A reply to Sarah's "The Mysteries Of A Being"

Dear Sarah,

Words are not destroyers of everything.

The word 'everything' itself is too condemning. Not everything is destroyed by words. We live with words. Words are already part of us, stored in our own biological database, and they grow with us. We can hardly live through a day without words, we need them, like you said, to convey messages, to express ideas, to communicate. Even for those who cannot speak communicates through sign language, which also formed its basis from words. If words destroy everything, then words are now eating us up from the inside then?

We are not always the victims of words. Words can be constructive or destructive. In your typical example of divorce, words are destructive. But prior to that, when the couple is in love, it is words that brought them together in the first place - through the flirting, sweet talks, serenades and "I do". They just chose to use the words destructively later. Yet, as you said, words alone are emotionless. Hence, it is the human brain that interpreted the words in a negative way, which wrapped emotions around the words, which over analysed the cadence of speech, which formed the foundations of rage and irritation. Words alone are not destructive, it is the brain of ours that thought so.

You had also stated that understanding is impossible to achieve because the world is continuously changing. However, understanding per se is constantly changing. What is understood now is different from what is understood before and what will we understand in the future. Understanding something holds true at that time. The same sentence, the same words, can be deciphered differently at different times. The word 'understanding' holds true for what we know, what we can elicit from the given information at that time by that person. Not forever. Nothing stays the same forever. Ergo, it is not impossible to understand, because ultimately what we understand is what we know specific to that particular time.

'Pictures paint a thousand words', 'Silence is golden', 'Thy word is truth'. Hence, words speak as loud as pictures as silence. All three of them are equally important. Words help to clear up ambiguities in pictures. Pauses are needed in between sentences so that speeches and essays make more sense. Some parts of a painting are left empty to balance the whole. Words can form lies, pictures can be deliberately fabricated, and sometimes silence lose its golden lustre. How is it then, that words are destroyers of everything when pictures and silences are equally lethal?

Nothing is good or bad, thinking made it so.


(Oh my, mine were such disorganised words!)

I waited for my turn

It rained the night before, and the sky still heavy with grey cumulonimbus. It looked like it was seven in the morning, but in fact it was eight-thirty. The morning was cool with the saturated atmosphere, plus, the sunlight was softened by the dense clouds a few kilometres above. Far away, the tropical birds called each other amongst the thicket of evergreen foliage. Their chirping and singing was crisp and clear interlacing with the sound of water flowing through the pebbles in the river and the wind whispering through the leaves in this almost pristine rain forest. The noise of trucks, cars and alarm clocks are alien to them. The only form of obvious human civilisation is the wooden chalets built around the area. It is the almost sensual representation of tranquility.

Thirty or so KBU students climbed up a fleet of concrete stairs to a platform, about three storey's high. The boys are mostly excited, because they are going to cross the cable hanging bridge and do the flying fox today. The girls are excited as well, but some felt some fear among their excitement, because they have to cross the cable hanging bridge and do the flying fox today. All of the students had crossed the bridge once the day before; some confident as if he/she had walked the tightrope all the time before, while some shivered their way across the bridge, exaberated by the height and adrenaline rush. That was the day before.For those who were too afraid to walk across the bridge, they considered the alternative of climbing up a hill to reach the flying fox, exposing themselves to the clandestine attacks of thirsty leeches. Posed between the dilemma, some students were deep in their internal conflict, oblivious that people are now forming groups of 5 to cross the bridge.

Most stuck with their group the previous day. Some swapped. I, myself, was among the former, but Wei Xin replaced Franky, because Franky is the council member and have to do the flying fox first, and hence have to cross the bridge before the rest will. After the first few groups have crossed, it drizzled lightly. It felt like the sky is sprinkling powdered sugar down the earth, covering the Earth with a sweet layer of sparkling moisture. Some of the students complained about the rain and talked about how they are going to cross the bridge in the rain, but it was so light that nobody cared. The line is still moving, though slowly.

I enjoyed standing in the drizzle, let the raindrops settle on my skin and feel the instantaneous, highly localised coolness it provided at multiple spots on my body. I like how the raindrops settle on my hair - the moment I feel it, it's gone. I love watching the raindrops gliding through green background like a shooting star in a velvety black night. I love the raunchy smell of the Earth when the first raindrops fell into her. I did not realise when the drizzle stopped, but it gave the canopy a mysterious veil of translucent white mist. It was a beautiful morning. Peaceful. Serene. Quiet.

(to be continued...)

The Wisdom of Crabs

On a table full of seafood, crabs are always the last to be consumed. Be it steamed or deep-fried, nobody seemed to touch the crabs until the very end. The reason is that crabs is one of the most troublesome food to be eaten. We have to remove the shell, and if we are not skillful enough, the meat will get stuck in it. Yet after all these tedious and annoying work, the reward is amazing.

Prior to the consuming part, the catching itself is a drudgery. Crabs live in the dark abyss of the ocean floor. Moreover, the tastier ones dwell in cold sea. However, human by all means will venture into the open ocean in order to catch some of the best crabs, well, to satisfy their taste buds and fill up their coffers. You would understand if you watch the documentary "Deadliest Catch". The weather is so cold that even sea water freeze on the ship and the water is so choppy that even the crew member with the best physique will fall and sprain an ankle.

Even after the catch, to get to the meat is a tricky business. Living crabs do not hesitate to use their pincers, and getting them to loosen their grip is no easy task. The cooked ones are not much friendlier. Their exoskeleton is so hard that a hammer is needed to crack the shell. If not, the shell will do some pretty serious damage to the teeth. Then, we reach the softest part of the creature, with sweat beads forming all over the forehead. For those who are lucky enough not to be allergic to crabs, crab meat is one of the most delicious meat ever.

Ergo, to get to the final reward, it is a battle of wit and strength between human and crabs. The crabs know we want their meat, and they evolved in such a way to stymie our cravings. We, on the other hand, will do everything we could to catch them, cook them, smash their hard exterior just so for the pleasure of eating the meat.

More often than not, our dreams and goals are like the crabs. They are waiting and in prospect, but so vague and far away. Still, we have the advantage of knowing what we want and we work towards that direction. The road is full of impediments and obstacles to be overcome by our intelligence and will. Even when we get it, we have to continue to work hard make it better. Only those who are strong enough to endure the drudgery of the arduous journey will get to taste their crab. It is sad to see people give up and succumb to the pain of hard work. If they can endeavour the crab meat, why can't they do the same for their dreams? Isn't it almost the same?

Interesting...

Find the paradox in the following sentence:

"This sentence is false."

Her

I met her a few months ago,
And what a charming woman she seemed.
She strode cheerfully into my life,
Abrupt, her shine dimmed.

First glance, she was kind,
All smiley and positive and cheerful.
She mingled herself with all of us,
Alas, she was wonderful.

Second glance, and there she was,
Striding down the hall.
With her high heels clanking against the floor,
Reverberating, the crisp sound on the wall.

Third glance, I noticed her hair,
Fierce, wild and dry.
Like twigs bundled up with dried weeds,
Flammable, they seemed, in my eye.

Fourth, fifth and the sixth time's glance,
I started to hate her style.
Overly sensitive and condescending,
Sinister, she smiled her smile.

As for all the glances then after,
Her flaws multiplied like fleas.
Her popularity plunged very quickly,
Oblivious, was she.

Her perpetual need for attention,
Her easily challenged dignity,
Together with her detestable aura,
Tortured, was my sanity.

Ink stained fingers,
Piercing, demanding glare.
Questions are forbidden,
Caution! And beware!

Write a word,
Strike a pose.
This is her signature move.
Annoying, is what she did the the most!

Yet, beneath her skin and flesh,
Is a very troubled girl.
Her soul was like a hurricane,
Wind-blown, was her world.

Oft-times she shared a bit too much,
Leaving us perplexed and puzzled.
She had to know some things are personal,
Shocking, when revealed.

She is like a volcano,
All pressure sealed tight in.
Bit by bit the seal loosened,
Released, was the wrath within.

She really need to take some rest,
Probably even sabbatical.
To clear her mind, to cleanse her soul,
Solved, must be everything mental.

Sadly, I am stuck with her,
No place to run, no place to go.
I hope she could change for the better,
Nostalgic, was I of her a few months ago!

Plot X against Y

This Friday, I had a little chat with Sue during a break in Physics class about men and women. We arrived at the same conclusion: Men are too dominating sometimes. I cannot fathom why some men have a need to be very condescending and try to dominate women, or some become misogynists themselves. Most of all, they can go all the way to prove their masculinity from drinking excessively to adultery, and in the end leaving women beat and battered.

Reading through the history, it is clear that men had been dominating in every field that had become the professions hitherto. It is paradoxical how that the world's eminent chefs had been men when the field of cooking which has always been thought to be exclusively within women's realm. When people talk about chefs, they will sure imagine that it's a he, small, petite, wears a tall white hat. He talks with a French accent while twisting the ends of his moustache, and more than often than not he will have a detestable personality. Now, think of an engineer. Again, a man pop into the mind. The same goes with almost every occupation. All this stereotypes arose from the foundation in which the history had shown mostly of men's glory that overshadowed women's achievements. Sure that Jamie Oliver is famous for his works to promote slow food but how many of us knew Rachel Ray? With the seeds sowed deep and good, and with all the nourishment from the annals of the achievements of men, it is no wonder that some men today just cannot bend the ego tree and accept the fact that women are equally good or even better than them nowadays.

But dig deeper. The history is so because in the past there is the silent majority of the female population before the suffrage. No women was brave enough to voice out their feeling of injustice because they thought that they are the minority few. Majority rules due to the fact that the ideas of the majority is voiced out first. Fear and shame held them back, and they kept quiet for too long a time. Hence men were the ones doing researches, breaks the ground, and immortalised their names. Women had little, if any, chance to do so.

Then the World War breaks, and men are signing up to join the army because they are perceived to be stronger. All economy was brought virtually to a halt, since most men were taking up all the jobs in the market and now they are gone. Women took over and realised that they are as good as men even in laborious jobs such as constructing and farming. Feminism waves broke out and washed all over the West. They realised that they can live without a man controlling them and they did save the economy from collapsing. It was then that a lot of women 'firsts' mushroomed and continued to do so today. Still, it is a bit too late as the mindset of "men are more powerful" is still strong among, well, men. Maybe that's why men today still cannot just accept that fact as mentioned above.

Some did happily accept that. Some, on the other hand, did not. This is a sad fact, and still prevails in the East. Women are still considered to be subservient is a lot culture and are treated as a liability rather than a child, for example Waris Dirie herself in her novel "Desert Flower". Arranged marriage is still going on in India and most Middle-East countries, and some of them ended fatally. When men feel that the power over their women starts to slip, in the fear of losing the power, they start to beat up their wives, so that their wives dare not to disobey them. Ah, the classic use of fear to dominate. The film "Provoked" clearly showed this when the jealous and belligerent husband tried to control Kiranjit Ahluwalia's life by constantly beating her and even raped her. He forced Ahluwalia to wear traditional Indian outfits and stopped her pursue of higher education. (She wanted to be lawyer.) In the end? She, as a battered woman, burned her husband who later died due to the complications of his injury.

Sure, culture goes deep in our soul and flows in our veins, but we must now alter them. Not all traditions are applicable today. Time changed everything and we have to move on. Confucius once said: A woman with no talent or skills is a "good" woman. If your skull is so thick that you still hold this belief, then you will soon be ousted from the society and be labelled as a sexist. That saying was true then, in his time, but obviously not fitting into the society structure today, in which we promulgate gender equality so much. Men no longer predominate and women are climbing up the career and social rungs pretty steadily. So, just shut up and stop complaining about how that woman get promoted and not the man. The masculine wind had already shifted its direction. There are now househusbands and eminent female politicians in the world.

Having the Y-chromosome does not empower an individual. In fact the very chromosome that made men men contains little genetic material compared to the X-chromosome found in women. It is the best when men respects women equally as women respects men. No inclination towards either sexes, a constant gradient. Fair and square. Women are made out of men; not out his head to be controlled; nor out of his leg to be trampled upon; but out of his ribs, on his side to be his equal, under his arms to be protected, and close to his heart to be loved. Remember and practice that, Men!

When Physical Education gets mental...

If you don't know already, I absolutely loathe PE. Hate it, detest it, abhor it. I used to like it a lot, when I was still young and teeming with childhood exuberance, yet I find it more like labour than fun today. I can still escape PE back in Penang, but when I went to study in Singapore, there's no way to run. It was a physical hell there with interminable torture! (It was fun walking around the country and running for the bus almost every morning though...)

Yeah yeah, I know exercise is good for health and all those craps that I'd already but know and memorised. Don't force me to do something that I don't like to do! I still remember my first PE lesson in Singapore, vividly. Okay, it was after SPM and I have not exercised in months, and surprise, surprise, the Annual Marathon of the Junior College that I enrolled was just around the corner when I get there. In order to make sure that we are all fit for the 3.4 km marathon, the Coach made all of us run for 5.1 km in 30 minutes!!! Blasphemy!!! 5.1 KM in the first bloody lesson, for goodness sake! No preparation, nothing, nada, zip. 5.1 km out of the blue, from the thin air, like all of us have that kind of stamina!

Of course most of the people (including me of course) squeezed and pulled some sour faces and sighed abnormally loud, but there's nothing we can do. We can never defy "The Coach"! Seniors had told us some pretty horrifying stories about push-ups and pull-ups for those few who are intrepid and inane enough to try to disobey The Coach's command. And it was not a pretty sight. (Imagine red-puffed faces, popping veins, exhausted groans, wan faces and lots and lots of sweat) *Shudders* Anyhow, after stretching and some warming up, the iron gate to the drudgery was opened and we were all out, en route to imminent lethargy. By the way, did I mention that the day was scorchingly hot?

The first kilometre or two was fine, until I reached the tiny hill of death. Though not very steep and high, with the sun and the oxygen debt in my system, it was extremely taxing. Furthermore, I realised that I am already very, very far behind with the clock still ticking. Hyperventilating, I forced myself to jog up the hill. I was so delighted to be on the peak of the hill. However, to my consternation later, I did not realise that this route is carefully planned and crafted to burn out all our calorie reserves or more. That was just a molehill compared to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. While doing that, more and more people are running past me.

By the time I am done with the "mountain range", it was well passed 30 minutes, still with about 1 kilometre left in my plate. God bless those who built the flat, even, asphalt kerb! Still, I am not happy. The final stretch ends about the horizon. By now, I am literally dragging my sweat coated limbs and trudge towards the end point. My faith in my water bottle where I seek solace kept me going. Well, The Coach on his Bicycle trailing behind me helped too :) I feel like I am more cowed to run rather than voluntary as I can feel His piercing leer behind me, filled with contempt. I wanted to shout to him : I am sorry that you have to trail behind me with your oh-not-so-shiny bike because of my ill stamina, but would you please just leave my dignity alone and stop torturing it?

Finally, the gate to heaven, the gate that signals the end of this arduous journey! I was panting so hard that I can virtually feel my own pulse. Not surprisingly, I am among the last ones to arrive, 20 minutes late. Just when I thought it was over, as a reward for arriving late, The Coach made all the late comers to do 20 push-ups and 20 crunches. My jaw dropped in disbelief. My eyes almost popped out. Bite me, Coach! was the first line in my brain. Reluctantly, I accepted those punishments by grinding the poor muscles of my skinny, deoxygenated limbs and abdomen. I was lucky I didn't get hernia. Then, ave Maria, all was over. What's left was my overworked muscles, which I was sure to and really did ache the next day, sweat-soaked T-shirt and the words The Coach scoffed at my face:

"You need to work up your stamina you know..."