Initiate Launch Sequence

It's a while since my last post, but that's because I now subscribe to the content method of writing my articles, compared to the episodic method I once favoured.

Regardless of the reasons, I will now make another monumental announcement:
I shall be leaving Balik Pulau, for Kota Kinabalu.

After six months, I finally received confirmation of my acceptance into Universiti Malaysia Sabah to study International Tropical Forestry.

How and what does it mean by "International", when I can find no in-depth details of the programme on the UMS homepage, remains to be seen.

How will this affect you? Well, it means I am one step closer to becoming Environment Minister of Malaysia, whereupon I will do everything possible to make your life a living hell if you so much as toss a plastic bag onto the streets.

Finally, a link to a fascinating blog discussing the issues of anime fansubbing. I would prefer you read it and understand the issues before you download your next anime.

In fact, I hope you will forever be dogged by feelings of guilt (like me), about downloading anime. But that would mean I would expect you to care.

LOL.
ROTFLMAO.
LOL

Short, Shot, Shoot!

New words: Prestidigitation, Taproom, Cocksure, Quiff, Brigid, Servile, Rondo, Bollard, Parser, Doeskin, Aslope, Contumacious.

This week on A Stray World:

• Oily skins missed;
• Not the face! Not the Face!
• A. Asohan goes Stray
  

What's with the goo?
This week has been particularly hectic.
Oil hits $100.
Jon Stewart returns with A Daily Show.

And Malaysia, the second largest producer of palm oil world, ran out of palm oil.

Fascinating. Almost fictional in fact. It's like saying Thailand has ran out of prostitutes, or Kelantan without muftis, or George W. Bush without lies.

Without realising it, we citizens have failed to notice the convenient subsidies on cooking oil quietly nestled in place somewhere in the bowels of this immature democracy. Keen to keep prices low in our favourite char koay teow stalls, proprietors seemed to have caught on to the subsidies placed upon store bought cooking oil.

The larger barrel-like ones woefully forgotten.

Incredible as it seems, people refused to buy anything but cooking oil for the first two days of the apparent oil crisis. Like the geopolitical factions at play for its non-edible distant relative, storekeepers were accused of hoarding attacks were carried out by government officials, and general chaos from media coverage and frustrated oil-dependant citizens brought about a final agreement to raise production.

Alternative to oil-fried food - water.

People are addicted to oil.

Quite fascinating.

Bullet
Datuk S. Krishnasamy. One slug to the head. Close range.

Reading Gunslinger Girl has given me morbid insight into the mind of professional assassins.

The set-up was perfect. Here's my theory.

This mid-ranking member of the MIC was murdered in an MIC branch. Not on the road in some secluded junction. The building would be guarded, and with elections around the corner, very likely to be rather busy with human traffic.

Why take the risk? Why kill him in an elevator in a political building buzzing with pre-election activity?

This implies a political message.

A straight gunshot to the head implies rather obviously, an intent to eliminate, not intimidate the victim.

Since the MIC could easily replace one of their fallen with another mid-ranking representative, it could be postulated that this was a warning.

It would be naive to assume Datuk S Krishnasamy was completely innocent in the entire affair. He was embroiled in some business with some dangerous individuals.

People who aren't afraid of public execution as long as the message is delivered clearly, vividly.

The question now becomes, what is the message?

Stray Thoughts
One of the most senior members of The Star, A. Asohan, whose work I have acquainted myself with since his In Tech days has been awarded a column in the Sunday Star.

I have no hard feelings that he used the phrase above in bold as the name of his column. After all, Stray isn't a patented word.

However, it does make me wonder whether or not I should request a trademark for my blog's name when I move it away from Blogger.

Lovely.

New words: Headland, Ineluctable, Martinet, Bunco, Gumshoe, Kindling, Ingenue, Simper, Dint, Palaver.

Scandalous? Indeed.

But the study here isn't really about Chua Soi Lek, but the nation as a whole, and why it matters.

The people have Judged

Sex scandals are nothing new. If one were to look back further, a mistress was even considered a symbol of success.

The concubines of Chinese Emperors certainly weren't cheap.

And if our so-called Muslim leaders were to reflect on the Ottoman empire, I am sure they would find no solace in picking upon a man who kept a measly one.

Let's not kid ourselves here.

This is but a private matter gone public. To lose one of our better leaders in such fashion is simply wasteful.

Let's do a quick recap on other crimes that surely deserve or exceed the same measure of public disgust.

Wasteful Spending
Right, so what happened to all those government departments implicated in the Auditor General's sweep? A few low-level, mid-level executives questioned and sacked?

Imagine gallons and gallons of liquid gold spent on such essentials as:

• Screwdrivers,
• Digital cameras,
• Computers,
• Pencils, and my personal favourite
• Car jacks.

Illegal Logging
After the rape of Nanjing, our leaders probably decided to up the ante and stage:

The Rape of Lojing.

An entire mountain range was given the greatest haircut in Malaysia (Malaysian Book of Records) when a few state government officials decided to sell all the trees to loggers and plant, ostentatiously, ferns.

Yes. Those itsy-bitsy-teeny-greenish-weeds that kids (both human and animal) step-on on their way to the local municipal playground.

The White House
Not suggesting someone would go so far as to build a replica of the symbol of American democracy in Malaysia. Only going so far as to suggest flagrant flaunting of wealth and power.

So what happened to the politician who steamrollered his way to a new house and a satay restaurant sans official approval?

Apart from the now familiar official denial of any wrongdoing ("The architect did it!"), the man with a face thicker than the length of the Great Wall of China decided to invite a few dozen orphan to stay over at his new dig for one night.

Only thing he lost was his eatery, not is job.

Hmm...

Have Sex, Will Tell
This article is in no way meant to defend the good doctor from further jibes. What he did was wrong, if one subscribes to the Koran and Old Testament.

Secular-wise, he broke the unspoken laws of social propriety. Malaysian laws of social propriety.

But when left with two obvious choices, to keep quiet and his job, or to speak and get out, Dr Chua did the unthinkable.

He admitted his mistake, and left government.

That is a remarkable thing, considering Barisan Nasional could just as easily preserve his job by withholding comment anyway.

Alternative Future
Imagine this.

1. If Dr Chua kept his flap shut and asked press aides to deny everything,
2. and Badawi spoke of the lack of evidence,
3. and the press were directed to the greater issue of our floundering education system, flood mitigation tactics, the Royal Commission, and other more pressing issues,
4. Dr Chua Soi Lek would remain Health Minister.

Politics Screws the Bold
He had no charisma, but Dr Chua was a reassuring figure.

In a country that officially denies the existence of gays, lesbians, transvestites, transsexuals, bisexuals and any other word ending with -sexual, he pushed for the use of condoms; the distribution of condoms.

Whatever his fallacies, it would be prudent to note: Dr Chua's mistake did not cost the nation taxpayer money, or taxpayer time (though we all know that's not really high up on any agenda here).

I don't believe the same fingers now pointed at him can claim the same.

Honestly?

What is honesty?
A faint concept of truth. Truth interpreted through ones mind in a fashion so vivid, it becomes seething, icy pain.

Honesty is a curse. It pains us to hold it all in. Completely subservient to the needs of the conscience. Honesty, nay! TRUTH! That's what I meant!

The truth is what pains us. TRUTH is the curse. It lies beneath our skin, seeking release. Yet we hold it in, despite the pain. Because we believe that greater pain will come if TRUTH is released from its living cage.

The conduit of TRUTH, is HONESTY.

Honesty invites greater pain. But does that matter if the soul is cleansed of pain?

Then, and only then, we ask... Why should we fear pain?

Good people. Another arbitrary orbit around the yellow star that we know as the Life-Giver will soon pass. It is a wonder our entire lives are planned by it.

Even the thundering wildebeests heed the waning light for the countless orbits around the Life-Giver.

Without knowing. Without questioning.

And so we mark the end of the year as the end of another chapter of our short lives.

This is a time of reflection. Though time for reflection may be found throughout the year. This is a special moment of reflection.

For some, it marks the beginning of a new chapter. For others, it means another year to waste. For the courageous, new battles await.

For the honourable, it means more time to resume the Noble Purpose.

A force that drives us from within. Unnameable. Unfathomable. Unexplainable (but many enigmatic souls have tried).

Burst into torrid cynicism if you want about this post. I know I am not a smart man.

I don't want to be smart.

I am only smart enough, to aspire to be wise.

And here is proof I am an idiot.
Sixteen (16) roti canais in one go with four friends. The fourth guy didn't want to be remembered in this fashion by his grandchildren.

He still ate with us.

Rallying or Railing?

New words: Plainspoken, Erne, Lea, Cuckold, Busker, Spackle, Esparto, Mendacious, Frisson, Perchance, Sloop.

Foreword: As promised, here is the last of this weeks articles. Due to time constraints (I have been attending band practices so I may enter the annual Battle of the Bands competition... For the very last time), I will combine the two Bersih and Hindraf protests and others of the same ilk into a single article.

March of the Lawyers
A few months ago, lawyers took to the streets of Kuala Lumpur to demand justice. Consequently, hell froze over (but a quick injection of American-bought Saudi-fossil-fuel kick-started the soul torturing furnace once more).

This all boiled down to a very simple issue of judicial impartiality, or rather, lack of.

I don't need to state the seriousness of this issue. Without impartiality in the Judiciary, we are at the mercy of an unchecked and unbridled Executive. Until 1988, the Judiciary was among the most respectable institutions of its kind in the region.

Now, it is not only vulnerable, it is corruptible.

However, our good friend in Parliament, MP Nazri Aziz has saw fit to not only condemn the actions of the Bar, but to obfuscate its true purpose by claiming Opposition aping.

The true purpose of any rally is to show a united face, especially when facing an enemy whose position in power would prevent any other (legal) means of meaningful protest.

Bersih
Not all marches are altruistic in nature.

And so, we have the Opposition linked Bersih, which is calling for free and fair elections.

So they gather all these people to demand:

• Use of indelible ink in future elections;
• Clean-up of Registered Voters Roll;
• Abolition of postal votes;
• Access to the Government controlled print and broadcast media for Opposition Parties.

The first of their demands has been met. In truth, indelible ink as an issue was already non-existent (2nd June 2007) by the time the fine folks marched for it (10th November 2007).

The second demand, quite reasonable. But evidence of such acts have amounted to nothing more than rumours, wild claims, and speculation. Unless the Opposition acquires solid evidence (like the now infamous lawyer video), they won't be doing much except perhaps embarrassing themselves.

The third demand is ridiculous, plain and simple. If, as they claimed, the bosses of civil servants overseas would browbeat their subordinates to vote in a certain fashion, the Opposition should be making a claim of infringement of the Constitution.

They should be demanding a permanent solution to this problem that won't allow any government-paid civil servant to force his subordinates to essentially, vote to keep him in power.

Under Article 5 of the Malaysian Constitution,

No person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty save in accordance with law.

Voting for the political party of your choice is a form of liberty. It can thus be argued, that a loss of free will in voting would amount to gross infringement of this clause in the Constitution.

And Article 6:

No person shall be held in slavery.

I admit, I may be pushing the clauses of the Constitution to the limit here, but as I recall, slaves weren't allowed to vote.

Every citizen deserves a right to vote. It should never be rescinded in such fashion. And because of the way the Opposition has put forth such argument, their motives are suspect to say the least.

Hindraf
Now we descend to the ludicrous. But ludicrous with a caveat.

So we got this group of ethnic Indians, see? Demanding in a nutshell, for the Queen of England and Great Britain, to appoint a Queen's Counsel, to sue Her Royal Highness, the Queen of England, for bringing indentured Indians into Malaysia.

Now, anyone would be quick to dismiss this as pure naivety. Who the hell would pay anyone to sue themselves? Particularly with the added claims of ethnic cleansing.

But who is reporting the news? The Malaysian media. And they aren't being very impartial about it.

• Three policemen wounded.
• Demonstrations turn violent.
• Temples damaged.

Okay. Firstly, you can never ever claim widespread violence if only THREE people have been hurt. What about the figures for the protesters?

The government even claims the violence began on the protesters side, forcing them to disperse the crowd with tear gas and water cannons. This may be true, however, the circumstances of the report on TV3 news would suggest government forces acted first, when they reported police forces were "forced" into using water cannons and tear gas to "disperse" the intransigent crowd.

Read between the lines, brothers and sisters.

And the temples in Batu Caves were not damaged.

Until I researched this story myself online, I did not even realise the amount of obfuscation employed by the government to gag the media and pull a fast one over the public.

However, my opinion still stands: Hindraf as an institution for justice in ludicrous.

It is borderline terrorist in its claims. Ethnic cleansing? Do they even know its definition?

What happened was simply a happy confluence of greed (Hindraf promised RM1mil settlements to every individual who signed up), ignorance, and frustration.

The two latter factors though, are the result of one man:
Sami Vellu.

He is the old man of politics, and therefore, has loss touch with the new generation of Indian voters.

Indians are like any people, they have diverse views on a myriad of subjects. Unfortunately, their views cannot be expressed as long as that man remains in power in the MIC.

Which is why we now see a general mushrooming of Indian based parties.

Racial politics is negative politics. It dilutes the strength of a community.

Racial politics coupled with differing ideologies further divides. Eventually, any form of power accumulated amounts to a teacup of salt collected from a jug of seawater.

This is the caveat. Frustration, not reason, brought the majority of Indians to march with Hindraf.

Without a genuine outlet to voice their concerns, which include education, religion, human rights, and such, people, not only Indians will gladly accept any opportunity to stick it to the man.

March To the Streets!
To resolve these so called "un-Malaysian" behaviour, one must first realise demonstrations are in our blood. The pre-independence marches for one brought about change in government.

Like it or not, the British colonial masters were legitimate leaders of then Malaya. Ah, the power of treaties...

So one could argue without pro-independence marches, and by going through the slow bureaucratic Colonial masters, we would still be working under the Union Jack today.

These are the permanent ways to resolve the issue of "illegal" gatherings as I see it:

• Education on the rights of citizens to march, how to march, and why people march;
• ACCEPTANCE by the government that democracy means Freedom of Expression;
• Maturity on the part of the citizens regarding the state of affairs of their respective communities. Do these people who claim to have been subjected to immense bias have ulterior motives to their actions?
• Maturity on the part of the people that at the end of the day, globalization will eventually bring racial politics to an end. We should not focus on differences in genealogy and skin tone. But in opinion.

Until then, enjoy your roti canais before they too become a source of political controversy.
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Now playing: Delgados - The Light Before We Land
via FoxyTunes

LIVE FROM somewhere, ITS A STRAY WORLD

New Words: Lisle, Gratis, Curacao, Errata, Comport, Cheapjacks, Corrigenda.

Returning to our weekly schedule, your very own unknown reporter lost in a sandstorm of blogs, A Stray World.

Because of my now relatively free weekday evenings, I shall divide the blog posts of the week into three separate postings.

So, a quick recap of the most prominent events (of the real variety) which decided to happen while I was spending less time blogging.

• Cosmonaut from Malaysia;
• BERSIH parade;
• HINDRAF march.

The Angkasawan (technically cosmonaut)

A long, long time ago, Malaysians would gaze into space and wonder...

How much money would they need to fork out to purchase sky-torching fireworks from the black market?

Then they would wonder: "How many rockets would meet their spectacular demise in the heavens before the local neighbour calls the police?"

Now, Malaysians can finally look into the sky and wonder: "How many inferior Russian jets must we buy before we get another free ride into space?"

Then after hearing our wise leaders praise the cosmonaut we have sent into space as the greatest achievement since we sent a delegation to London to demand independence - Malaysians wonder: "Who the hell are they kidding?"

First of all, I wish to point out I am a great supporter of this "Malaysian" space programme. There is only so much newspapers, magazines, television, the Internet, word-of-mouth, radio, teachers and scientists can do to promote the study of cosmic science to the Akademi Fantasia/American Idol/Amazing Race/One in a Million/Love Perhaps?/Deal or no Deal crazed lunatics who make up the majority of our nation's youth.

Spend a few billion ringgit on Russian jets we can't even pronounce without thinking of Stalin, then launching a Malaysian into space for a once in a subprime mortgage crisis lifetime, and suddenly, the whole of Malaysia is abuzz with talks on solar storms and Soyuz.

Too bad that was only confined to the people who could look beyond the religious/racial/nationalistic political bigotry connotations of the entire fiasco.

Firstly, the event itself was heavily promoted.

"A Malaysian First!"

"Congratulations!"

"We have reached the stars!"

There is a (officially unrecognised) term known as overhyping. Hyping the benefits of the space programme alone in a non-descript purely scientific method of nation building would have been enough. But the government, wanting to justify the huge expenditure in taxpayer money, decided to turn this into a full blown Malaysian campaign for galactic presidency.

As a result, this turned the entire noble endeavour into nothing less than a political farce. Everything is always clearer in hindsight, which is to say the government has played its cards right, though it was oh so wrong.

By calling this a national project, they are saying it's a Malaysian project = Malay project.

Anyone who would dare speak out would be called a traitor. An unpatriotic turd who should move to America. Someone who doesn't understand the social contract laid down by our forefathers. That should shut the flap of the moderates who only want fair debate.

Unfortunately, the debate works in a God/Agnostic fashion.

Agnostic: I don't believe there is a god, because I don't see the evidence.
Priest: God is present everywhere. But you must believe in Him to see Him.
Agnostic: That's a Catch-22 situation mate.

Eventually, we reach this period of complete apathy, where the beloved people have forgotten the entire issue.

Come on! You should have seen this coming!

Do you still recall the High Performance Centre fiasco. Thank goodness those Londeners know better than to let Malaysians build something on their land.

They would probably attempt to bribe the local officials to fast-track the Environmental Impact Assessment, which would result in an elaborate cover-up, which will eventually stick out like rotten fish among cream cheese when the Thames becomes the largest sewage dump in Great Britain, and bring about a long and unnecessary diplomatic row between Malaysia and Great Britain.

So while I still support the Malaysian cosmonaut, let's take a step back, analyse the issue, cease this perfectly embarrassing "angkasawan" branding blitz, and start our real pursuit to reach the heavens.


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Now playing: Hirano Aya - Lost My Music
via FoxyTunes

Shroud Indiscriminate

New Phrase:
Shit, the sea is cool. (Attributed to a visiting friend who enjoys roaming the watery kingdom of Queensbay, Penang)

This week on A Stray World, we explore culture.

It is a feeling of great anxiety. As if the mind is being ravaged by tonnes of pop-idols and Hollywood remakes. Great goblins of trash espousing the benefits of fame and fortune, arrogance and vanity like a cup of oily, overpriced Columbian coffee served in a Starbucks kiosk.

Yet this is the nature of society as we know it. The Muslims of this country are partially correct about the detrimental influence of the Western nations. The effects have been immediate and far-reaching. An entire generation scarred by the repetitiveness of reality singing contests and pretentious fairytale courtships.

However, one need not blame the West for every deterioration of our national consciousness. We can start by blaming ourselves.

Malaysia is a country rich in heritage and blah, blah, blah. A string of clichés and connectors repeated so often it has attained the same level of effectiveness in expression as the winner of the second Malaysian Idol.

How much do we actually know about our country anyway? First, we should ask ourselves, do we really love our country?

I do love my country. I love the land, I love the people. But I detest the law and its enforcers.

In this regard, I point to the first settlers of this country, the Orang Asli. Specifically, of Peninsular Malaysia.

How many of them can you name? This group of individuals lassoed into the “others” category in the National Registration Department form.

Negrito, Penan, Jahai, Batek are among the strange and wonderful names that have persisted through the ravages of time. As much as I enjoy learning about these people, it always saddens me when I realise there will always be something missing. Like a misplaced earplug when Paris Hilton is playing on the radio.

These people with their own unique language, music, food and culture are being slowly and steadily assimilated into mainstream society. Where women are victimised and children are raped with the frequency of Hollywood making a sub-par sequel to a blockbuster cult classic.

To quote an example of this blatant disregard for our own cultural heritage, just remember the Kelantan government has an active “loyalty points” programme where a Muslim who marries an aboriginal (and the subsequent conversion to Islam) gets RM10,000.

Another example is the rather vacuous excuse of religious purity, invoked for the immediate and future dispersal of any showroom piece of the ghosts and ghouls and otherworldly legends pervading this land of many peoples and faces.

To paraphrase, what sick bastards wouldn't want to see a ghost trapped in a bottle?

It is with great pain that I realise most of my acquaintances flatly refuse to learn anything and experience anything that they are unfamiliar with. Though I can be accused of being prejudiced in this manner, I can flatly state that my prejudices come from direct experience. I have come to detest modern Hollywood movies because of their emphasis on special-effects and explosions, with little regard to the story at hand.

This is a conviction arising from the rebellion of the mind after the umpteenth outing to the cinema to accompany my buddies to watch yet another hyped up million-dollar budget film. I don't mind wasting my time and money for my friends, I just don't like to repeat the process.

It is not the desire to be different that I say what I say and do what I do. It is a desire to learn about humanity. In a sense, to study myself. Though admittedly, it is also a rebellion against sex-induced rap/pop songs awashing the landscape like a plague of Manchester United fans after winning the Premiership.

Variety is a gift to the mundane. And I do welcome the fact that my acquaintances have varied tastes. However, what I never welcome is to close ones mind and heart. Though I try not to judge anyone else but myself, it is terribly hard to do so. Particularly when I know what the flaw is.

Empathy is something we can all learn to pick up. And for the average Malaysian out there who is content to listen to only one side of the story, to make judgements preceding the evidence, I can only hope the damage they will inflict will be limited to themselves. Unfortunately, that is not the case, due to the relative scale of this syphilis-like affliction.

“Read less, watch more TV,” House.

So I see the sharp jagged, serrated mountains of the Andes; and scale the vast deserts of Morocco; and I found myself flying into the oceans and inhaled the blue-blood of the Earth. I find that all entrancing. Wonderful. Achieving an euphoric state incomparable to anything else I have ever experienced. I could do this in person, but TV is cheaper.

After something like this, how can anyone even consider cuddling up in an air-conditioned room devoid of anything but the mechanical precision of modern man pervading every facet of the white bland walls.

On Sunday, I was witness to an event which I regretted paying for. A thousand Chinese orchestra students simultaneously playing to an audience of ordinary folks.

The event was to begin at 2000 hours. It began at 2010, when the VIPs turned up.

When the night was suppose to be about the music of Chinese culture became a brazen political landfill of campaign speeches by our VIPs. At last, the instruments began to hum to the beat of the conductor more than an hour after the designated time.

The lack of harmony was obvious to anyone with an ear for music. The beats were erratic and some sections of the medleys became entire mudflats of dirt and debris. When the organisers awarded themselves the Malaysian Book of Records for the most number of musicians in a performing band, I had to exit to the toilets before the mediocrity and absurdity of the entire event liquefied my mind and damned my soul.

Is this what our culture has become? A series of Crazy Frog ringtones? Where insane acts of blatant disregard for culture and decency have become our culture? Where we choose to selectively blame the West for our forsaking of our culture, yet ignore the fact that Western culture actually encourages their people to discover and learn about others.

Rap didn't just come about. Its roots can be traced back to Ghanaian music. It was a profound form of poetry and art that has since evolved into the superficial land of music videos filled with guns, girls and gyrations. Yet this is American culture. More sex. More booze. More fun.

What about us? What about our culture? What of our music? What of our people?

It's a wonder that it is the work of foreigners who seek to protect our culture. While we busily scramble to remove every trace of it.

Alternative profanity for the week:
Try the more feminine "cow dung" instead of "bull shit".

Rifts

Plage, Phrenology, Propitiate, Circumlocution, Sophistry.

A journey of darkness,
Begins with light.

• A1
• Sojourn

A1
The denouement of a long struggle is a sense of closure. Of finality. How then, should one feel after grand achievements that amounts to further public criticism?

This week, Malaysian society was abuzz with news of outstanding students achieving extremely favourable results in the SPM and STPM, especially the former, which is quoted as a benchmark of a student's performance through secondary school.

Having underwent a brief soul-searching of sorts has given me a new perspective on the issues at hand.

While a year ago, I berated society and the government at large for suppressing individual desire in pursuit of unrealistic national agendas; today I realise society has actually conditioned a new generation of single-minded photocopiers intent on pursuing life goals that echo social propriety.

The epiphany was echoed by reading the comments made by the successful students in the national dailies. Virtually every single remark and "secrets of success" had been mentioned the previous years and the years before.

The one most often mentioned by my teachers and fellow classmates, seniors and friends is to drill oneself in the intricacies of questions past. In fact, the only reason I got the highest grade possible for my Geography and History during the PMRs was due to five hours each of past year questions.

While in a way, this certainly proves the efficacy of the formula, it also implies there is only one certain route to go about life.

If life were about taking as many past year questions as possible, shouldn't we be pouring all our free time into the study of human history, on debates of morality and spirituality?

For Buddhism, the study of past lives is an intricate and necessary path to enlightenment. While I do not profess membership of any occult or religious institution myself, this is a disturbing point to ponder upon.

In an ironic twist, we are told and advised to disregard certain worldly affairs from our past for fear of arousing discontent, distraction, and disturbances. We are given lessons on the history of Islam in depth, yet disregard the Malaysian-Singaporean history. Little surprise why dealings with the island nation have always been contentious and confrontational.

Racial segregation is not given its full treatment, where the "parental mindset" of our leaders have deemed the public too immature for open debate regarding the subject.

They quote the constitution, and remind us of the social contract for peace and prosperity. Yet here we are, producing a new generation of Malaysian students who are found wanting when engaged in public debate, in society.

What is the value of an "A1".

Here, it is the epitome of success. The character of the person is rendered irrelevant. What they have become is a string of numbers and algebraic conformation.

Numbers and letters.

"She is a 16 A1 student."

"I got 9 A1's"

"Your future depends on your UPSR/PMR/SPM/STPM."

That is what we have become: a nation rich in culture and history made barren by education.

Sojourn
Actions are a result of thought, to state the obvious. Though sometimes, thought follows action, as the following suggests.

Last Saturday, after a brief discussion on certain school projects, I was left with four hours on the clock before my mother could make time to pick me up from school. As the route between my humble abode and school was split by a few hills and busy roads, human power alone is inadequate for commute.

With the state of public transportation as it was in Penang, to even suggest taking the bus would be akin to rowing a boat up the Himalayas with spoons and forks.

Nevertheless, one can attempt Biology past-year questions for only so long, which was when I decided to do a spur of the moment trek to the massive rain tree bordering the school compounds overlooking the Sixth Form blocks.

A few minutes was all I needed to reach the river's edge, where I followed the bank as closely as I dared. The bank was raised to a moderate 1 to 2 metres above the river level.

Thick grass thickets had been trimmed, however, most of the grass were still piled where they were, offering immediate sanctuary to any denizens nearby.

Immediate reptilian concerns were answered by the appearance of a juvenile monitor lizard, which under the thickets, resembled a section of a python. Closer inspection frightened the creature into a Olympic dive into the murky river.

Further trekking brought me to the quaint houses hugging the riverbank's edge. The rain tree was unreachable as the houses shielded whatever trail I could identify.

No doubt, further inspection would have brought me to the tree, but the forlorn playground overlooking the cemetery caught my attention.

The monkey bars were wrapped in netting of some sort, obviously for football. The swings half-broken and in real danger of collapse. One of the seats was angled in a perpendicular position, apparently defying the laws of physics as no objects other than the chains which held it were in contact with the contraption.

The sight of the dead-blocks of epitomes dedicated to people long consumed by the earth lay silently opposite the swings on that Saturday morning.

As I left, a sudden metal clanging brought my attention to the warning signpost, which forbade anyone under 12 years of age from using the facilities.

The metal plate, unscrewed at one end, banged against the post it was nailed to a second time, as if professing the disturbing neglect and disuse of the playground.

The sky was suitably morose, alternating between moments of moderate heat and complete darkness. The rain fell a few times, but not heavy enough to warrant a home invasion.

While I pondered the weight of issues burdening my thoughts, the feet kept walking. Soon, I found myself wandering Air Itam market.

I entered a book cum stationery store, and left unmoved by the titles on offer. 50 cents was spent on a Chinese snack, you za gui, if you can read Pin Yin. The rainy drizzle intensified for a brief moment before ebbing away completely.

I walked on without any general purpose. Trawling the streets of Penang for any new experiences on offer.

The Forest Ranger office was as usual, closed.

But the plants inside were thriving, so someone presumably enters the building occasionally.

The lives of the common man was exposed. An explosion rocked the town - a firecracker in broad daylight.

Grass mowers trimming the herbaceous side-walk beside the cemetery.

A man having lunch in the homes of the departed.

A bus driver beginning his journey around the island.

A couple in conversation.

And me, reaching the foot of the hills which led to my home.

A quick call, and my mum picked me up 45 minutes later.