A pictorial accompaniment to the Malaysian roulette…

Malaysian Roulette

Crossing the road on the way to the office this morning I saw a familiar sight - a man on a bike with his three children. It's the same man along Jalan Ampang at about 7.50 a.m. every day. He's got a helmet on but not his children.

The common reason I hear for the now familiar sight is that they are poor people and they cannot afford to buy cars so it's alright for them to do so.

Right, so write this down - poor, people, are, allowed, to, put, their, children, at, risk.

OK, we got that now, if you are poor and cannot afford a car, you can ride a bike without using helmets.Oh sorry, not you, just your children. You have to wear one because you need to drive and survive any accident. Your children? They are expandable. That's the only word I could find to describe the situation. Makes absolute sense. Nobel Prize material. Rich people are not allowed to do such thing. For once, you lordies lost.

I am no lawyer but a sprinkle of common sense would tell me that I need a helmet to ride a bike in Malaysia. All who are on board and not just the mum and dad. Another common understanding is that you don't need helmets when you are on a bike in the rural areas. The only rationale I could gather here is that rural area roads do not kill people. The roads are softer I suppose. You could fall and it is guaranteed that you will not be hurt. The rural roads are forbidden to kill people. And at night, no lights are necessary on the bikes. It's OK, you don't need to see the bikes. Just run them over. Better still if you are a bus or a trailer. No one feels anything at all. It's OK ma, I'm only dead.

So, the solution? Definitely not what we see on the roads daily.

Offshore Overtures

A friend once asked me how is life offshore. I told him it's very romantic, at least the first night was. Then none of them ever were.

I haven't been offshore for about four years. And I don't miss it. Yes, the first night was romantic - I watched the sun went down. The wind was blowing softly. There was the pleasant smell of freshly baked loaves from the galley. It was that good.

And after that it was a blur of jobs ranging from one night stays to my longest ever, a thirty eight day stay offshore Indochina. Went through the worst storm to hit the South Shina Sea in forty years. The food on most offshore installations are good. If you don't feel like eating chicken chop, lamb chop or steak, you could always order a la carte - maggi mee. Nothing beats a bowl of maggi with two eggs thrown in cooked by a galley hand with looks only a mother could love and they usually call you boss. Semua tarok....

You only bring one set of good clothes offshore - the ones you arrive in. Once in your room, you hang them properly in the closet if you have one or anywhere if your room does not have a closet. You never send these clothes to the laundry. You will ruin them. Those will also be the ones you will be wearing on your "Hari Raya", "Hari Raya" being the day when you leave the rig after you have done your job. So if you see a guy smartly dressed looking like he has swallowed the sun it usually means that he is waiting for the chopper home. A chopper usually means newspapers, new tools and new work programs and instructions. I usually leave behind the clothes that I bring offshore except for my coveralls. The industrial detergent they used offshore ruins your clothes. They smelled awful too - my children would cringe their noses at the smell, should I wear any of them home.

But I think I'll stick to this desk job. Two years ago one of my engineers, Kevin, had to spend Hari Raya offshore and before leaving he wrangled a promise fom me that I never ever make him spend Chinese New Year offshore.

Hari Raya offshore? Been there, done that.

Happy Birthday, Sunshine

My son turned eleven yesterday. For the last week or so, he wouldn't let us forget it, not even for a while. Usually the reminders would come in the form of three days, seven hours and forty minutes more till my birthday.

He clenches his fists. I mean, since he was born, he'd clench his fists tightly until his nails dig into his palms. We'd be feeding him, he'd have both hands on his chest but the fists would be tightly clenched. I made it a personal mission to unclench his fists every opportunity I had. My wife told me not to worry so I guess that's OK, she usually knows about these things. To this day, when he's asleep, his fists would still be clenched, tough not as tight as when he was a baby.

The first few years in Miri, when I come home from work, I look forward to see him push the curtains at the glass door aside and see that look on his face when the person that he is looking forward to see is home. My wife told me that sometimes it would someone else passing by but he'd still flick the curtains aside thinking it was me and she'd see the disappointed look on his face.

He wasn't the hardest baby to look after but he wasn't the easiest one either. I could say he wasn't the hardest because my wife did a lion's share of the work!! He was allergic to ants - he'd have rashes sometimes and all we had to do was find the culprit. Usually it was an ant that he'd step on earlier. Once when he was three and my wife was away in the hospital, I woke up discovering he had rashes and swelling all over his body and true enough, hundreds of ants have made a beeline for his spilt milk on the mattress, and him. It scared me silly since I have heard of tracheas being swollen shut and it was a night of calamine and other lotions and no more sleeping but a night of watching that small chest go up and down, up and down, up and down, till daybreak. He woke up perky that morning simply because he knew he'd on his way to see his mother and his new baby sister.

His grandparents love him. They love the fact that he'd say "Hi Papa Tuk" or "Hi Mama Wan" each time he sees them even though he just saw them and said the same thing fifteen minutes ago. He'd hold his grandmother's hand while she walk down the stairs or across the bumpy ground.

He'd wage war on his sister one moment and be best buddies with her a few minutes later. I keep telling him to study hard. He hates that. But I'll keep on telling him that. The only thing I want him to do is make something out of his life and that I am not going to support him when he is forty!!! I have seen too much of that. Live within his means. Neither a lender nor a borrower be. If someone kicks you, kick him back. If someone punches you, punch him back but don't start a fight. Rob Peter to pay Paul.

Whoops, bad advice. But then, I have been known to make mistakes too.

Reunion of the OK OK Folks

Well, the reunion was over and done with and it went on very well. It was done with twenty people showing up in mind but thirty-seven came and for something that was planned quickly over the phone and over the net, it was a success. When I go for these reunions, I set my target at the lowest level, to meet some friends whom I haven't met since God knows when. That's all and I have yet to be dissappointed.

Naturally, people change and there are some of the guys whom I could not recognise. As for the ladies, I could only recognise one of them. And of course the old stories, tales and fables were told and retold. A few have passed on and two who were a couple then and married each other have gone their separate ways. It's a pity, they were such an item and a loving couple then but when things happened, they happened.

So, as of today, if I want some help in getting a job in the engineering section of Malaysia Airlines, a very attractive discount if I want to buy land, to build a factory or two or to participate in tenders to extend KLIA (not very big, just a few hundred million ringgits' worth) I have avenues to do so, heh heh heh.

Reunions happen because there are a people who would still come. I have known some of my friends since I was twelve. It is simply the pleasure of their company. The organiser mentioned that someone asked her to take them off the mailing list. I had one guy like that and the reason that he didn't want to meet old friends was that he was afraid, and jealous, that they are more successful than him (he is a graduate with a good job). So I told him it would be better for him to stay away then, because there would be very few people like him, most are more successful than him. And the thing is, I did not even have to lie.

I am happy to have rich and successful friends and I have yet to ask for a single sen from them. Well, that's a lie actually, they have after all, belanja me during a few teh tarik sessions. That's life, rich friends and teh tarik, ha ha.

Former Beaus and Other Woes

I've got a reunion coming up this Friday. Heavens, has it been that long since I left that place? I managed to speak to someone with whom I had a wee bit of a crush then but somehow her voice didn't sound the same. But it was her.

Once I met the cousin of a former beau and she went ahead and called her cousin to check the authenticity of my story.

"Hey, Rohani (a made up name), you remember this guy in school? I have him here with me. His name?"

"Sorry, what was your name again tadi?" I'm so famous people forget my name two seconds after we were introduced.

Without telling her my name again, I waved my hands desperately begging her to stop the conversation.To make matters worse, there were five others around us at that time, all listening in and I only know one of them, my biras (my wife's brother-in-law). He repeated my name to ex-future-cousin-in-law. She said my name over the phone.

"Oh, he's the one who mengorat you but wasn't much of a white knight?", wide-eyed, she repeated what my ex-future whatever said over the phone. My biras laughed, he loves watching my misery. Must be remembering the times I whupped him playing Risk. I wasn't much of a romeo, don't hold that against me, please?

Still looking at me, ex-future-cousin-in-law said, "Were you the one who gave her that perfume?"

"Oh God, no...., I mean yes, the swan with a crown perfume......" All the way from UK lo.......

All six of them laughed really loud because my secret is out. My biras laughed out the loudest. Ex-future-cousin-in law. I coined that up from the time when my wife pointed out a lady to me during a function at her parents' palce and said, "Pa, tu mak mertua tak jadi". Her ex-future-mother-in-law. She looked rich. "So, any regrets?", I asked. I got that skewed eyebrows look. I am so lucky.

She is not really into this reunion stuff, especially if it's mine. Unless if some of my good friends and their spouses are present, she wouldn't mind that much since she is genuinely fond of some of my friends' better halves. It is something to look forward to. I do enjoy these reunions.

Ah well, there are some things best left where they are, as memories right in our hearts.

The King of Persia

Another Monday. But this Monday is different. I am happy. I am a lot sleepier too since I watched the France-England game this morning. I slept at 10 pm last night and set the alarm at 2.30 am this morning. But it was worth the zombiness. When Victoria...., I mean David, as in Beckham, missed the penalty I had a strange feeling that England will lose. You know, that same feeling you get just before something desirable happens, a good kind of feeling. I was not really rooting for France but with names like Zidane, Pires, Lizarazu and Trezeguet, it was hard not to support them. And that is before we take into consideration names such Platini, Giresse, Camberabero, Sella and Blanco. Do you prefer amour or love? Say amooouurrrr..... Now try saying love. I rest my case. Merde, silly me.

Anyway, football has been good to me. I vaguely remember the 1970 World Cup in Mexico. I am one of those people who do not support Manchester United (sorry Along) or Liverpool (sorry Shaz) or Arsenal (you poor blokes...) Or any other team for that matter. I only play the game. Then it was a blur of World Cups until 1982 when Zico and Co. and Platini and Co. were bundled out of the World Cup. I lost interest after that.

The game this morning was not bad. I wouldn't want to be an Englishman as of now since I'd feel lousy. Very very lousy. But at least thanks to Jonny Wilkinson's feet the rugby title is theirs for a few more years. Besides, they have two more games in Euro 2004. I have been in a few good football games. We won the intra-mural soccer tournaments for 3 years in a row while in college. Against middle eastern teams with players nicknamed Zico, no kidding!! Then there was this one tournament in New Hampshire where this scrawny ex-Penang Razak Cup player caused us some concern before Din Clone clipped him and he had to limp off the field. We won. To this day Clone swore that he did not intend to take the boy out. Yeah, sure Clone. And I am the King of Persia.

Be Good To Me

You better be nice to me, I'm going to be rich. Very very rich. I got another email today, asking for help in transferring lots and lots of money by a trusted friend, (that's what she calls me, a trusted friend) Violet Seko, Mobutu Sese Seko's daughter. You see, I am just waiting for lots and lots of money from my generous, mainly African friends. Charles Taylor's son, Jonas Savimbi's widow, Lawrence Kabilla's daughter and Sani Abacha's son. Six million US Dollars here, seven million there, another eight yonder and four or five in between. Use your fingers, if you have enough of them and you will find out that it will all add up to a very nice fortune.

Must be my good luck that all of them wrote me asking for help in retrieving a few million dollars here and there. And I get to keep a portion of the money. Money that was used to buy planes, tanks, guns and ships and a portion is always skimmed off and kept in a place where these people need some help, from people like me, in getting their hands on the money. So nice, the relatives of these despots. Happiness is receiving emails from these nice people asking me to help them, them - people who are in trouble. So nice of them. Oh, I'm not greedy, I got a lot more similar emails but I only responded to a select few.

So, once again, be nice to me for I am going to be rich. Millions and millions of US Dollars will be mine. And we have to multiply the figure by 3.83, don't we? I'm not going to bother with the many schemes that we have here, like the scheme where you invest RM 1 and get twenty friends to do the same and in no time, RM 3.2 million (20x20x20x20.......) will be yours (why, it even have a very Islamic name to it, Al-Jafrah or something or whatever. Very islamic. Certified genuine 24-carat non-cheating by no other than Bank Negara itself!!!). But nope, I'm not that gullible, I went for the mother lode, the jugular, the dollar. Ringgits are too trivial for me. Wow, I'm gonna be rich.

Motley Monday Matters

Mondays. Aagh...........!!! The alarm went off at 6.00 am this morning. I switched it off. It went off again 6 minutes later. And then 6 minutes later and a further 6 minutes later. After the fifth or sixth time, I simply had to wake up.

Another long weekend gone. Yes, a long weekend for us, we had Friday off on the virtue that Saturday is a public holiday. I love the outfit I'm working four. Thursday night was heavenly. Was home by 7.00 pm and we were at the theatre by 8.30 pm, a quick dinner for the kids and it's Shrek 2 time!!! No, no dinner for me. I had three slices of bread at home and that had to be enough. You see, I have to reduce this already ramping pinggang of mine. Last week at the clinic I weighed in at 98 kg!!! I told the nurse that her scale was faulty. Try the other one, she said. I did. It was faulty too. Missy, you have two faulty scales in your clinic. Based on my height, I am overweight by 23 kg. Yes, by 23 kg, only. So for the last week or so, it has been bread for dinner. And on Friday, the scale read 97.5 kg. If it is possible to fall in love with an inanimate object, I would have fallen in love with that scale that day. With both of them. Aaaah..., gone were the days when I was courting, that was, gosh, 29 kg and 6 inches ago!! At the waist, OK? Never mind, now that I have taken the challenge, let's see if I can go back to my heydays, the days of tipping the scale at 68 kg and 28 in pants sizes. The most I could do is fail miserably....... Anyway, the movie was nice. The part I love best was the Spanish-accented Puss In Boots. The children loved it (Papa, can we buy the CD?) And that is all that matters.

Then the weekend was gone. What we need is an elixir or concoction that makes weekends goes by very very slowly.

A Song, Any Song

Have a song ever reminded you of anyone, anyone at all? While driving this morning, Billy Joel's "Don't Go Changing" came over the radio. That song reminded me of M, my cousin's girlfriend. I just turned seventeen then, my cousin a year older and M is my age, a few days older than me as a matter of fact. She sang that song over and over and over again during the two weeks that I was with them and I got so sick and tired of it. While they were courting, her younger sister was always there to kacau daun. Her favourite words were "Mana kakak?". And yes, I was given the task of looking after her. I'd buy her ice-cream, play badminton with her, did anything and everything, just so that she'd leave those two lovebirds alone. Oh, they're married now and have five lovely daughters. Count my fingers, five.

Songs can remind us of friends, beaus, past and present, places and unfortunately it could also remind us of people whom we'd like to forget. We are only human. When I hear Andy Gibbs "Shadow Dancing", my friend's version of it, where he says "Baby I'll lose my kapla" instead of "my head" never fails to play in my head and bring a smile to my lips. A song has helped patch up a lovers' tiff (Lionel Ritchie's "Truly"), no kidding. My favourite is Stresisand's "The Way We Were" especially when she sings "If we had the chance to do it all again. Tell me? Would we? Could we?"

Come to think of it, tell me, would we? Could we?