam (as salad), Thailand (eaten raw and cooked in various ways), and Sri Lanka where it makes a great curry dish. Wonder why it didn't catch on in Malaysia.

If it did, I'd probably not get this moment of unbridled attraction. Normalcy will resume shortly..... I think.

I Love You Ah-Ma

My grandmother passed away yesterday. All of 88 years old. The last time I saw her was exactly a year ago, at an old folk's home in Ipoh. She was no longer lucid, and caring for her required professional assistance. All that remained was her instinct to love her loved ones, and to defend herself. While she could only muster an uncertain though caring smile for any family member, any nurse that got near her incurred her wary wrath in the form of a stinging pinch. Feeble as she may seemed then, but one could see plenty of skin agonizing in the grip of her thumb and index finger. Her alertness and reflex towards the nurses did not wane for two whole days. In the end, she had to be brought back to an aunt's home to be supervised by a live-in nurse.
So caught up was I with my life, I did not pay her a visit since, merely enquring about her well-being through my parents. Then mom called, telling me the news in between her sobs. Mom was most fond of ah-ma for being a non-imposing mother-in-law. Gathering my siblings, we made the trip back to Teluk Intan. It was great fun bonding during the 3 hour drive, reminiscing our experiences with our father's mother.

To many visitors and well-wishers, it could have been confusing arriving at my aunt's house where ah-ma (grandma in Hokkien) was laid in rest. The first sight was a significant number of telekung-clad ladies milling about. Then the boisterous greetings and chatter were peppered with equal amounts of English, Malay, Tamil, Hokkien, Cantonese and Hakka. But yes, they were at the right wake. That's the family that my ah-ma raised, a true Malaysian smörgåsbord. It was organized chaos, four generations in all. Isn't it ironic how a death in the family brings more relatives together than weddings and births? Still, it was such joy to get together, to catch up and renew the ties that bond us. Ah-ma had apparently mused some years ago, that she wished for her funeral to be a warm affair and not the sombre occasions of which she had attended plenty. She got her wish. Though her clan is in sorrow at her passing, we were joyful for the kindship reaffirmed.

Ah-ma had the Holy Bible held to her chest. It was the Chinese version, so I had to ask an aunt which verse it was opened to. It was Psalm 23:

1 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever

Ah-ma had many prayers dedicated to her by all her kin who practice different beliefs. I believe she is truly at peace now. I feel her love still.

Of Law and Justice, and a boy who murdered yet set free.

Five years ago, I read in disbelief, of a murder committed by a 12 year-old boy. He was repeatedly called 'Fatty' and a spat ensued between him and the 11 year-old daughter of his tuition teacher. They were alone in the teacher's home. He snapped and attacked the girl with a sharp weapon. The girl died from massive loss of blood resulting from four slash wounds and twenty stab wounds.

In the intervening five years, from the magistrate's courts to the KL High Court to the Court of Appeal, the prosecution and the defence did their thing. All while the boy spent time in prison. Yesterday, the boy, now 17, was set FREE.

The court said it had no choice. (Read about the facts and technicalities here.) This is one of those occasions where one goes 'Huh?' and ponders about the world we live in. This is the law. But is this justice? A question asked too many times around the Courts of Justice. Courts of Justice?

Most would accept whatever outcome as decided through the channels of law and order, even if it seems obviously skewed. Some have felt disgruntled enough to carry out themselves the justice they deemed more appropriate than that ruled by the law, breaking another law in the process.

There is the law and then there is justice. The law is laid out plainly in black and white, albeit with exploitable loopholes and interpretations. As loose as it may seem, it IS laid out in letter and cast in stone, so to say. Justice, unfortunately, is largely a concept, an opinion. More so to parties on opposing sides of any issue or case. They may accept the rule of law, but the absence of justice may still be perceived.

In this particular case, the boy and his family may feel that justice has been served rightly. And it is understandable that his victim's family are shocked at the sheer lack of justice. The public at large may offer a myriad of other views on this, very likely colouring the entire spectrum from freedom to the death sentence.

We all want justice. But given the nature and variance of the human mind, the law is all that we can rely on. If everyone should get the justice they want, it could throw us back to barbarism in a free-for-all world. Justice can be continually pursued. But it must be done within the law.

PS
And if we still feel that we did not get justice, there is always Judgment Day. No lawyers needed.

Re-branding exercise

MUCH PONDERED PONDERINGS. The title has bugged me since 2005. In a rush to publish my first blog, I settled for that lame title. In a fit of shame, the original blog was deleted along with the title. Then, when the itch of blogging overwhelmed, I started a new blog in haste. Still with the same crappy title! I suppose it is unfavourable feng-shui for the blog having that name as I did more pondering than actually typing. Heh-heh, it's good to apportion blame on the defenseless.

Let's see if this new title will bring forth a healthier 'flow' of posts. OK, I do acknowledge it is still lame.......

My Recent 24 Hours In New York

Herald Square
And thus, I eschewed sleep (as demanded by the body-clock) for the full benefit of taking in NYC. First destination was the COMPUSA store on Broadway. I have been itching to get myself a MacBookPro but the prohibitive price of admission has so far thwarted me. Hopes of a super sale were soon dashed. It's even more expensive when the 8.25% municipal sales tax is factored in. I then drifted along Broadway until Macy's. That's where I snapped the picture of The Empire State Building on the left. It was on that spot, too, where I suddenly felt peckish. Aimlessly walking, I found myself quite tempted by this kosher deli.



Perusing the menu for five minutes without any commitment, I decided to walk on. There were many hot dog and bagel joints by the roadsides. And this time round, I noticed there were a lot more Halal stalls. However, I felt that I needed a full meal. Like two or three hot dogs. My legs just carried me along as I anguished over what to eat, wondering what happened to the meal I had on the airplane three hours prior.



Along the way I saw this:


It's a common sight all over NYC streets. Africans flogging 'branded' handbags and sunglasses.

Soon, I found myself walking past the AMC 25 Empire Cineplex on West 42nd Street, with the Loews Cineplex Regal Theatre across the street.


I took this picture,
and saw a sight at once heart-wrenching and heart-warming. A pair of Siamese twins who were joined at the head walked pass me. One twin was about the size of a 10 year-old and had no use of her legs. She was perched on a trolley-like contraption. Her twin-sister provided the mobility. But barely. Manoeuvering the trolley with the heads joined must be difficult, to say the least. Yet, they were smiling and talking to each other. They are somewhere in this picture.

(The following day, I saw a picture of them in USA Today. They were among the many guests of honour at the re-opening of Ripley's Believe It Or Not Odditorium in New York. I had probably missed the proceedings by a few hours.)

Then I met Mr. Morgan Freeman!

Well, his likeness in all his waxed glory, anyway. Waxed glory.... you know what I mean. 'He' was standing in front of New York's Madam Tussauds


A couple of minutes later, the Naked Cowboy of Times Square comes into view.



That's the cool dude with the guitar in his white briefs and ten-gallon hat, in the bottom right of the photo.

People actually tip this man to just to have a photo taken of or with him. I've seen him in winter, peddling his umm, talents in the sub-zero temperatures here in Times Square. Attired exactly the same! I'd have tipped him a buck then for his tenacity but getting to the warm sanctuary that the Virgin Megastore is in winter took priority . On my previous trips, I've seen a lot more curious admirers around him. The novelty must have worn off, I thought.



Walking past the singing half-nudie, I crossed the road and found THIS very compelling signboard outside the Hawaiian Tropic Zone.

There was actually a queue of five eager-looking guys outside the restaurant. It did cross my mind to dine there and get myself an autographed souvenir. It was around 2.30pm local and jet lag was probably impairing my judgment. And taste.

"Naaaah!", my inner voice told me, "What's the big deal about a woman taking off her clothes?" Yeah, and I'd have to pay an inflated price for the meal AND the magazine . And to what end? Laughing at myself for even considering the whole thing I walked on towards Virgin Megastore, my favourite stop in Times Square.

Just before I reached the entrance to this must-go place of mine, someone caught my eye from across the street. Could it be? Sure looked so. I dashed across the street, thanks to a red light further up. And there she was:



The Naked Cowgirl! I didn't know the Naked Cowboy had his counterpart. This lady had so many more fans. Male and female tourists, families, all thronged her. That explained the dwindled fuss around the poor dude in briefs. I joined in the jostling, too. Played tourist. It was all in the interest of this blog, of course. Found out later that she has appeared at Times Square for quite a while now. Pretty enterprising, this lady.

Eventually, I made my way to the massive music store and had spent an hour browsing when I abruptly remembered that there was unfinished business. By then, the munchies had deteriorated to near-starvation.

And so I hi-tailed down East 51st Street to my favourite burger joint in Manhattan:





After gobbling down two cheeseburgers, medium rare, I straggled back to the hotel five blocks away on Lexington Avenue. The subsequent warm shower relaxed my time-zoned-out muscles. Easing into the nice king-sized bed, the comfort was oh-so heavenly. As I was slipping out of consciousness I thought, "What's the big deal about a woman taking off her clothes, anyway?" My inner voice offered: "Maybe some, if she plays the guitar and earns money while at it...."And the last thought I could recall was: "The cheeseburgers were superb."

My Recent 24 Hours In New York - Prologue

Crossing The Queensboro Bridge

It was probably my fifteenth or sixteenth trip to the Big Apple in the past 12 years. But the buzz was very much present as soon as I learnt that I'd be going, three weeks prior. It's work, but there's always a little time to immerse into the hustle and bustle that is New York. The time difference is, well, exactly 12 hours behind Malaysia, Singapore, The Philipines etc. 3pm there is 3am for the body. Walking around in the day time is often accompanied by uncontrollable yawning and drifting train of thought. But it is very satisfying. Especially when pounding the pavements and bitumen armed with a camera.

While the jet lag may not be such a big problem, but it still needs tackling. The best approach is sleep. And thus, I shall continue with this very soon. Yawn.

Religious Passion and Compassion

The world today is witnessing more large-scale violence and atrocities. Whether the occurences have actually increased, we cannot really tell. What has increased is the awareness of such events. The ubiquity of the media and internet has made the world smaller. Wars and massacres are reported almost instantaneously from the battlefields and killing fields. Watching and reading about these conflicts, I cannot help but ponder: Why?

The causes of these horrors are multifarious. Humans can be driven by almost any idea or emotion. But of all the motivations behind which hate and hurt are committed, the most saddening are those that are religious.

Most people, of all faiths and following, are not sages nor gurus in the knowledge of their own religion. As such, many experience the guilt induced by someone who is seen to be more 'religious'. 'I didn't see you in church yesterday' and 'Did you pray at another mosque last Friday?' have probably caused many blushes, within and without. We are humans. We always fall short of the demands of our faiths. Hence the guilt. And the occasional urge to be more 'pious'.

What I'm getting at is this: It is very easy to use religion to stir up feelings. We all want to do right by God. We will do anything under the banner of God. But who waves the banners? They are human beings like us.

It can be said with certainty that the root cause of religious clashes is anything but of faiths. Which religion exhorts its followers to go forth and annihilate? Human frailties are the origins of all misery. Greed, envy, fear, pride and such are surely the motivations driving warmongers misguided enough to abuse the attachment and reverence with which religions are held. When it comes to religion, we can become very passionate. Murderously so, at times.

But where is the compassion? Are we less spiritual or religious were we more compassionate? Are we apostates for forgiving somebody who, say, denigrates our faith? Would we please God if we kick the crap out of the insulting unbeliever?

God is the most compassionate, the most forgiving.

Why then, are we hating, hurting and killing fellow human beings in His name?

akula's related story

Being our age, not acting any other

This is not new. This is not the first time I've heard it. However, this is the first time I really felt it. Age has crept up on me. And boy, did it give me a big kick in the gutter.

I must say, that I was extremely enthusiastic about taking to the pitch when the offer came: A friendly match with like-aged opponents, for a like-aged team. How bad could it be? Then I got news that a buddy from my formative years had passed on. Mat Awet was my age, born of the same year. Mortality bit a little deeper. My mental age jumped from sixteen to thirty-eight in an instant.

Nevertheless, my thirty-eight year-old mind was just as keen to reclaim the glory on the field. Never mind that my last soccer game was two whole years ago: a kickaround with my little daughter. During the said interval, I probably ran to the toilet three times. And jogged my deteriorating memory on five occasions. That ought be sufficient exercise, I reasoned.

This afternoon, I drove to the shopping centre. In one receipt, I acquired my pre-requisites: A pair of Adidas boots, a pair of Adidas socks and a pair of Adidas shin-guards. I've already two children, so I saved on the ball-guards. An hour after the transaction, my trusty brother in-law drove up to my front gate and honked the inevitable: The time of reckoning has arrived.

So he drove me to the padang where the match was to take place. We were early. I put on my spanking new gear and I decided to do some warming up. I stretched. Shockingly, I could not quite reach as far as I set out to. Then I decided to jog the length of the field. Like in a horror movie, the end of the field seem to stretch out further as I approach it. So much for warming up. My new team mates arrive in trickles. Five Dutch, two Italians, two Nigerians, a Korean-Dutch and three of us Malaysians. The two Africans were the youngest and had enough fitness for the whole team. Our opponents were probably older than us on average. But they seemed fitter. Yes, I wasn't worried about their skills. Just their fitness. Skill and experience I possess. Fitness, I have not. When asked about my favoured position, I chose defense. I may have been a lethal striker but I thought: I may be deadly in the first 10 minutes but after that, I'm dead.

The whistle blew. After 15 minutes, we were leading 2-0. I haven't made any blunders, that was more important for me. After about 30 minutes, I found that I was merely willing myself forward. Spirit is willing but flesh is weak? Hogwash! Even the spirit was cashing out.

I then did the noblest deed I could muster in my hazy brain: Ask to be substituted. During the subsequent corner kick after I walked off, the team conceded a goal. I felt selfishly glad I wasn't on the pitch. For surely I'd have contributed to that goal against us. The first half then ended 2-1. I just watched the second half, hoping that nobody would ask to be substituted.

The whistle blew. We won 4-3. WE? I suppose I had a part in it, I gave my all for at least 35 minutes. Though it may not amount to much, but it was my ALL.

At the drink up after the game with my new-found friends, the captain voiced his appreciation for my game. He also asked for my passport and birth date. For future matches and tournaments. I have been accepted into the team! Whatever I did was good enough.

A sense of relief washed over me. Followed by the dawning of a realisation:

I SHOULD NOT EXPECT TO BE SIXTEEN WHEN I AM THIRTY-EIGHT. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!

After all, who would expect me to run around like a teenager, except myself?

I am looking forward to the next game. In the meantime, I may do well to actually go out for a walk in the mornings or evenings. And cut down on second helpings. After all, I am not sixteen. Not like the guy in the picture.

On the 6th of June

On the 6th of June
Disbelief
gave way to Grief
Into pieces
Many a heart broke

On the 6th of June
Friend, Brother
Mat Awet left
Leaving spaces
Where he had stood

Fare thee well,
Friend, Brother
May God guide and bless
your soul
and ours.


Akula's Tribute
Hobo's Tribute
Almost Anonymous' Tribute

BRING DOWN THE BIG UNS. NO MIS-SPELLING THERE.

I was reading USA Today recently because it was the only daily I found at my workplace that day. This particular edition had a letter from one Chris Sage of Tom’s River in New Jersey. He was clearly upset with the recent concerted movement by many churches to discourage, if not, ban Halloween.
He found pamphlets on his car windscreen, that were effectively telling him that his children of eleven and nine ‘will rot in the bowels of hell if they dress up like characters from the Pirates of the Caribbean and go house-to-house with friends – while supervised – just to get some candy, all while socializing and participating in a friendly neighborhood tradition.’


I could empathize with Mr. Sage.

Merely days earlier, I had a rather robust discussion with my father on the very same topic, Halloween. My parents have become very staunch and committed Christians since they were baptized two years ago. I am happy, almost envious that they have such an intense spirituality, after all these years of not aligning themselves to any faith. They have been soft-selling the same path to me. But that’s another story.

My Pa made a remark about finding it difficult to handle kids that may turn up at his gate with a ‘trick or treat’. I was taken aback on two counts: 1) That Malaysian kids are already into Halloween, and 2) That Pa is taken in with the anti-Halloween effort. The former I dealt with easily, the media being what it is today has made virtually everything American known and mimicked the world over. The latter, however, begged clarification.

I am of the opinion that dressing up fancy to partake in a social activity is basically what Halloween is about. It has nothing to do with one’s faith. If anything, one’s faith is the anchor with which one does not overstep the boundary between ‘activity’ and ‘obsession’. Halloween's origins, after all, are not demonic but for avoidance of such. Pa, of course, was driven by the church. Such activities are just un-Christian, he said. Soon, we were debating on how Christian were Christmas, Chinese New Year, New Year’s Day and so forth. I insisted that he was not giving me his opinion from his own conscience and merely repeating doctrines propagated by the church. My Mom probably sensed the rising temperature from the kitchen because she abruptly sent the old man out on an errand. We moved on to other topics after that, with no hard feelings. I’m thankful for Pa is open for discussions without me feeling unfilial or kurang ajar. I love and respect him for that. That, too, is another story.



What disturbs me is the ease and regularity with which all and sundry are declared un-Christian, un-Islamic or un-democratic. Un- Whatever! We used to have to deal with isms. Today, it’s the BIG UNS. Most of the time, the basis on which such declarations are made is frivolous and debatable. Like the religious expert from a bank in Malaysia who declared it haram (forbidden) for Muslims to wish Hindus a happy Deepavali (or Diwali). His odious email could have dealt inter-faith and inter-racial goodwill a bloody nose. Thankfully, the insipid motion and notion was shot down and clarified by the authorities. I wonder if the poor man is aware of the hurt, insult and misinformation that he instigated. Many other similar summary declarations are hardly ever debated upon and that is very frightening. Just because a decree comes from a holy office or holy men, it has to be obeyed regardless.

More often than not it comes with an air of holier-than-thou condescension. Mr. Sage wrote of the anti-Halloween campaign as ‘an effort led by self-righteous egotistical holy men blinded by their own delusions of grandeur’. It may not be entirely true but the possibilities are horrifying. A bigot who sits in the position can easily spread hatred and fear.


The decisions are still man-made in essence. Indeed, their assumptions are based on the Scriptures and Traditions. I query: Under whose interpretations of the Scriptures, then? There lies a great danger of seeing what we wish to see, to find the means to justify the end. This is why research, discussion and debate are vital. Facts are needed for reasoning. The path to enlightenment is not without questions. There is no faith without doubt. These Big Uns, they are so often borne out of narrowly-learned minds.

Life would be very much simpler if the world were mono-cultural, mono-religion, mono-racial and maybe, mono-sexual. It wouldn’t take long to understand everything there is to know and identify the un-social, un-spiritual or un-cool elements for such a society. Alas! We don’t dwell in such a world.

Judicial Law is fairly common everywhere we go, for crime as we see it affects us all in a generally similar manner across cultures and geography. Murderers and cheats are abhorred everywhere. Cultural, traditional and religious practices are not entirely uniform. Some would appear so alien; it may even go against the very grain of another. Seek first to understand before passing any judgment, on ourselves and not on others. Deepavali is a symbolic celebration of Light’s triumph over Darkness, of Good over Evil. Where’s the wrong and unholy in that?

My brother decides to dress up as Sponge Bob Square Pants to get candies. Even if I see Halloween as a great waste of time, I have no right to sentence him to an eternity in hell. That’s for God to judge. It is not part of our tradition but I owe it to myself to find out what Halloween means to him, although I'm aware of how removed the present-day concept of Halloween is from its origins. He says, it’s only for fun with friends and is neither about the devil nor worship of evil. Having understood, it now seems no more a waste of time than a trip to the beach. With understanding, we will be able to appreciate the intent behind the practices of every culture, tradition and religion. The intent is invariably always good, pure and simple. With knowledge there won’t be fear and suspicion. The Big Uns evidently are rooted in ignorance.

Ignorance and misinterpretation of cultures and religions outside one’s own is still very prevalent. Rituals of a pantheistic Ticuna tribe in deepest Amazon may not be necessary knowledge to one in Petaling Jaya, but a neighbor’s faith and related anathemas surely warrant some understanding. Love thy neighbor, ring a bell? To love, love, love him is to know, know, know him. Alright, that may be stretching it a bit but we all do loathe committing a faux pas and understanding your friends and neighbors will prevent red faces of embarrassment and possibly, of rage.

Is it a sin to learn about another religion? Will learning about Buddha’s teachings convert a Muslim into a Buddhist? Would studying the Holy Quran apostates a Christian? We all learned mathematics, are we then mathematicians? What matters is we know numbers and are thus able to do sums decently for day to day usage. If you are comfortable and confident with yourself being a mathematician, learning history won’t make you a historian overnight. As the anguished parent from Tom’s River charged, ‘If the church is doing its job correctly, it’d have the confidence in the spirituality of its congregation to know that Halloween is just a fun day for kids.’ This statement hits at the very heart of every faith, belief and individual in this plural world of ours. We need to sort things out from within, right from the roots up so there won’t be a need to nip buds all the time, more so buds from another tree. Or go off tangent and come up with an assortment of Uns. Once unleashed, they may corrupt the tenets of the very religion or faith they purport to defend. The pure and holy made murky. More so in the eyes of people of other beliefs.


Only objective minds can readily separate the faith from the practitioners. This is why knowledge and discourse are indispensable, especially in matters of faith and tradition.

Ignorance won’t be such a problem had we COMPASSION for one another. But that is yet another story and will be discussed next.

God Willing. God Bless.

A few axes to grind, but not yet.

First off, an unreserved apology is due to Irene for my no-show to her Halloween tag. Like Princess Shin, it is very much due to the fact that we in Malaysia don’t exactly partake in the end-October tradition. It would have been fun to do so, though. Of course, that’s not a water-tight excuse for being a spoil-sport. Princess Shin did a great job circumventing our handicap with her response to the tagging. I, on the other hand, sat on my blogging hands while anguishing over how to get about it. It was events and news during this index-warming period that moved me to (finally) write this:

MY JOURNEY THUS FAR

Before I embark on a few rounds of heavy-duty ranting, I feel compelled to provide a brief history of my life; if only to give a glimpse of the journey that brought me to my present set of belief and mindset.

I was born into a household that did not practice any religion. In a great multicultural Malaysia, my parents had close friends from all races and religion. I am very thankful they brought me and my siblings up blind to racial differences. My grandparents on both sides were Taoists but that had little impression on me, except for the burning of joss-sticks. I had no awareness of the concepts of spirituality and religion until one fateful morning during kindergarten.

A pony-tailed classmate told me that she feared nothing as Jesus would save her from any peril or threat. I countered with my father, the policeman, Ultraman, Superman, King Kong and a whole list of heroic characters real and fictitious. But she brushed them all off, insisting that her Jesus was far superior to all of them put together! All of five years-old, I was dismayed that I have never come across such an illustrious and capable protagonist. I was curious.

“Pa, who is Jesus?” I asked my father. Next thing I knew, I was bundled along with my younger sister to Sunday school at the local Methodist church every weekend after that. My old man certainly knew how to delegate.

Thus, every Sunday morning my sis and I would be with a whole classroom of kids learning about the Bible. I discovered Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Moses and of course, Jesus. I learned to pray. The premise of Good vs. Evil was revealed to me. Angels. Demons. Heaven. Hell. It was quite frightening at times, especially the prospect of being punished in Purgatory for sins committed in life. But generally, the stories from the Bible I found fascinating. And the games and play we had with the other kids after Sunday school was great fun.

My parents decided to put me in a Sekolah Kebangsaan (National School) for my primary education, where I was one of three Chinese descent pupils in the entire school. Save for about twenty ethnic Indians, the rest were Melayu. As this was basically a Malay school, there weren’t any alternative lessons for the non-Muslims during Ugama (Religious) periods. Wanting to blend in, I stayed for the subjects. Soon I was learning Jawi (Arabic Text), Ilmu Fiqah (Understanding and Interpretation of Syariah Laws), Ilmu Tauhid (The Theology or Basis of Islam) and Sejarah (History of) Islam. For the next eleven years, I would be in very Melayu-majority environments and I continued to learn Islam as a subject in class.

Through the years, the practices and beliefs of Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism and Sikhism were revealed to me by relatives and friends.

Years passed and I’m paying taxes already. My job entails a lot of traveling and on many trips I find a lot of time in my hands, mostly alone. In these moments of solitude, I’ve spent a lot of time researching all manner of philosophies, religions and beliefs. One can say that I’m soul-searching.

This is just the brief background. The axes to be ground will be coming soon.