The Lesser Jerk

"Oh God, make me a kinder, more appreciative person. A more giving person. Save me from passing crude comments or making raunchy jokes about those beggars outside your Mosque, who are probably wealthier than me at the moment for they are able to afford a bottle of Coke and take a cab home whereas I have not a speck in my pocket. Oh God, also grant me the patience to accept the fact that the taxi charges have been increased across the board. Please don't increase petrol prices, though, Lord. I just bought a Chevrolet. Ameen".

With that supplication, the Lesser Jerk bravely stepped outside the mosque onto new frontier. As what others would attest of him and he would unabashedly admit, of late he had been the lesser jerk than he ever was. These days he cursed less when he had to take the peak-hour bus, which usually comes jam-packed with people like sheep stuffed into a sardine can. He no longer cursed at reckless young motorcyclists who cut into his lane dangerously at an inch. Instead he wished them a long life. He appreciates his neighbours and friends better. He adopts every second Friday of the month as “Be Less Anti-Social Day”.

On his way out, he was confronted by groups of beggars, of all sorts, male and female. “Assalamu’alaikum!”they cried almost in unison with both hands outstretched to him, expecting some monetary gift. He frowned. Some of these beggars have made begging their occupation. They’d come with their entire families. They’d sit down outside the mosque to crack corny jokes and sometimes even tease the mosque goers. “Sir! Hahaha. You look extraordinarily handsome today, Sir! Hahaha. Did you get a raise? Hahaha. Or a divorce? Hahaha. You look extraordinarily rich today, Sir! Hahaha.” Beggars have never seemed so happy to beg. But these beggars certainly does appear so. It’s their art. It brings to his mind how Nabi Isa, or Jesus, as he is more popularly known these days, took a whip to chase moneylenders out of the place of worship. He fought the urge.

Yet, he maintained a weak smile and kept his head low as he slowly made his way out through the maddening group of beggars who appeared to have switched their target to someone wealthier looking than he was.

His last stride was blocked by a little beggar, a little boy aged about 5, who looked up at him with outstretched hands as if to say “Sir, I don’t mean to disturb you or ask anything from you, Sir. But my mum makes me come here so that I can get extra money for my father who wants to buy a semi-detached property at Nassim Hill that costs him $5 million dollars. We only have half a million dollars left to raise. I know you don’t earn much as a primary school teacher, Sir, and you live in a government-subsidised three-room flat with your parents. But please Sir, can I have some cash?”

Quietly, he slipped a five cent coin into the little beggar’s small palm.

The Lesser Jerk walked away gratified. He was a lesser jerk than he ever was.

Tags: jerk, musings

Of Circumcision and the Very Buxom Nurse

To some, the mere mention of the word "circumcision" conjures up images of a particular piece of flesh being sliced into bloody bits by a rusty carving knife. The sort of thing you'd see in B-grade zombie movies.

I recall being nine years of age, laid down spread eagled on a cold operating table. I was draped in dark green surgical cloak that covered almost entire body save for my that particular piece of flesh, hereinafter it shall be referred to as my brother, out of sheer respect. Thank you. There was actually a hole in that cloth so that my brother could protrude out of his hiding place to take a good look around.

And look around he did. You see, coming of age, I was to be circumcised at a clinic of a Certified General Practioner (yes, if you are wondering - not those creepy, dark and shady medicine man that goes 'Hoonga! Hoonga!'). Everything was gleaming and shiny, from the syringe that is to be my preferred mode of torture and to the doctor's head. You see, according to my mum, Dr Tahir lost all of his hair by the tender age of 20.

I was so petrified, I was wailing aloud any verse of the Qur'an I could recall and for some reason only the young me can understand, supplications to ward off the devil. Shivering more because of the cold temperature of the room than fear, I must have knocked down the doctor's surgical set and broke some vials. Very calmly, he called for his nurse to bring in replacement kits.

This was when, for a reason the young me could never understand, my shivering little brother stopped shivering and stood upright at attention. Because in came a very buxom nurse and to say that she was quite a sight would be a understatement. Now, having exposed my upright thing to the buxom nurse, she whispered candy-coated words like "relax" and "it will only feel like an ant bite".

There was a slight pause so I could take a breather. And the next thing I knew, the doctor had driven his pneumatic drill into the foreskin of my poor brother who was still standing at attention. My legs kicked out like a bucking horse in reflex and struck the terrified nurse in the chest, which was in truth, very difficult to miss. All the while I was reciting aloud Qur'anic verses for some kind of help from above.

The only thing was that, there was really no copious amount of pain involved, not even for the nine-year old me. After a while I stopped seeking for divine intervention and stared at the doctor as if to say "Oh, like fuck, that was it?" And then I passed out.

A day later I received $100 from my dad for my bravery in undergoing the procedure and a whack on my head for humiliating him in front of the doctor.



[Note: Circumcision is a procedure of removing some or all of the foreskin from the penis. Circumcision is not mentioned in the Qur'an, but Muslims everywhere regard it as an essential practice. Source: http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/menshealth/facts/circumcision.htm, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circumcision, http://www.circlist.com/rites/moslem.html]

Tags: circumcision, religious rites, coming of age

Melancholic Death of the Hypocritical Jihadist

He never set foot into a mosque. He never integrated into the mainstream community. He was above mainstream. To him, he was very knowledgable. On a daily basis, he would re-read the same literature which he perceived would expand his knowledge on his religion. This does not discount the fact his only knowledge is derived from a thwarted and erroneous English translation of a non-existent verse of the holy scripture. An acquaintant he met at a bar sent this through email alongside other spam emails like “Viagra for Children”. Naturally, he accepted it as the Word.

He had never come to learn of a single Arabic word, save for “Jihad”, which the media – which he took as a source of authority - mistranslates as “holy war”. At breakfast he slammed the tabloid unto the dining table deeply and very vocally grousing about the unfairness of the treatment of his kind in Palestine, Afghanistan and Iraq. He ranted to his wife that justice would prevail in these afflicted countries and how he would contribute with his life in securing their freedom from infidel infiltrators.

He said love and kindness and mercy of God will prevail. No more killing of his kind by infidels, he swore. When his wife sought for his kind assistance with the dishes, he lashed her with his belt to near-death.

On his computer later, he searched for the keywords “Holy scripture recitation” on youtube. At intermittence of every 10 seconds, he would switch windows to see how his download of “Black Man Humps Blonde Cheerleader” had progressed. 10 seconds to go. He was elated. 10 seconds later later, one could clearly hear the reading of Arabic verses punctuated by the unmistakable sound of insatiable moaning and groaning coming from his room.

“This is too much”, he complains. “The infidel Western media has gone overboard in corrupting minds! Jihad against infidels!”

He got up and strapped a time bomb around his waist. 10 minutes to go and the infidels will feel the wrath of God, he thought. There was no way the bomb could be stopped. He bought it at a discounted price over ebay the week before. He strode firmly out of his house and headed towards the nearest “Western” target, being a McDonald’s restaurant located at a mosque basement.

He finally arrived at his target location. Some kids there gathered around him, even asking for his permission to play with the cool toy strapped around his waist. He brushed them aside. He frowned at the children’s want for pleasure and fun, which he perceives as the Devil’’s trickery. Besides, he had no time. He had a date with 70 virgins awaiting him on the other side.

1 minute to go.

From where he was, he could faintly hear the imam from the mosque upstairs reading a translation of a selected verse: “...if someone kills another person, it is as if he had murdered all mankind. And if anyone gives life to another person, it is as if he had given life to all mankind...”

“I didn’t know that!” He was uncharacteristically bewildered. His mouth gaped wide open in shock as his fingers trembled in search for a button to switch off the mechanism…

The day after, the media reported in the newspapers: “Islamist Suicide Bomber Blasts Muslim Children at Mosque Basement”.


[Read: Religious Rehabilitation Group, The True Islamic Morals, U.S Tries Rehab For Religious Extremists]

Tags: holy war, jihad, rehabilitation

Repeal Penal Code s377A

"377A. Any male person who, in public or private, commits, or abets the commission of, or procures or attempts to procure the commission by any male person of, any act of gross indecency with another male person, shall be punished with imprisonment for a term which may extend to 2 years." [Source: The Singapore Penal Code (Cap. 224_ section 377A]

Just because homosexuality does not square with my religious beliefs and I do not subscribe to the "alternative ideology", it does not mean I think gays ought to be legally criminal. Nor would I ever accept that my homosexual friends are technically considered outlaws by the state by virtue of this section.

We strive towards being what is called an "open and inclusive" society, are we actually marginalising people who we deem as being off-the-mainstream in the process? The following is a paragraph from Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong's inauguration speech:

26 We will continue to expand the space which Singaporeans have to live, to laugh, to grow and to be ourselves. Our people should feel free to express diverse views, pursue unconventional ideas, or simply be different. We should have the confidence to engage in robust debate, so as [to] understand our problems, conceive fresh solutions, and open up new spaces. We should recognise many paths of success, and many ways to be Singaporean. We must give people a second chance, for those who have tasted failure may be the wiser and stronger among us. Ours must be an open and inclusive Singapore.

If you believe that Singapore should repeal this archaic law against homosexuals, do take a moment to sign the online petition here: Repeal Section 377A.

[Alternative views: Decriminalising homosexual acts would be an error http://law.nus.edu.sg/news/archive/2007/ST_040507.pdf]

Tags: homosexual, gays, s377a, petition, law

Of ADHD and The One Who Gives a Damn.

For those of us who are unfamiliar, the Singapore education system segregates the mainstream and the special schools. While the mainstream schools fall under the ambit of the Ministry of Education, the special schools are run by welfare or charitable organisations. These schools are kept distinct such that children from the special schools will never, probably in their lifetimes, get a whiff of life in the so-called normal schools.

Children with mild levels of Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and dyslexia may be admitted into normal schools on a case-to-case basis.

An acquaintant of mine, whose son was recently diagnosed with ADHD, attends Primary 1 at a mainstream school here. Life at mainstream school for her son has almost literally turned into a living hell as his teacher takes the liberty to whack him on the head with a book almost on a daily basis, to get him to behave. He gets called less-than-graceful names like “stupid” and “retarded” by the teacher, who thinks that the boy takes advantage of the fact that he has ADHD.

ADHD is characterized by a persistent pattern of inattention and/or hyperactivity, as well as forgetfulness, poor impulse control or impulsivity, and distractibility.

Many, if not most of the local young teachers these days step into their teaching careers already with the mindset that teaching is a very demanding and stressful career, and it is. The media has also assisted very much in increasing stress levels by reporting the upward trend of the number of teachers receiving treatment at the Institute of Mental Health.

To add, today’s mainstream teachers are not equipped with the skills, compassion, intelligence and stamina to work with children with behavioural disorder, learning disabilities, emotional disturbance, autism, unspecified difficulties, physical disabilities and special abilities. As the nation look towards areas where children with special needs can be included in the mainstream classroom context, I believe it is shortsightedness to the point of negligence to insist upon a fully inclusive classroom for all students.

It is indeed cruel to designate an individual to the special school system, without giving him the benefit of a choice. However, until the mainstream system has equipped itself to work with and provide for the special needs of these children, the inclusive setting may not necessarily be the most suitable environment for them.

Tags: ADHD, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder

"Beep... a Phone? No, a Brick".

"While that Nokia 'butterfly- button' phone was the must- have phone over a decade ago, some users complain that Nokia phones are 'too hi-tech' to use these days." - New Nokia Phone Gets Back to Basics, The New Paper, 5th October 2007.

I recall the frenzy my friends and I experienced when the Nokia phone was launched. It was missing all the commodities like the camera function, colour screen, mp3 player et cetera but back then it was the state of the art. It was how it was meant to be. I recall giving my best friend Syafiq's new butterfly phone the G-shock treatment by nonchalantly flinging it out of his mom's 2nd storey flat. Syafiq's still using the phone today, by the way.

I recall having to save up my pocket money by skipping breakfast, lunch and dinner to buy the phone. As a consequence, while adolescent boys are expected to grow, I actually started to shrink at 15. And I didn't buy the phone at the end. I bought a year's supply of McDonald's Happy Meals instead as a form of retribution to myself.

If you've been around a while, you'd realise that mobile phones go a long way back to a time when they truly look like bricks. Large, unbearably heavy and emitting intolerably huge amounts of radiation, these phones might be the cause for an upward trend of penile disorder in the early 1990's. They had a wonderfully long, thick, sturdy antennas which you can use for peripheral purposes like picking your nose, or satisfying your girlfriend.

My mother was far from joking though when she remarked that if only she owns one of these brick phones, she could use it as a weapon against would-be assailants . As a law student a few years back, I read about a few cases where people were charged for assaulting or severely injuring another person by whacking them using their mobile brick phones. As the phone was an expensive luxury, those accused all seem to be well to do: an associate professor, a doctor and an ex-politician.

To complement the brick phone's very conspicuous look, it came with very conspicuous pricetag which only the rich people up Nassim Hill could afford. And phone bills didn't come cheap either. Just a short call to say hello would cost a fortune, I was informed. It was a time when Singtel was the only telco around so they had all the monopoly. No one knew about M1, and Starhub hadn't even come into existence. It would probably be cheaper to pry out those huge 10 cent public phones off their wall socket and lug it around town.

I noticed how Chinese businessmen used to drag the brick phone around like some status symbol, but I've never seen any of these blokes actually use them. Like a stamp of their status and authority, they would at times pretend to talk (loudly) into the phone when clearly no one was at the other end, as confessed by my friend's father recently.

It was, according to him, the best phone he ever owned. He described how he would walk around Orchard Road and earned all those admiring glances. He felt sublime. But brick phone short-circuited on him one afternoon when it slightly drizzled.

Tags: brick phone, butterfly phone, classic phones, nokia

Educating Peter: A Reflection

"You think you're teaching him things, but really, he's teaching you things".

In my previous reflections on children with special needs, I talked about the need for the inclusion of children with disabilities in the mainstream school. It is sadly something not yet achievable in Singapore. I understood it was not going to be easy and that it will take time. Having no first hand experience dealing with children with disability in a mainstream classroom context, I didn’t realize how exactly difficult it was until I watched “Educating Peter”.

Teachers need to be trained the essential skills on how to deal with children with disabilities in general. With the segregation in training for mainstream and special disability teachers, I’m not too sure whether mainstream teacher would be resilient enough to handle the presence of a special child in the classroom. We saw how Peter’s teacher initially had to grapple and struggle to adapt. To add, his classmates were initially uncomfortable around him too (and for a peculiar reason, the boys were still uncomfortable around him at the end of the video).

Let me digress here a bit. In this video I saw the most beautiful side of being human. Peter’s classmates were kicked, punched and mangled to a pulp by him. But knowing Peter, never once did they retaliate. In fact, they handled the situation very well by trying to calmly reason with Peter. Will our kids in local schools be the same? Can they understand and be forgiving while they are being pulverized to a pulp every single day? Forgive me for being pessimistic, but I do not think so.

Peter's teacher overcame the situation with much patience, empathy and dedication. She was scared in the beginning. It’s fair and understandable to be scared. What's most important is that she overcame that fear. Many, if not most, of the local young teachers these days step into their teaching careers already with the mindset that teaching is a very stressful career. The media has also assisted very much in increasing stress levels by reporting the upward trend of the number of teachers receiving treatment at the Institute of Mental Health.

The National Institute of Education as taken a progressive step by introducing the theoretical Individual Differences module into its teacher training package. Will this module be enough to equip young, idealistic teachers to handle children with special needs in the mainstream classroom? Without practical knowledge, I fear that this training is far from being sufficient.

Tags: down's syndrome, learning disabilities, mainstream education, special needs, educating peter, peter video

Why I will Not Join Facebook

I’ve got mail. Lots of mail from people I hardly know, telling me they've added me as a friend on Facebook. These are the exact kind people known in Friendster as your 106th degree friend. You know, friend of friend or friend of friend…. Gotta catch them all. Heh. But really, if you are a friend, you wouldn’t be bugging me with this.

I have to admit, though, that the dark side does have its allure. What’s with virtual scrabble and the ability to cast Harry Potter spells on people you barely know. And everyone you know of speaks so fondly of it. Everytime I walk into my sister’s room, she’d be doing something on it rather than actually studying for her law exams. So there must be something to it.

But Facebook has been a source of major headaches for many companies. While others have adopted facebook as a motivational tool, many have taken the liberty to ban access to the site, citing it as the main cause of unproductivity and even harrassment.

My take on this is that Facebook can be a source of reprieve if you are stuck in the office all day. However, workers fearing the sack should not spend more than 5 minutes on it at a time. It might help you preserve your sanity but perhaps not your job. A former colleague of mine tells me that his new company even makes its staff take the "No Facebook from 9 to 5" pledge and all their computers are now bugged to prevent non-compliance. If you would regard this as scary, you're probably right.

Personally, I wouldn’t be signing up for Facebook in the nearest future, as I already have too much to grapple with. Things like psychology and physics would have to take precedence for the time being. Also, I do not feel the urgent need to cast Harry Potter spells on people (although mangling certain people physically to a pulp would be good). Nor do I wish to keep people in my list like some virtual pet.

So the next time you’re sending invites, feel free regard me as faceless.

Tags: Facebook, Friendster, harrassment, unproductivity

Of email ettiquette and the one that gives a damn.

"And I dun care. Reply here to tell me you have read this post".

The above is part of an email from someone who perceives himself (the gender has been changed to protect the identity of the scum person) as a high and mighty own-it-all vice president.

Firstly sir, your email sounds desperate. Are you that desperate and devoid of attention? Secondly, my primary four students can spell better. It's not "dun". It's "don't". And lastly, you have to learn that you don't own people. Again, even my kids in school know that in order to request people to do something for you, you have to ask kindly. It's basic courtesy.

Whenever I get emails from certain sources, I find myself having to remind myself to relax and take it easy before i click "Open Mail". For a while, the world found peace, serenity. But once the email's open, I find myself seething with fury as all hell breaks loose. Yet I always find the civility reply with grace.

"Thank you for your kind email".

One should bear in mind that even it its electronic form, we are conversing with real people who have their own thoughts, opinions and will form judgements of us which may not necessarily be nice. And in a working environment especially, emails like the above will only prove how unworthy you are in the organisation - that you just cannot get along with others and others just can't give a damn about you. And if you hold some kind of position of authority (real or perceived) you'd automatically fall into the category of a power-hungry immature amateur.

Tags: email ettiquette, manners

Aku, Kamu dan Bangsa Dia.

Esei ini ditulis dalam bahasa yang dianggap masyarakat masakini sebagai bahasa Melayu

Orang kita sikapnya tolak ansur dan kita dah biasa undur ke beiakang sikit untuk kasi bangsa dia jalan di depan. Biasalah, orang kita ni penuh sopan santun, budi bahasa. Orang memberi kita merasa. Kalau kita di belakang tak apa lah, biarlah bangsa dia jalan dulu.

Dahulu nampaknya macam nak berubah. Tapi sekarang ini zahirnya masih sama saja. Anak-anak bangsa dia diasuh rapi ibu-bapa. Anak orang kita masih ramai yang diasuh rapi geng kongsi gelap, geng skinhead, geng metal, geng motor dan sebagainya geng yang langsung tak ada faedah. Tak apa lah, nanti dah tua anak kita boleh bertaubat. Itu belum masuk lagi bab pasal anak-anak orang kita yang tak ada segan silu langsung. Bukan sedikit yang kerjanya penggoncang arak di kelab malam lah, jadi waiter kedai makan tak halal lah. Bangsa dia tengok pun jadi confuse. "I thought not halal? Can work there, meh?" Tak apa lah, kita mesti open minded, pe.

Anak bangsa dia kalau masuk universiti berduyun-duyun jakon nak rnasuk jurusan kedoktoran lah, undang-undang lah. Tu hebat, tu. Kerjanya baik, gajinya nanti lumayan, tempat kerjanya high class lagi. Anak orang kita kalau dapat masuk universiti sekali pun entah kenapa kemaruk nah nak masuk bidang engineering lah, construction lah, mekanikal lah. Kenapa jarang sekali anak orang kita nak jadi doktor ke, loyar ke? Tapi ye ye nah nak jadi mekanik? Tak apa lah, orang kita kan dah biasa kerja kotor.

Bila tiba hari kebangsaan, orang kita mesti kena komen dulu oleh PM, kan? Bertahun-tahun asyik "Bangsa Melayu bertambah maju..." atah "Bangsa melayu menampakkan sedikit kemajuan..." Hai, belum maju-maju lagi ke orang kita ni? Setiap tahun asik "bertambah maju" saja. Bila masanya PM nak cakap "sudah maju"? Dah tu orang kita bukan main gembira kena puji sikit dengan PM. Orang kita ni memang pantang kena puji. Yei! Tak apa lah, asal PM kata kita makin maju. Tapi jumlah anak orang kita yang lulus di peperiksaan peringkat "O" Levels masih begitu sedikit kalau dibandingkan dengan prestasi anak-anak bangsa dia. Takapa lah, sekurang-kurangnya ada juga sikit kemajuan.

Bangsa dia kalau ada ilmu, begitu lokek nak kongsi dengan orang kita. Simpan sendiri, kaup untung sendiri. Tapi kalau orang kita ada ilmu sedikit setotek mana pun, tak teragak-agak nak kongsi dengan bangsa dia. Takapa lah, kan orang kita ni pemurah. Sebagai contoh hasilnya, banyak makanan orang kita dah jadi makanan bangsa dia. Otak-otak dah jadi "otah". Putu piring dah jadi "kueh tutu". Nasi Lemak dah jadi "Nasi Lomat". Orang kita langsung tak diberi apa-apa kredit atau pengiktirafan. Diorang anggap macam diorang lah yang invent makanan turun-temurun nenek moyang orang kita ni. Kalau makanan itu merupakan identiti dan maruah sesuatu kaum, maka orang kita dak hilang banyak identiti dan maruah. Eh, tak apa lah, kita kan mesti kongsi ilmu. Jadi tak apa lah kalau orang kita hilang mata pencarian yang unik, ya? Kenapa orang kita tak curi-curi belajar buat bahkut teh halal ke? Dah tu boleh orang kita export ke luar negara. Kenapa asik barang kita aje yang kena tiru?

Setiap tahun bangsa dia ada kempen "Speak Mandarin". Diorang anjurkan bahawa bahasa diorang tu adalah satu aset. Orang kita pun tak ketinggalan turut belajar bahasa dia. Tapi bila masanya orang kita nak adakan kempen "Speak Malay" besar-besaran? Nah, bukankah bahasa kita juga suatu aset. Lebih-lebih lagi kerana negara kita ini terletak di tengah-tengah wilayah tanah Melayu. Tak ke kita rasa janggal tiba-tiba di tengah-tengah wilayah Melayu ada sebuah negara yang yang majoriti penduduknya berbangsa dia dan kebanyakan tak reti berbual bahasa kita? Tak apa lah, bangsa dia pun dah jadi rakyat negara kita, kan! Betapa sedihnya, pasal orang kita sendiri tak tahu yang bahasa Melayu ini adalah bahasa rasmi Singapura.

Jadi lantarannya begini, walau apa pun yang nak jadi kat bangsa kita, orang kita masih tak rasa apa-apa. Jarang sekali kelihatan daya saing orang kita untuk naikkan lagi martabat bangsa yang hilang entah ke mana. Kita akur memang ada segelintir yang gigih, tapi majoritinya masih membuta atau membabi buta. Memang benar kata PM yang orang kita "bertambah maju". Tapi jika kemajuan boleh dikira dengan perangkaan kadar peratus, berapa majukah kita sekarang berbanding dengan 20, 10 atau 5 tahun dulu? Sudahkah kita mengatasi kejayaan bangsa dia, atau dekat pada itu? Mampukah kita bersaing lagi? Apakah nanti suatu masa orang kita akan tersinkir dari tanah sendiri?

'Tak apa lah, kita kan orang Melayu".

***

(Penulis adalah seorang yang tak segan silu mengaku dia sedikit sebanyak ada berdarah Melayu dan amat mencintai Singapura sebagai tumpah darahnya. Tapi at times, dia fed-up pasal orang Melayu macam heck care, gitu).

© 2003-2007 mohammadzahid

Tags: malay, melayu, bangsa melayu, Singapura, Singapore, bahasa melayu, malay language

Of Self-Censorship and the One That Gives a Damn.

"How come you don't write about yourself eh? You only write stories" - That was someone's comment upon reading my entries.

Well, I hate to give this away, but you know that in order to read and understand my entries, you have to sift through my metaphors, my tongue-in-cheek comments, my sarcasm, my exaggerations and your own perceptions. Only at the end will you be able to finally, if at all, decipher, what I'm trying to get at.

Then what's wrong with calling a spade a spade? Why do I have to refer to "water" as "milk", "quarel" as "song & dance" and "company reception" as "nightclub"? Why do I have to thwart people's perception of myself?

Because I write glam. I write satire. And as far as I can, I write art. For example my deleted entry "Ice on the Dancefloor", and "the Writer, the Sinner, the Puppeteer", "Grouses of a Seriously Unfunny Circus Monkey", and more recently, "Of Love and Lust". People's perception can only be as thwarted as they already are, without even reading my entries.

There is nothing satirical or artistic about writing: "This is a nice phone. I want to buy it when it's out. I can't stop looking at it. It's driving me crazy" This is not my style. And if this is the style you would rather read, look somewhere else. I'm sure there are many other teeny-bopper sounding blogs out there that can cater to your need.

Instead, with all splendour, I wrote with the usual flamboyance: "His passion for her is burning his heart, and his desire consuming his soul. He waits. Knowing that all he could afford now is to steal glances at the images of her alluring figure."

Voi La! Provocative, intriguing, sexy. Words of Love - for a goddamn handphone.

Lately I received a few suggestions to just write in a simple, non-sensational, non-threatening, non-provocative and non-perception-thwarting kind of manner. In short, apply self-censorship. Good suggestion - but that's exactly what I will not do.

Perhaps, out of respect to darling, my family and myself, I will attempt to water down some of these entries. But still, I shall always keep that distinctive style.

Where self-censorship does not necessarily apply.

Of love and lust.

He first laid his eyes on her the last fortnight. Amidst all the discordant and noisy convival and seemingly festive backdrop, he all but noticed that she was a figure of fleeting confidence, with the aura of unmistakable intrigue.

She sings a strange yet familiar song, which in a way never comprehensible, causing those surrounding her to break into a dance, as if in trance. Her tanned skin glistening under the glare of the sun.

How he desires to run his fingers around her swelte contours. Her body lustful and wanting. He would whisper words of love into her ears and kissing her lips and she would speak tenderly to him, her voice as raspy and balmy as the soothing winds of the alps.

His passion for her is burning his heart, and his desire is consuming his soul. He waits. Knowing that all he could afford now is to steal glances at the images of her alluring figure.

Of the Inclusive Society and the One That Gives A Damn

(An extract of my Educational Pshychology write-up on the definition of an "Inclusive Society")

The definition of an “inclusive society” to me is one that accepts and makes no difference of the presence of people who are perceived to be off-the-mainstream in nature. These include the elderly, the sick, the physically and mentally disabled, the unemployed and even the confused in terms of gender. The emphasis here is that an inclusive society is a caring one that supports the needs of the poor and unfortunate, thus allowing them to play integral roles, even key roles, in the society.

At the moment I feel that, in general, Singaporeans are yet to earn the moniker “a graceful society”, much less an “inclusive” one. As we scurry about daily to do what we perceive as the most important jobs in the universe and serve the most important people around – our own selves – we tend to forget, and at times we intentionally or unintentionally deny the interest of that pregnant woman on the train or that handicapped driver from whom we cavalierly robbed a parking lot. Then there others among us who cheekily embezzle millions from poor old people who desperately need kidney dialysis just to buy a gold walking stick. That lady with the infected legs begging outside Tampines MRT does not have to beg if someone gives her a job.

In an inclusive society, people regardless of their ability, status, race, religion and language get a fair chance to play integral roles - regardless of race, language or religion - although the reality now is that even people of sound qualifications are being denied employment just because they don’t speak a certain language. And even if they do, they may at times be automatically perceived as not good enough because they are not of a certain skin colour.

Tags: inclusive society, Singapore, graceful society, equality

The Writer, the Sinner & the Puppeteer

Alone in his room, he attempted to discern the myriad of thougts and emotions that ran through his veins. In that state of sombre solitude, he was visited by the many horrid visions. His heart paced. He inhaled harder the air which had been overpowered with an uncanny scent of wilted lavender.

His frail, quivering hand on the typewriter. No words could ever describe the caucophony of sentiments playing inside him, touching him to his very core. Never could he comprehend how affected he could be at the recurrence of such vicissitude.

For Life had once again turned its grim face upon him. Life, then peering at him through its horrid sunken eyes, threatened to reveal its dark secrets which would challenge his very belief in his very own existence. Yet all this wasn’t a stranger to him. Only this time, he found himself trapped in his own mechanism. A vile plot that had taken a dark twist. The puppeteer had become his own puppet, entagled in an indomitable web of Chance.

He could only wait for whatever retribution that Life had for him. His heart ever praying for mercy, yet knowing that he was no longer worthy of such propitious reprieve. The venemous verdict had been vouched. And the prisoner only lives in the excruciating wait of his fated punishment.



© 2007 zahidyne

Of Straits Kitchen and its Banquet likeness.

Pardon me, but this entry should really belong in the Review section. But just this once, if you will, allow me to critique on this restaurant in its full Zahidyne-ish splendour.

Let's begin with the food. A restaurant is most memorable for its food, isn't it not? Well, I concurred - until my Straits Kitchen experience. Straits Kitchen fare shall always remind me of Banquet Bedok.

Food is good, but not that fantastic. Chinese, Malay and Indian show kitchens churn out hawker fare such as char kway teow, laksa, chicken rice, tandoori chicken and grilled stingray. That said, the range of food is somewhat limited. To add, one can easily find better tasting food in Geylang or Bedok at more humble prices. I reckon The fare here is recommended for people who are too shy - or not too smart - to pay $3.00 for a plate of Chicken Rice.

To their credit, the Indian butter chicken was the arguably best you can find anywhere on the island and the roasted duck was highly superb with its sweet, juicy and rubbery flesh. These 2 should be highest in your pecking order.

The atmosphere... Well, close your eyes while you are chewing and you'd think you're at Banquet Chinatown. To say that the place reverberates with energy is spot-on: some of the more jakon customers (read: Mainland Chinese) were tirelessly speaking on top of their voices, as usual, like they've never seen food before, as usual. To complement this Chinatown-ness, the piped music was very considerately playing a contemporary Chinese pop CD, meant of course, for the Chinese ears. The other customers - the Arabs, North and South Indians, Koreans, Australians, Malaysians, Indonesians, Filippinos - are secretly expected to make their own music by clicking their own tongues.

To be fair (and I have been fair thus far), the lighting was warm and clever. That keeps you from choking on your shellfish.

A rather kind review by the Straits Times Interactive on Straits Kitchen (they're siblings) quoted: "Making it halal is also a point in its favour. Muslims who can't patronise hawker centre stalls can now check out what they have been missing out on." (emphasis mine)

But that's why Banquet was created.

Tags: Straits kitchen, asian food

Do Muslims worship the black box in the desert?

(Okay, got the above question in a forum. As Ramadhan is the month of knowledge, I have attached the reply below for all. God knows best).

Thank you for asking me about my religion. Through your term "black box in the desert", I understand that you refer to the Ka'abah in Makkah, now part of Saudi Arabia.

The Ka'abah is not an object of worship. We worship God alone, and we do not represent Him in any physical form. The Ka’abah is only the focus point in our worship of God Almighty. It symbolizes the unity of all Muslims in all generations, as they all turn toward it when they pray.

It acquires its importance from the fact that it is the first house ever built for human worship. This is clearly stated in the Qur'an: "The first House (of worship) ever set up for mankind was in deed the one at Bacca: Rich in blessing; and a source of guidance to all the worlds." (3: 96) Incidentally, Bacca is another name of the city of Makkah. It was built by the two prophets Ibrahim and Ismail on God's orders and by His guidance.

Bacca is also mentioned by name in The Bible in Psalms 84:6:

"⁵ Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.
⁶ As they pass through the Valley of Bacca,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools.

Muslims know that the Ka’abah itself has no power to benefit or harm anyone. It is a blessed place for our worship, but worship is addressed to God alone. Muslims in pilgrimage encircle the Ka'abah, during which we praise and glorify God.

For more information on Islam, may I recommend you to these reliable websites www.islamalways.com and www.islamonline.net.

Peace and Blessings of God be upon all.

Tags: islam, muslim, kaaba, the black box

Grouses of a Seriously Unfunny Circus Monkey

Grouses of an seriously unfunny circus monkey

“Hullo… Hey, you’re funny. You made me laugh so freaking hard. I’m sitting on my bed now naked and drying my hair. But thinking of what you said in the morning made me burst out laughing. I like you already. Tell me more funny stuff. Make me laugh! More, please! You’re awesome!”

I have not the slightest idea why people would normally perceive me as a funny guy when they first come to know me. Perhaps in one inspired, opportune moment, the little stand-up comedian living inside me reaches out to make himself heard. And it’s him - not me - that makes people laugh. Whatever it is, I am fine with taking all the credit.

Well, I am glad I can be a source of some wholesome, quality amusement. And I hate to reveal this, knowing such revelation may even dramatically decrease my already low blog readership. But the truth be told, I am not a funny person. I am in fact a serious person who does serious stuff.

I spend my days observing the breathing patterns of the specks of dust that has gathered around my bedpost. At night I occupy myself by counting the number of red hair on my non-existent purple cat. As a hobby, I take the delight in giving names to each member of the ant colony that has now taken over my toilet – only serious names like Margaret, Richard, Andrew.

Please do not be disappointed if you no longer crack under my jokes. Please do not be alarmed if I get cranky the whole day. Trust me, I am just being focused with serious stuff.

The seriously serious person that I am, I can be seriously perturbed when I am expected to be someone I really am seriously not.

I woke up today feeling like a retired circus monkey now living under the keen observation of a young, naïve and unreasonably enthusiastic audience.

“I saw him at the circus, Mommy. He can do those swirly-wirly tricks. The fat guy at the stall said I can have him for $1.77, inclusive of GST. Watch him do tricks, Mommy. Isn’t he the cutest thing? Isn’t he funny?”

This monkey quietly sits in the corner observing all the fuss about him. He sits without budging. Its arms tightly folded with an unmistakable oh-my-god-this-is-ridiculous look on his face.

Colours. (Leave an apple on my desk, but please do not ask for a card)

Excuse me for a moment. I need to sit down and deliberate.

I'm en route to that career I've always wanted. I left the legal sector when I was just starting my climb up the ladder. And the thought that I'm in the course of committing to something for life is unbearably crippling. Whatever possibilities that may await me out there, I might never come to know.

I used to answer people's question on my occupation with at least some considerable pride. "I'm a legal executive. Here's my card. Call me". Nowadays, my reply to that very same question will only be welcomed by blank, sceptic stares accompanied by at least 3 seconds of utter silence.

"I'm a teacher. (No card. Don't bother calling unless your kid needs tuition)".

Nonetheless, this is the path I have chosen. It took me years to decide and now that I am here, I will keep the faith. There are too many things to do in here, too many things to contribute and I shall not have time for myself to wallow in self-regret.

They will come to me like white fabric, and I shall paint them in vivid hues. And everyone who comes by to look at the paintings will utter "What beautiful colours! What priceless masterpieces!" The people may not even know who the painter is. But they will appreciate his artwork. At the end of the day, this painter shall look outside his window, knowing that his artpieces are now somewhere out there being appreciated and loved.

Smiling in his heart, he shall paint again.

Tags: teacher, education, educator, students