Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
The flame of the candle flickered in the darkness of the cold night. Its glow kept wavering at the border of total blackness, brushed by the biting wind that sieved through the slits on the walls. It persevered, for it knew it was the sole reason the place did not fall into pitch darkness. It persisted, for the sake of the little girl sitting close to it.
The little girl was sitting by the old wooden table. Her clothes were barely thick enough to fend off the freezing coldness, and stop her uncontrollable shuddering. But there wasn’t any trace of her plights from her smile.
Sitting opposite the little girl were her parents. The faint candlelight illuminated their faces. But the radiance on their faces was reflected from the their daughter’s happiness. Lurking behind their smile though, were worries about tomorrows. And the sight of the scant food on the table contorted their smile occasionally, whenever they let their guard down.
While the food was barely enough to fill half their stomach, they were never the source of the warmth surrounding the family. The little girl’s beaming smile emanated from her father’s presence at the dinner table. Holding a day job and a night job had hardly given him any chance to share a dinner table with his little girl.
As they sat nibbling the food, their conversation circled around the girl’s studies, her schoolmates, and her friends around the neighbourhood. The little girl’s giggles that punctuated every funny story magically turned the run-down little house into a castle, basking in the spring sunshine, and.exorcised all her parents’ worldly worries from their fortress.
As the candle worked diligently into the night, the little girl was starting to show sign of sleepiness. Whenever she was not watching, her father would reluctantly turn his eyes to his watch, wishing time would tick as slowly as possible before he had to leave for his night job.
The weak candle’s flame kept flickering, refusing to surrender to the callous freezing darkness and the relentless biting wind. It knew it had to keep itself alive long enough for the little girl to capture the memorable night into her recollection.As the flame danced in the coldness of the night, millions lights outside the little house were flashing in celebration of Christmas …
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
I don't have a lot of friends or relatives who are Christians, and I'm not invited to any Christmas parties. So I'm not going to celebrate it secularly either.
But to those of you who are celebrating this joyous day,
If you are reading this, while steaming up the monitor with alcoholic vapour and holding a glass in your hand (if you're not holding a glass, then you're probably not celebrating enough),
That would be a bit loud, if you're reading this having a hangover from last night's Christmas party,
But if you're reading this on Christmas Day,
What is wrong with you? Get back to your friends and family.
Wherever, whenever, and however you're reading this,
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I put down the phone; looked at the clock; called out to my wife; rushed through shower; dashed to the car, not forgetting to put on my clothes; hurried my wife into the car; started the engine; switched on the light; reversed the car out of the garage; and drove towards my destination, wishing the car could fly.
Not wanting to be late, I stepped on the pedals a little bit harder; railed round a few corners a little bit faster; overtook a few cruising cars at frustratingly slow speed with a bit more recklessness; and risked a few more summons by dashing through a few maybe-yellow-maybe-red traffic lights.
Relieved that the bus was not there when we arrived, I stopped the engine. Rolling down the window, I let out the air that’d been trapped ebbing and flowing in the car, and let the night cool air fill the car. We waited. The darkness and quietness of the night were broken only by the sparse traffic.
At last, the bus arrived. My wife and I alighted the car, already smiling with the thought of the impending reunion.
Waves of hands greeted the two people who brought me to this world, and big hugs, big big hugs, welcomed the other two who brought the world to me.
Finally, the hole that emerged in my heart when my parents took my two kids to Singapore to visit my brother and their cousins, the hole that had been draining all colours from my soul for 6 days, 10 hours, 23 minutes, and ... 18 seconds, was plugged.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
This post is not about the "olds" (you know as against "news" ~ lame, I know : )).
When I first watched the clip, my first thought was, "Wow! That president has great reflex!"
But reading the newspaper front page yesterday and saw the following combo images made me realise I missed another great performance.
Did you notice how cool, calm and collected the Iraqi Prime Minister was standing beside the ducking President, and the flying size-10 shoe?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Lately, they have been:
The ever courteous "Thanks!"
The encouraging "Go! Go!"
The pat-on-the-back "Alright!"
The admiring-to-the-point-of-envious "Wicked!"
The cow-boy-hat-joyous "Yeehah!"
The incredulous-yet-congratulatory "Awesome!"
And of course the wake-up-from-this-madness "300 Per Day!"
Outside of the cyber world (and the Entrecard community), and in our daily life, "Hooray!" or "Yoohoo!" serves well to accentuate the happy and joyous moments.
Nothing is more effective than "Oh My God!", or "Shit!" to catch surprises thrown our way.
"Damn!" works well to release the anger and frustration within. Though the unpolished "Fuck!" works way better in that sense. Though none would do anything to improve the situation that beckons their services.
The one trusty word that I rely and keep falling back on throughout my life in times of difficulties would be my favourite H-word -
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Like, what should be the number of years Bush stays as President of USA?
Or, is this the best way to look after Halloween?
Or, how to stuff your face to your heart's content and still look cute and adorable?
Or, what are those unbearable noisy shouting and yelling from argument you have with your spouse?
Or, what are the anger and frustration you feel when your kids annoy you with their non-stop bickering?
Or, what should I do to prolong my life?
Or, why is making money online not like this?
Or how to cure insomnia?
Or, how would I feel if I were a gold fish, finding this outside my tank?
Or, which is worse, being a gold fish, or being a worm who woke up early and found this staring at your face?
Of course, the primary question on my mind is how to thank my November top 10 Entrecard droppers.
* I hope I haven't reflected anyone in an undesirable light by putting their avatars out of their intended context. If I had, please give me a buzz.
* Looking forward to another great month of Entrecard activities. See Ya!
Friday, December 5, 2008
By ABSOLUTE MADNESS!
* A Drop Master in Entrecard community is simply someone who is insane enough to visit 300 blogs and click on 300 Entrecard widgets (the black and gold logo which invitingly asks you to "Drop") everyday for a period of time.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
I have never bought toys for my two children, in their presence.
At their ages - now at six and eight respectively - for some yet-to-be-explained reasons, I would rather not put them in a situation where their mind would swing to and fro in deciding which toy to get, if we decided to buy one for them. And it would certainly break my heart if I saw them get disappointed over the toys they had chosen, regretted their decision and feel unhappy about it.
At this stage, I want them to learn to be happy and contented with what they get and make the most out of it. Although we do have a reward system where they can earn points to get what they want by doing various assignment.
Our excursion at the toys department during shopping trip is when I collect hints and tips on their objects of desire. The children’s sparkling eyes on the toys, their blossoming smiles when they are holding them, their unwillingness to let go and leave, and the departing over-the-shoulder-longing looks, all help me to identify my targets. And, of course, the prices play a major part. Though I would not expose my intention to purchase to them.
When the time is right for me to give the reward, I’ll buy the toys, spring the surprises, sit back and enjoy the moments.
Their looks of surprises, the broad smiles that follow, and the occasional I-can’t-believe-it screaming and non-stop-jumping, out of the unexpected rewards are parts of what make me very happy as a parent.
One such recent occasion was when I felt satisfied with their performances during their last exam. I bought the items of their desires, and put them in their drawers for them to discover when they changed into their nightgowns. Oh, the happiness that they felt then; the happiness that I felt then; and the happiness that saturated the room then; blissful.
The same effect would never be achieved if I had told them that I decided to get them toys as rewards for their performances, then brought them to the toy store, asked them to choose, paid for the toys, and let them bring the toys home. Never indeed.
In a way, that’s how I make the most with what I’ve got. 1 + 1 doesn’t always equal 2.
These joyous moments are there to be cherished. Because, at their ages, inexpensive toys or items will do the trick. As their ages grow, the sophistication of the toys, and the accompanying price tags, will get higher. To extract the same degree of surprises and happiness from them will dig a deeper hole in my wallet, and thus, will come further in between.
Of course, kids being kids, the happiness brought by the newly acquired toys, and the ensuing excitement that make them lose sleeps at night will last no more than two days, if you're lucky.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
My Dear Friend,
It has been a long, long time. So long that if I had not chanced upon you, you might continue to wander in the wilderness of my past, and never come to the fore again.
Seeing you again was a pleasant surprise.
Holding you again had stirred up some long lost emotion that had sunk deep within me. Though the length of time that had elapsed since I last held you had made their colours faint at first, they slowly started to fill my heart again, much like the emerging sunlight at daybreak.
Listening to you in different voices, different tones, different expression and different style of gesturing, telling me different stories once more had brought back such endearing emotion. The heart-felt warmth that lingered after listening to you then, I felt it again.
We had been through so much together. Although I’ve known you since childhood, your presence in my life was especially significant when I was away from home for my education. Living in a foreign surroundings, loneliness and emptiness were never far away, and helplessness was always lurking. You, by my side, had brought comfort, joy and hope to fill those voids. At times, I really needed that to go on.
How I longed for those comforting feelings then, and how they came back to me again.
I can’t remember exactly how and when, that we’d gone our separate ways. In fact, I was never fully aware about your absence, until we met again. I think we started to drift apart when my life took a progressive step into work places out from the classrooms. And the state of technology then had lured me, like many others, to turn to your successors, for their speed and convenience. But what was traded for speed and convenience, was something no others can replace.
The raw expression, the unfurnished emotion, the natural tone, the unedited thoughts, the sincerity and effort in earnest, the personal touches, the physical connection and all that made you unique, endearing and to be cherished were never felt with convenience, uniformity, virtuality and facelessness.
I do miss you.
Perhaps I’ll never see you again. Unlike those days, all who matters to me now are right by my side. But I hope my children, if they were ever away from me in the future, will be acquainted with you, somehow, and choose you to convey their feelings and thoughts to me. I hope they’ll write, instead of type, or give me an “address” and ask me, along with many others, to read their thoughts and feelings.
It’s nice to have met you again. And I hope I’ll see you again in the future. Do take care.
Someone whom you brought much joy and happiness to.
* I dug out a stack of old letters received during my overseas tertiary education while my wife was going through some old stuff.
Do you still write a mail starting with "My Dear Friend,", with pen and paper? And take the effort to buy a stamp, stick it onto an envelope, seal it and post it?
Friday, November 21, 2008
My world almost came to an end the other day – my laptop failed to wake up from its slumber when I gave it a nudge, after nudges, after nudges - I had no internet access!
For a while, “Arghh …. !” was all that came out of my mouth, and I almost went bald from pulling my hair in frustration.
When I came to my senses, I realized that all was not lost. I had two desktop personal computers from the dinosaur age (though my laptop is not much younger than those) sitting in my kids’ study room.
After I made sure that they were “real” computers, which have internet access capability, I had to make a choice as to which one I should “reclaim” while my laptop’s waiting for resurrection.
It didn’t take more than a split second for me to know how to select the fastest machine to save my day.
Following is what this post is all about, and what made my jaw hanging in some sort of disbelief after I realized what I’d done:
I switched on the computers (obviously), double-clicked on the icon with a phone connected to a computer, put in my username and password, pressed “enter”, and double-clicked on the globe-embracing fox. There and then, my world was saved.
Then I logged into my Entrecard account, opened my Inbox, clicked on six cards dropped onto me, and see how long it took for me to drop six cards on each computer.
Entrecard dropping – that’s my main criteria to determine the speed of a computer!
Oh … My … God!
Internet is still the place where I read news, gossips, analysis, gather information, read and write blogs. But it seems that Entrecard’s “responsibility” had over-taken all these to be the main reason for my existence within the cyberspace.Oh ... My ... God!
On top of what I think Entrecard is in my recent post, I can now add another identity to it – a computer speed tester!
In the event that I need to get a new laptop, I wonder how I would select a perfect laptop? How indeed …
Monday, November 17, 2008
It’s an entertaining world if your imagination is able to run loose, more so if you watch it with your kids, and an easily entertained crowd.
(Warning: following contains spoilers (even though the movie doesn’t need one) and loads of craps.)
Four urban animals (a lion, a zebra, a hippo and a giraffe) that were stranded in an island a long, long time ago (like in its prequel), finally got to go home in an airplane that was piloted by none other than the birds that can’t fly, penguins.
Right at a few thousand feet above Africa, the fuel of the airplane ran dry and they bungee-jumped and crash-landed into no other place than the birthplace of our main character, the lion. There he was happily reunited with his long lost parents and his clan, who all had great looking hair that Elvis would be proud of. The zebra found his brothers who all had the same number of black and white stripes, same pattern, same hair, same height, same legs, same tone of voice, same humour, same … same everything. The hippo found her clan where being big and very big were beautiful. And the giraffe found his mates who, to his horror, didn’t have a doctor amongst them.
With their new found family, a scenic water place as their home and the protection of the place being a reserve, all was well and rosy, until they need some twists and turns to stretch it to a 90 minutes affair.
The lion was conned and banished from the clan, along with his mother and father, who happened to be the alpha lion. The zebra found out he’s not unique, and all of a sudden had an identity crisis. The giraffe found a brown spot (amongst many others) behind his neck and thought he had only a few more days to live. The hippo … well, she’s happy, gotten to date a six-abs hunk with cute butts.
But all’s not lost (except for our times). God, or in this case, the movie makers, always had something uplifting spiritually saved for the last for those with bravery and perseverance, to stay until the end of the movie.
The waterhole at the reserve was running dry. And nobody had, or should have, a clue regarding what to do, except for our heroes.
The lion saw a chance to redeem himself and his parents, and boldly took up the challenge. After convincing his zebra friend that uniqueness was all in the mind and not in the eyes (he’s white stripes with black, as opposed to the black stripes with white of the other zebras), they ventured into the wilderness to remove the block in nature’s water piping.
As sure as the ozone layer was getting bigger and bigger day by day, they found out the source of the problem and its perpetrators - us human, who does not spare thoughts for other inhabitants on the earth, and claims ownership on everything that is on it.
At the end, with some smooth dancing moves, a father and son collaboration, a wing-flapping airplane, some great stunts from a giraffe and a hippo, a few penguins and loads of monkeys, they saved the day, and their waterhole, and a fish who was able to hold his breath on dry land longer, way, way longer, than I can hold mine in the water.
Our heroes returned as heroes to the reserve and decided that the reserve would be their home and lived happily ever after. And the penguin leader wed his beloved wooden bobblehead doll.
And if you find yourself leaving the cinema twisting your butt while humming “I like to move it, move it …”, you’re probably enjoying a bit too much of the movie. If you leave doubting the logic in a shark’s ability to hop from the sea to the beach, through the forest, up the mountain, and into a volcano; or the technically able mind of the penguins, or their organizing skills, or their shrewdness on the negotiation table; or how a zebra could switch on an iPod with his hooves, you’re probably not loosening enough the rein on your imagination to enjoy the movie.I never had any control over my imagination, and my kids liked it, so I found it to be an enjoyable experience.
I like to Move It, Move It ...
Thursday, November 13, 2008
“Shut up! And sit still!” I shouted at the bickering kids sitting at the back.
I just couldn’t understand why my six-year-old boy likes to annoy his elder sister to no end. He’ll stop when you ask him to. But he did so only to figure out some other way to do it again, right before the echo of your request has died down.
“Ok, we’re not getting your ice cream,” I said.
“No fair!” he protested.
“I’ve already told you. One more time, and we’re not getting yours,” I said.
We’d promised to get the kids’ desserts on the way to the supermarket that night, each with his/her own favourite flavour.
I don’t usually use threats as parenting tools. Because when I do, I would have to make sure my words do not lose their weight by carrying them out. Those words usually build up to what I would not do for the kids, rather than what I would do to them. That’s why I only use it on minor things like not getting them candy, not going to the playground, no TV, and in this case, not getting my little boy his dessert. At their ages, denying them these minor things is as catastrophic as taking away iPods or handphone from teenagers, or cutting off internet access to us.
While doing our round in the supermarket, my little boy was surprisingly subdued, none of his non-stop whining about the unfairness like I expected. But he did put on a wooden face and protective arms across his chest to guard against the world (that would be us, the parents) that he felt was against him, whenever the world cast an eye on him.
Yet, he didn’t make a sound when we put his sister’s ice cream into the cart. And he did chat with his sister on other subjects, without making a fuss about the unfairness, along the way.
His quietness and willingness to accept his punishment without grumbling about it was starting to make my heart mellow. Perhaps my point had driven across. However, I quickly and painfully halt the mellowing process to make sure I wasn’t going to get what he wanted, that night.
I had decided to get it for him on my way home from work the day after.
After we came out from the supermarket, at the car park, as he and his mom and sister got into the car, I stopped him. I told my wife and little girl to wait in the car, and walked towards the supermarket with him.
“For this time, I’ll get your ice cream. But remember what I said about teasing your sister, Ok?” I said.
“Ok, “ he nodded happily, smiling broadly. I believed him, like I believe pigs would fly.
I held his hand walking back towards the supermarket. I was smiling too, my heart totally softened, the wall around it crumbled under his once-again glowing innocent face.
Perhaps, I had spoilt him for turning back on my words; perhaps, by turning back on my words, my words would have less authority the next time round; perhaps, by having less authoritative words, I would have a harder time in parenting; perhaps, I had made a wrong decision.
But my thought at that moment was this: perhaps the unpredictability of life would see that I wouldn’t wake up, for good, the next morning, and then not getting his ice cream would be the last deed he remembered me by for the rest of his life. At my little boy’s tender age, I decided not to take the risk.
That night, I was sure he went to sleep feeling happy, as a child would be, knowing his favourite dessert would be in the fridge waiting for him after dinner the day after.
I wasn’t sure I did the right thing that night, but I didn’t regret doing it then.
But when I opened my eyes the morning after, I was awoken wondering whether I did over-indulge him the night before, or maybe I over-indulged my heart.Of course, my little girl was crying when I reached home after work the day after, complaining about her annoying little brother. And pigs still have not taken off.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Pick the odd one out.
Easy, isn’t it.
Just when you thought you had enough of the political posts about the 2008 US Presidential Election, BOOM, four days after the election, here’s another one.
Don’t worry, there’ll be no euphoria or despair that had inundated the blogosphere after the November 4th US presidential election here in this post. After all, this blog pledges its allegiance to the flag of Star and Stripes, and the Moon.
So, whatever happened at the other side of the world is probably none of my business.
But the optimism that exploded from there had actually ballooned hopes and set tongues wagging here about a non-Malay prime minister. I’m skeptical, and doubt I’ll see it in my life’s time. It’s probably a waste of time and space to even write this here, but, hey, it helps to put some meat into this post. So, what the heck.
Barack Obama as the 44th US President. What does it mean to me?
Nothing. Except it’s material for me to put out another post in my blog:-
Try turning the above list into this:-
White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. Black.
Does the break in the chain signify racism is on its way out of the land of opportunity? As many have claimed and hoped?
Well, if you see the list as above-written, then it’s probably not. But if you read the list represented by these two words – Capable and Incapable – then probably you all are on the way.
And after that chain had been broken, the next chain to be broken hopefully will be this:
Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male. Male … Female.
(If you can transform Morgan Freeman to Barack Obama; you’d probably be able to do the same with Geena Davis)
Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian. Christian … Buddhist? Hindus? Scientologist? Muslim??? Hey, it’s a free country, ain’t it? Anything can happen?
But, that’s probably none of my business.
But is this Obama fella going to be what he said – Change? And what kind of Change is he about? Is it for the better or worse? Is he the one that will overcome the current economic crisis, the two wars, the nuclear standoff, deteriorating global environment? Is he better than Dubya (but for the blogosphere, I would have never known or guessed who that is)? Is he going to be a capable president?
Not sure. He doesn’t have a single deed as the President of the US of A as testimony.
So far, what is a fact is that he’s the winner of the 2008 Presidential Election. The rest are hopes, promises, prediction, projection, etc. Whether he’ll be a good or capable president remain to be seen, unless you have a crystal ball looking into four, or eight years (did I hear OMG?), ahead.
So, Obama probably didn’t win the election based on his untested capability as a president. But, then again, the same would apply to the white hair guy, if he had won.
But that’s probably none of my business.
Apart from a more effective campaign, a stronger charisma, I think there were few more factors that gave Barack (may I call you Barack?) the winning ticket – Black Gold, Green Back, and the Red and Blue Veeps.
Price of petrol had a hand in changing government everywhere in the world, before the financial crisis took over as the meddling hands. Few governments were spared from the economic wrath; and most had probably deflected the ball thrown onto them the wrong way. All these added up to hardship to the livelihood of citizens all over the world. Hardship turned into complains; complains turned into frustration; frustration turned into dissatisfaction; dissatisfaction turned into votes; and votes turned into change. We nearly saw it happen here in Boleh-land in 308 election, it did happen in the US of A, and as recent as one day ago, in New Zealand.
Barack Obama is black; white supremacy is still well and alive; juxtapose these two facts with the history of assassination on US presidents, and it’s not hard to imagine the tough times the presidential security agents are going to have. While Obama is facing the odds of having an assassin to prematurely end his term; on the other side, 72-years-old McCain would have faced a probable assassin of a different kind with his age, the kind that wears a black-hooded gown and holds a scythe, if he’d won. In view of the higher probability than past candidates that these two candidates had in having their terms ended prematurely if they won, the veeps came into prominence. So Mr Biden had probably opened the gate of White House for Mr Obama; or perhaps Mrs Palin had thrown the key away for Mr McCain.
But that’s none of my business too.
All of the above could very well have been analysed to death in other blogs even way before the election. But, hey, I haven’t. And this is after all my blog.
So, that’s my 2 cents worth. That’s about 0.57 cents for those of you who are going to have a new president comes 20th January of 2009. Depending on his actions in the future, my 2 cents could be 0.80 or 0.20 cents over there … hey, come to think of it, it IS part of my business!Anyway, to all my American and Non-American friends, Good Luck! And let’s hope this Change will bring a better tomorrow for all of us. After all what’s happened, happened. And all we have now is hope. That’s what every new leadership brings.
P.s. Ya know, for something that’s not entirely my business, this happened to be my longest post to-date. Phew …
Monday, November 3, 2008
I was startled by the pat on my shoulder, and almost spat out the coffee in my mouth.
I turned away from the screen in front of me, and saw a face which startled me even more,
“Hey, man. Rough night?" I asked.
"Yeah. What ya doing?"
"Not much, just bending my credit cards every possible way through this
and doing some research to get my personal loans to be
Time’s tough, gotta be ready,” I replied, turning my eyes back to the screen.
” my friend asked.
“Huh? Eight of what?”, I was puzzled.
“If you need successes, of any sorts, just
without any clear direction and a guide in mind. I have some very useful sources where you can draw much advices from. Of course, you have to
to get the maximum benefits out of them though, ” he clarified.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing with all the other people’s around here,
” I said.
After much navigation around the cyberspace, I finally got some ideas on what I needed to do with the foreseeable tough time ahead.
I turned to my watch and realized it’s late. I took a final sip from my cup and walked out of the café. I put my walkman on (Yes, I’m stone-aged), and switched to the number one hit of the month,
I turned back and waved a hearty thanks to the patrons who had shared some great cups of EC session.
October had gone past so quickly, I sighed as I walked towards my next hang out place, November EC Café.
Will I see you there?
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Graceful, was their movement. Turning their heads, waving their hands, swaying their hips, and floating across the stage were all synchronized seamlessly to accentuate the swinging rhythm of the music echoing around the hall.
Twelve pairs of angelic children, wearing the sweetest smile, were dancing on stage to a catchy tune and to the happiness seemingly glowing on their faces; dancing to the delight of parents watching in the audience.
Their glamorous costumes added vivid colors to the already lively decorated backdrop on stage.
It was the graduation night of my 6-years-old son’s kindergarten.
I was sure about that.
But, I was actually not too sure what the stage looked like, or if it was decorated at all.
I was also not too sure how the other children were dancing on the stage, or if they were just moving their bodies dutifully to the music.
Neither was I sure about the number of children on stage, or the colors of their costumes, or whether they were wearing any costumes at all.
I was also not too sure whether they were smiling, frowning, or even grimacing on the stage.
But I was sure my son was on stage dancing with his classmates in their class presentation.
I was also sure my son was dancing as gracefully as a swan taking a morning sunshine bath on a mirror-surfaced lake.
I was sure he was enjoying himself tremendously.
Despite the distance between us, I was sure I sensed his joy and happiness from being part of the presentation.
Of course, I was also sure other parents did not notice how talented my son was. Perhaps they were even wondering why a rigidly moving boy was dancing with their children.Happy, was the way my little boy felt that night; and thus, the way I felt.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
That you would scroll down here, to find solace, to be inspired or to seek wisdom from my writing.
But, nonetheless ...
You're probably here because you're looking for
this black and gold widget that's somewhere
around here ---------->
Since you're waiting for the "Drop" to change, care for a joke?
Know why the chicken cross the road?
To drop Entrecard!
<What is EntreCard?>
For whatever reason you're here, if you leave this blog with any impression at all, I'll be happy, very happy, if it's a smile.
And if you do take the trouble and times to scroll all the way down here,
And See Ya!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Entrecard is a thief. If you let it in, in no times at all, you’ll find your spare times disappeared.
Beware still. Just when you’ve found out its true identity, he’ll turn more tyranny – a robber.
If you do not put up your guards after the theft, you’ll see your times for your hobbies, sleeps, meals, baths, works, or even family robbed.
Whatever it is, your spouse might not like it very much, unless she/he is a blogger. Then she/he would be very happy that you introduce it into her/his life. It’ll bring visitors, readership, traffic, page views, comments and all things nice to a blogger.
So, what is Entrecard?
Simply put, it’s a way to enjoy blogging, and lose sight of all things else.
You start by registering here for free (like many things nice in the cyberworld). Then you’ll have to get an attractive widget, which looks good on any blog design, by copying and pasting its code into your blog. You’ll also have to design and create you own Entrecard, which reflects you, in whatever way you wish. Then you’re all set – to work, if you consider hopping through blogs, interesting one like this one, scrolling up and down and clicking your mouse all sweaty and tiring.
Entrecard Credit (EC) – that’s what you work for.
There are 3 ways to earn credits.
By visiting fellow Entrecarders’ blogs and dropping your card into their Entrecard widget, you’ll get a hard-earned credit. That’s the proactive way to earn a credit without any external factor. All you need are internet access, Entrecard account, and of course the all important – times.
When a fellow Entrecarder visits your blog and drops his/her card into your Entrecard widget, you’ll earn a no-sweat credit. This is the way where quality of your blog, and your way of interacting with fellow Entrecarders will help.
The third way is how you earn and also how you spend your credits – Advertising. With times, fellow Entrecarders will come knocking at your blog (and you'll go knocking on theirs) and ask to advertise their EC cards on your blog. Then you’ll begin to feel the almighty power of your mouse's click – to approve or decline. If you see fits to put the card onto your blog (whether it looks nice on your blog, or maybe the appropriateness of its blog's content), then you can approve, otherwise decline, all with one click of your mouse. From these advertisements, you will earn varying amount of credits, depending on the status of your blog within the Entrecard community.
Of course all these 3 ways work hand in hand to build up the important things to your blogs – readership and traffic.
That’s the basics of Entrecard. Of course there are tips on how to squeeze the potential out of it. That’s for other times, when I’m more qualified.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
I knew the number sequence like the back of my hand, from front to back and from back to front.
Despite the dim lighting in the stale tunnel, my fingers were racing through the sequence on the lock’s keypad as fast as they could. My other idling hand was pressed against the heavy steel door, feeling its icy-cold stiffness, and futilely pushing and hoping it would somehow budge without the full string fed into the guarding digital lock.
My wall of concentration started crumbling under the rising and awe-inspiring roar echoing from the dark end of the hollow tunnel. Knowing what’s coming from the pitch darkness, I quickened the pace of my fingering, at the same time cautious to avoid entering a wrong digit.
My heart was getting frantically desperate. My fingers were starting to shake, sensing the fast approaching thunderous roar, and the resulting winds brushing forcefully against my body towards the other brightly lit opening of the tunnel.
But I knew I had to hold my nerve, for opening the door was my only way to escape from the tunnel.
As soon as I felt the moisture in the wind sticking to me fast, I knew my time was up.
Sure enough, within a single breath of frustration, I was swept away by the roaring waves of angry water, and carried helplessly towards the tunnel’s exit. As I was flushed towards the exit, I looked resignedly at the sign over the opening – Blow Your Top!
“Shut up! And sit still!” I yelled angrily to my annoying, loud, bickering kids at the back of the car.
Damn! I only had “861324983165876513587
125897547789842465432157865465” to go before opening the escape door of “Calmness”.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
I still have very fresh memory of the deafening ring in my ears the day my wallet yelled out of pain. It was the first time I pumped petrol after the fuel price had gone up by 78 cents per liter. Ever since, I’ve been thinking of ways and means to extract extra value from my fuel money, and cutting unnecessary expenses. And my right foot has been “molesting” less of my car’s accelerator and brake. I was this close to getting a bicycle as my mode of transport too.
During all the painful cost cutting and saving exercises, I thought there was one who’s smiling cheekily at all these self-inflicted suffering – Mother Nature. The consequential reduction of carbonic gases on the roads would probably give our children a longer while to enjoy Mother Nature in the future (not sure about the gas from the cow shit, though - hey, did you know I have a post on that subject and why I wrote that post). It’s one step pushed forward in the effort of preserving our environment.
Recently, I have to keep reminding my singing-happy wallet (if you listen carefully, you can hear “Happy Days” sung by my wallet at the background :-) ) that the recent price drops in petrol have not fully offset the initial increment. And we are no way closer to the good old days, as prices of other essential items that had gone up are not likely to come down.
Although, the manner in which the petrol price tumbled from its peak in recent times did give a false sense that the “happy days” are back. I found myself subconsciously care less about how I use my car, unlike my previous calculated-to-death planning before trips. Much like how a newly freed prisoner would inhale a few extra breathes of air of freedom, this lost-and-found extra money in the pocket might have led me to feed a few extra drops of avoidable fuel into my car.
Amid our sigh of relief, I can probably hear the sigh of helplessness from Mother Nature. As this temporary relief received from the petrol price is likely to put more vehicles back on the road. It could be two steps back, after the one step gained.
But Mother Nature is not frowning yet, because we have befriended her with another one of our man-made mechanism. And it is giving her a hand on her desire to let our children enjoy her company longer – the “Financial Crisis”.
ps. Ever notice how the less we consume, the more time our children get to spend with Mother Nature in the future?
Saturday, October 11, 2008
I can hear you hiss.
Thirty odd years taken it did,
For me to come up with this first ever, and totally unexpected,
So I'd probably not care about your hiss.
Although, I was never so full of it.
I myself was so shocked, I had to sit.
So, pardon my self-indulgence, please.
For I’m going to let it sit,
Perhaps, for a few more weeks.
If you please, do give it another read.
It’s really my “masterpiece” ......
Is this another poetic piece?
Oh, to whom I want to cheat.
It’s probably just another “shit”.
Much like the previous piece,
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Her silky greens glitter under the gentle morning sunshine.
She dances, swaying to the intermittent rushes and whistling of the winds.
I smile back.
At once, the string that’s been tightening around my heart loosens.
And thus let loose of all tension from my body.
For a brief moment I know not where I am and what I am chasing.
I know I’m smiling.
For a while, that's all I'm doing.
The blaring horn from the car behind cut short of my reverie.
The light had already turned from red to green.
I bid farewell to the carefree little tree on the dividing curb.
I’ve seen her thousands times on my way to work every morning.
As I shift my gear into Drive and step on the accelerator, colors of the road ahead suddenly take on a soothing shade.
All thanks to a smile.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
My head turned, amazed by the statement. It caught my attention, which was scanning around the bustling place.
The unceasing rumbling sounds from below the floor could not deny the audibility of the utterance. I knew that section where the statement came from was occupied by mothers, working or staying-at-home, who were talking about how it was hip2BMom, as well as their joy and frustration as mothers.
8! That’s a pretty impressive number when it was associated to motherhood. I guess that’s why amid the noises, that statement came across louder than it was. That’s one super-mom.
As they continue their admiration and discussion regarding the super number, I turned my attention to a couple, seated not far from me.
“Life is simple. I want it to be simple. Don’t make it difficult for us,” the young lady said.
“I know, I know. And I’m not trying to make it difficult for us. But there are so many wonderful things out there waiting for us to explore. While I don’t intend to spend my whole life exploring, I do intend to make my life as fulfilling as possible. It’ll add colors to our life. But without you, those wonderful things don’t mean shit. C’mon, I really need you. Whaddyasay? This road of colorful life, iWalk, U2?” the young man pleaded.
Tears welling up in her eyes, the young lady silently nodded with a smile.
Ahh … symphony of love. I guess it would not be complete without a few verses on hurdles to be overcome, mountains to be climbed or seas to be crossed.
As my mind was swimming in the sea of love, the aroma that stimulated my sense of smell lured my attention to another group of people.
“Foodarrific!” one of them shouted, obviously satisfied by the mouth-watering dishes in front of them. Pasta, seafood, tofu, poultry, vegetables, and even street food, were all beautifully presented.
I smiled, remembering how I explained to my children why Tigger would say "tiggerrific", instead of terrific, during one of our bedtime story session.
As the train drew closer to its stop, I grabbed my bags of thoughts, ramblings, fuzzes and buzzes and walked towards the door. Looking back at the lively crowd, I raised my camera and take one more snapshot of this memorable journey, lest my absent mind would wipe off its presence in my memory board.
As I waved goodbye to the train of September EC Droppers, from afar, I could already see the smoke puffing out from the October EC Train slowly approaching the station .
As the train finally grinded to a halt, and huffed its last puff before a well-earned rest, I picked up all my bags and prepared to step onto the train. As I was minding my steps up the train, it suddenly dawned on me what I wanted to say regarding my previous journey.
I jumped off the train, looked the direction of the departing September EC Train and waved frantically.
“Thank you!” I shouted.
As the September Train disappears into the horizon, my heart is filled with gratitude to all the passengers who had spent times on my journey, especially the Top EC Droppers.
With excitement, I board my October EC Train and look forward to another enjoyable journey.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
A bit sad, upset even, I was feeling when I heard my wife telling my 8-years-old daughter she’s registered her for another weekly tuition in Chinese language. I was already not happy about the first tuition, which started last year and teaches most of the subjects in school except Chinese.
Being a democratic family, I don’t, and frankly, can’t always insist matters of our children to be decided solely by me. After all, it’s the child’s benefit that’s behind the decision, and there are bound to be more than one way to achieve it. Of course, avoiding a quarrel with the wife also stands prominently amongst the reasons in giving ways.
There were two reasons why I opposed to tuitions for our children at this stage. The first reason shattered when I realised that our daughter is enjoying the tuition and friends she meets in the class. The second reason is as valid and as strongly felt as before.
But, I’m probably being selfish.
One of the reasons, I think, I’m enjoying fatherhood so much nowadays is that I find great satisfaction and pleasure in being able to impart what’s within me to my children. It’s not always easy. At times it involves threats of taking out a cane, and the kids bursting into tears under my overly high expectation. I have to admit that there are truths in how parents may not be the most effective teachers.
But I do find joy and have always yearned for opportunities to share quality times with them during my “tuitions”. Perhaps it’s something to do with “legacy”?
So, if it’s for the good of the child, and I oppose because I feel that I was denied access to the pleasant experiences of fatherhood, I’m probably being selfish, right?
Perhaps this is part of the process of me letting go of my lovely children as they grow older.
If this is indicative of what it’s like letting go, I think I’ll have a hard time. In fact, I have always known that I will have a hard time.
But, hopefully, by the times they step into their teens, they might grow to be so annoying that I'll frown and sweep them aside whenever they're in sight.
At least, it's much easier to let go in this way.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
And I blame it on all the reviews I read before I went to the movie.
It’s been a long while since I started to go for movies regularly. So long that I forgotten my movie-going golden rule no. 1 – do not read any review of the movie you intend to watch. Without expectation, I always find that I would be able to enjoy the movie, even if the critics say otherwise. Simple entertainment – that’s what I look for with the ticket I pay.
I only realized that I’d breached my golden rule when I was wondering why I was left a bit flat by the movie coming out of the cinema. I set my expectation too high.
Still, coming after so many CGI movies, Wall-E doesn’t seem to provide any breakthroughs.
After toys, ants, grasshoppers, cars, trucks, rats, panda, snake, praying mantis, etc were being made to walk, talk, fight, dance and suffer through emotions like us, I’d expect some ground breaking animation with robots (again I blame all the reviews I read). Apart from the angel looking Eve, I don’t think I’ll remember Wall-E for its robotic cuteness (didn’t Wall-E looks a lot like a shrunk Johnny Five?).
And when the sky, or outer space, or the outer of outer space is the limit with CGI available, I thought the storyline could be a bit more outrageously creative. I don’t think I’ll remember Wall-E for its storyline, either. But then again, this is a movie for kids. And maybe I’d already known the plot before I went into the cinema (and again, I blame those damned movie reviews).
But there was something that caught my creativity-seeking antenna when I watched the movie. I just couldn’t pinpoint it when I left.
On our drive home after the movie, as I was blaming all the reviews I read earlier, the movie’s "creative breakthrough” lurking in my mind surfaced.
Amid the music from the car radio, my kids at the back were going, “Wa, Waa, Waal, Waallll, Eeeeee,” and then, “E, Ee, Eeeev, Eeeevvee,” in their squeaky voices.
Those robotic voices of Wall-E and Eve!
That’s what I’ll remember the movie for. I can’t seem to remember any more lingering voices of any animated figures than those two.
So, at least I was satisfied in one way. But I still blame the movie reviews I read.
I’m sure after I have watched Wall-E over, and over, and over again with my kids on DVD when we get it, it’ll boost up my admiration for the film.
Oh, did I mention? My kids love the movie. And they think it’s, “G, Gr, Grrre, Grrreee, Grrreeeeaaaattt!”
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
That’s what I am. I am and never was politically left, right, center, up, down, front, back, in, out or anything.
The recent gibberishes in my blog regarding local political scene are results from my hyped-up, let down, excited, disappointed, confused, perplexed, and mainly upset sentiments as a citizen. Upset by the apparent manipulation of feelings by our politicians to achieve their own agenda under the guise of “people’s interest”, a thought that seems least related to their talks and actions.
If I was so unconcerned about politics, why should I let my thoughts being dragged into it in recent times? A question I’ve been asking myself lately.
Perhaps the myriad of possibilities made possible by the recent election, and the perceived thin line between hopes and realities resulting from it have awaken my political mind’s slumber. Or simply perhaps now that I started a blog, it provides me with writing materials.
Whatever the reason, my aroused political interest are slowly dampened by recent political development. The often incomprehensible walks and talks by both the government and the opposition have slowly dampened that fire, and put me back into a resigned and perhaps self-ridicule mode, maybe the only ways to endure such mind-numbing political moves.
But then again, within a basic democratic society, it’ll probably take years to change our political and social fundamentals, for better or for worse. And it doesn’t matter who’s in charge of our government. By the times all the changes start to affect me, perhaps I’ll already be a senile old man, sitting in my rocking chair at my porch, staring blankly afar and couldn't care less of what's happening around me.
So, I probably shouldn’t care anymore.
But then yet again, when I turn to the two beings under my wings, whom I value more than my own life; and when I realize that what’s happening now will affect their future, perhaps, I should care.
Indeed I would continue to be concerned.
In the mean time, before I adjust my blogging mood back to the happier writings on parenthood and all things nice, here’s one more gibberish:-
And then there’s nothing …
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Suddenly, smoke rises around the character. Within seconds, the character has submerged into the rippling smoke.
The crowd gasps, caught surprised by the sudden explosion.
As the smoke slowly thins out, the character is gone.
“Che!”, “I knew it!”, “I’ve told you so!”, “Aiyoh!”, “Why like that one!” – are comments heard from the disappointed crowd. Amid the deflated atmosphere, a certain section of the crowd starts to leave.
“Poof!” Another small explosion erupted at the same spot, just as things are starting to quiet down.
The character re-emerges within the smoke, standing still.
As the smoke rises slowly towards the clear sky, the swords are no longer in sight. Lying next to the character is a coil of rope.
The reappearance of the character draws back some departing spectators.
As the crowd settles down, the character picks up one end of the rope and hurls it towards an empty space. The end of the rope leaves his hands and darts towards its intended direction like a flying serpent. As the flying end of the rope pulls itself up from the coil on the ground, it never reduces its speed. The crowd, amazed by the strength that let flies of such speed, gazes at the flying rope intently.
Right before the rope straighten itself completely, the character sprints towards the flying end of the rope. Just as the rope is starting to reach its end, and the blurring image is within the touching distance of the speeding end, the character slows down, puts down both his hands, thumps his chest in arrogance, and gets hold of the end of the rope before it drops to the ground.
Holding the end of the rope in one hand, he stands still.
As he puts the rope down onto the ground, the crowd erupts in applause.
The crowd studies the rope that’s lying silently on the ground. It spreads out to the length of more than 222 people. As they notice the red ribbon tied at the center of the rope, “Tug-of-war!” a child yells out, in excitement.
As the crowd begins to understand of what’s going on. The father explains to the child, “It’s not, son. It’s sort of like tug-of-war. But in this game, strength doesn’t matter. It’s the number of people on each side that determines the winner. See the words sewn onto the rope?”
The child focuses his sight onto the words pointed out by his father - “Vote of Confidence.”
The character turns towards a figure within the crowds, and utter slowly, “9!” putting up both hands, which he needs to put up nine fingers; “2!’, a V-sign his hand makes; “3!”, and an OK hand signal.
By this time, a section of the crowd has already started to leave the place. For they understand that the whistle required to start off this game is in the hand of the other character, who is being challenged to blow the whistle. And they know he would most likely ignore the daring call. Everyone can sense the uneasiness of his frowning face, perturbed perhaps not only by the character in front of him, but also by the rumbling sound behind him.
Knowing nothing is going to happen, again, the crowd begins to dissipate, in droves this time. After all, they have their jobs, and chores to attend to. The show, or no-show, provide a brief respite to their daily worries of rising costs of food, fuel, and finances, and the falling of stock markets, purchasing power, returns on investment, and the stagnant level of their incomes and salaries.
Part of the crowd, who were chanting “916” along with the character before, remains rooted to their place, as the rest slowly leaves the arena …
<Is there more?>
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
“Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang! Chang …. CHANG!”
As the gong stops its ear-piercing noise abruptly with its last bang, the head of the central character make a sudden twist towards the spectators. Both swords in his hands, which he has been swinging gracefully while twisting his body into various positions, simultaneously come to a stop. Slowly, he glances across the spectators. Holding their breath, their eyes meet the sharp gaze of the character. The place shrouded in silence.
Then, without any indicative sign, the deafening silence is suddenly broken, “916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916 … 916!”, the character sings, as the banging gong resumes.
By this stage, the spectators are already very excited. Their expectation have been hyped up by posters seen everywhere around town, announcing the arrival of the show and what’s been written and promised by those posters. Yet, they can’t shake off the lurking sense of suspicion behind their mind that all these might yet be a hoax.
As the spectators are left trying to figure out the credibility of the propaganda, the character is focusing on his dance, and goes “916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916! 916 … ”
All these times, the spectators' eyes are following the movement of the swords, which have "31" carved loudly onto them, attempting to discern the nature of its destructive power.
And they wait in anticipation …
Saturday, September 13, 2008
“CUT!” the director sitting at the chair behind the camera yells.
“That’s it for the day,” he announces, as a group of people clad in police uniform walk away from the set. The “blogger”, the “reporter”, and the “politician” smile at each other expressing relief as their parts are finally completed.
“Sir, the actor who plays the never-say-sorry figure’s asking whether he’s needed for the last scene,” the assistant asks the director.
“Why are you asking me this? Don’t you have a script? READ IT! And don’t forget we still need the airport props for the last scene,” the director yells angrily, while flipping through his own script.
“Hmm … the court scenes, the airport scenes, the election, the protests, the press conferences, and the arrests scenes are all done. All scenes leading to the big climax have finished according to schedule. Good,” the director reflects.
“You, get everybody and everything ready for the final shooting in three days time, OK? I don’t want any mistake. This show is going to be HUGE, ” the director turns to his assistant. The assistant nods gingerly.
As the director walks away, his mind is still playing out all possible ways of filming to ensure the finale will be as farcical as the earlier scenes …
For all the “all-too-obvious-why-it happened” events that’s been happening towards the much-awaited dateline of 916, and the ensuing “think-the-people-is-naïve” explanation of the actions, somehow, I couldn’t help but feel that when the fated day arrives, someone with a gigantic megaphone will yell out “CUT! Good show, everyone,” across Malaysia. And then, life will go on as normal for us common people.
The events that had happened and their timing are so senseless that only the “CUT!” scenario will straighten my bewildered mind. I feel that the events actually have to beg to be believed if it's real.
Won't we all feel like fools if, three days later, “CUT!” is really yelled out to all Malaysians, and we realize we’ve been taken for a ride?
But, then again, we could be bigger fools, if this is not a “show” and we’ve been taken for a real-life roller coastal ride by our politicians, whose maturity and regards to the intelligence and well-being of the common people, surely, need some serious questioning.
Is there any other way to make sense of what’s been happening?
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
At the risk of over-simplification, that's how many people are required in a democratic society with a population of 100 to change its government. Or 51%.
(Following is nothing more than an observation of a current event and a resulting thought that bears no political or moral inference. It provides no analysis on the legitimacy, propriety, or justification or otherwise of the events.)
The recent political development (people wanting the current prime minister to resign and their protests) in our neighbour, Thailand, had thrown a spanner into my clockwork of thinking regarding democracy.
How many people within a democratic society are required to change its government?
At the peak of the protest, the number of protesters reached 40,000. These 40,000 represent about 0.06% of Thailand population of 65 million. To date, this 0.06% had been able to force the government to hold a referendum to determine the continuity of its administration. If the protesters succeed in their objective, through the referendum or otherwise, that would certainly make my first statement, sort of, wrong.
Let's switch our focus.
(AGAIN, following is nothing more than an observation of current events and a resulting thought that bears no political or moral inference. It provides no analysis on the legitimacy, propriety, or justification or otherwise of the development. BUT, it's written with a bit of confusion, disbelief, disappointment, indifference and maybe even disgust.)
In a country with a population of 25 millions, and where recent buzz words in the political scene include sodomy, "penumpang" , 916, timely overseas farming study trip, etc, how many people are required to change a government?
12.75 millions (*), or 51%?
Or 0.0001% - 30?
* I realise it's an over-simplified view regarding the actual working of democracy. The relevant numbers should be the number of eligible voters; but, still, doesn't it make you wonder?
Saturday, September 6, 2008
“Oh, let there be a fire break out somewhere; or some masked men running out of a boutique amidst blaring security alarms …”
Those evil thoughts are slowly emerging while my mind is working into my memory.
It’s Saturday night and we’re strolling in the shopping mall after dinner. My wife and kids are somewhere shopping for new shoes, while I was happily sitting on a bench observing the people traffic, trying to come up with my next blogging materials.
While one part of my brain was trying to be creative, the other part was trying to come up with a name to match a face I met ten minutes ago. The lady smiled at me while we were going up on the escalator as she traveled the opposite direction. I smiled back politely, knowing she’s an acquaintance of some sorts but can’t match the face with a name, a place and a time, and felt relieved for not getting myself into an embarrassing conversation in which I don’t know who I’m talking to.
Later, I regretted I smiled. For smiling back means I recognize her and she’s now standing in front of me, in a conversation with me.
While my mind’s trying to dig up a name, I dare not miss a word she says. Hoping to find a gap within her stream of words to counter attack and pry open some information to unlock my memory.
As my mind is flipping through names and places all the way back to my primary school years, I’m getting a little bit uneasy.
Until now, I can only be defensive and stop the flow of exchanges by answering her every question without countering with a question. Fearing the question would expose my failing memory.
By this time, three minutes into the engagement, it would already be too embarrassing to ask, “You are … “ and let her complete the sentence.
However, knowing I won’t retain any memory while I was floating in my mother’s womb, I stop my futile search and start to work on another strategy to get away from this what-her-name person.
I reach my hand into my pocket, trying to feel the button on my handphone and try to make it ring by changing the ringtone. But the complexity of the correct key sequence stops me half way, and makes me drop my planned conversation into a non-responsive equipment.
I take out my handphone and try to look not too casually on the time shown, hoping she’d catch the hint.
By now, I’d have guessed that with her unrelenting, strong tenacity on the conversation, she’d most likely be an insurance agent whom I met not too long ago. The assumption that she’s not a personal friend makes my participation in the mostly one-way exchange easier.
Finally. At long last, she looks at her watch.
One last hurdle though, “Don’t mention my name, just say goodbye and go.“ I know I won’t be able to respond in kind.
Then, it strikes, “I gotta go. See ya, Michael,” she waves her hands, while I stand still.
Barely twenty seconds later, my wife and children appear. Surprised to observe my pensive expression, she taps my shoulder, “What’s wrong, Peter?”
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I stare blankly at the screen in front of me, while my mind is toiling away trying to tear down the fortress that's guarding my writing muse to get the task done. Toil as I may, the mesmerizing melody of the Symphony circling in the air leads me to a separate trail, away from the task at hand …
“With moments of our lives being shared amongst us through these virtual connection, around the globe, is Friend FurEver a far-fetched dream? We’re probably sharing thoughts that we’ve never thought of sharing with another soul …”
However fondly my absent mind follows down the heart-warming path of friendship, the glaring screen in front of me serves as a loud reminder of my unfinished task. The experience from the up, down and sometimes insane world of freelance writing has served me adequately, just, in the past, but this … though technically easy, is far from a stroll in the park.
Now that August’s passed and September just starting, the clock ticking non-stop, indifferent to all who beg for her to stop or slow down, it’s best for me to stay focus on the task in front.
Now, how, how do I put “Life with Kim” into this thank you notes for my top 10 Entrecard droppers in the month of August? How indeed …