I guess I never really explained it to anybody because I never gave it much thought myself, until now. At one point in my life, climbing was everything. I wasn’t a great climber, but I did well enough to feel good about myself. I guess you could say I sucked less at it than I did in any other sports I had ever tried. But feeling good about myself was addictive. Climbing became the reason to do other things – to sleep early, to eat well, to save money, to work hard. All the things I was always told to do suddenly seemed to make more sense because of it.
I climbed with a group of ten other climbers. I remember there were eleven of us because whenever one of us had a birthday, the money for the gift would be split ten ways. We were a mixed bunch. Almost equal number of guys and girls (which was quite unusual among the wider climbing community in Malaysia). Climbing was the main thing we had in common. All our jokes revolved around climbing and sex. We all started climbing around the same time and we were roughly about the same age. For many of us, it was our last chance to be young. For two years, we met almost every Sunday to climb at Batu Caves then again on weekday nights to practice on the artificial walls of the Summit climbing gym. The days we were not climbing were the days our muscles and tendons were aching. You could say a few of us had no life outside of climbing. Most of us were single and shared the one criterion for potential life partners – that they would have to be climbers. My wife was not a climber when I met her, so I tried to convert her. She was very supportive and even enthusiastic about it. I bought her a harness and a pair of shoes and we climbed together on alternate Sundays. She was an instinctive climber. She figured out many of the moves without anybody having to show her. I saw a lot of climbing in our future plans. We would go on climbing holidays together. We’d get a three-storey terrace house designed around climbing features. We’d teach our kids to climb. That was before she got pregnant.
It was a common belief among members of the climbing group – that our kids would be climbers too. But it was just that – a belief, not actually grounded on any actual thoughts. It just seemed so natural, it was assumed that all our kids would be allowed and even encouraged to climb. Now that I’m going to be a father and have started thinking like a parent, I’m actually really horrified by the thought of my kid climbing thirty metres off the ground with only a rope to keep him or her safe. Sure we always told everyone the rope, the harnesses, the anchors, carabiners and rocks were solid and safe, and countless times have we staked our lives on that claim, but these are our children we’re talking about!
I still have a few months before the baby is born and then another year before he/she starts climbing things, so I still have time to think about it. The one thing is certain though - if I am going to be serious about not allowing my kids to climb, I will definitely not be climbing myself.
So in the end, maybe it is me that got converted.
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My 83-year old dad used a word that gave me a shock yesterday when he asked me (in Cantonese) what a “blog” was and whether I had one. I tried to describe what blogs are in general, but struggled to think of something he could relate to since he’s just coming to grasp what the internet is.
I’ll translate and paraphrase how the conversation went, according to memory:
Me: It’s sort of like a diary but it's on the Internet. It’s like a diary that other people can read.
Dad: What! Why would anybody want to do that? Why not just keep the diary private?
My brother: It’s a Western concept. People nowadays are different. They like to go on talk shows and talk about their problems. It’s really big in America. People will go on to TV with topics like “My dad raped me”, “My mom nearly killed me.” It’s hip in America and the people here are following that trend now.
Dad: Do you make any money out of it?
Me: Er… no. I guess you could call it a pastime – a hobby.
Dad: People are so frivolous!
Me: It’s just a hobby.
Dad: And some people get jailed for it. I read that two people have been arrested.
Me: Oh! I see where this is going. They’re not arrested. They’re being sued by the NST. I think they said some things about their group editor-in-chief that were not very well received by NST.
Dad: What kind of things are written on these blogs?
Me: They could be about anything. Different people will write about different things. Those two people being sued usually have opinions about politics. Some others will write about their daily lives – what they did, what they ate, what movies they watched, whether they liked it.
Dad: People are so free! After eating rice, nothing to do! (sorry, can’t translate this properly).
Me: Some of them are quite good for reading. One of my friends has one that teaches people how to cook.
Dad: Some of these are in Chinese?
Me: Ya, nowadays, some of them are starting to appear in Chinese.
Dad: But how would they reach your handphones?
Me and my brother: The blogs are just displayed on the internet – on computer screens. But nowadays, our handphones can display Chinese characters too. Here, look at this. (I switched on the Chinese dictionary on my handphone).
Dad: This makes no sense. It's nonsense!
Me: Oh, ya. I see. This is just the dictionary. The words are in a list for you to choose from. It’s not a sentence. I don’t know how to use this. Some people do. It works.
Dreadful silence…
Me: Lots of kids nowadays have blogs. It’s very common. Ginny, Desmond, Tracy all have blogs.
Dad: Hunh!
End of conversation. My nieces and nephews, so sorry for selling you guys out. I will make up for it with ice-cream. Please don’t hate me too much when your grandpa learns how to use Google.
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A week ago, I bought some children’s books for a friend’s one-year-old baby and couldn’t resist getting one for our baby too. It’s titled Big Little, written by Leslie Patricelli and published by Walker Books. It’s a marvellous book with great illustrations.
Here’s an excerpt from it:
“Heads are BIG. Toes are little. Elephants are BIG. Mice are little. Lakes are BIG. Puddles are little…”
I would continue, but I think it would be neither ethical nor very legal to reproduce such a large proportion of the book here, since there are only 92 words in its entirety (not excluding repetitions).
My wife has been bugging me to dabble in writing children’s books since I bought our copy of Big Little and I must say I am quite tempted. Let's face it - my efforts in mainstream fiction, travel writing and blogs have not been great so far. But with children’s books, I can really see myself finally developing a writing style that works.
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This blog is in danger of becoming a baby blog.
Wanted to tell you guys earlier but my wife said to wait first. Anyway, now you guys are in on the secret, along with Helena, Hazura, Siti, Reduan, Tim, Pannaporn, Noi, Janet, Beng Cheang, Chui Yan, Yeuw Leung, TV, Billie, Pixie, Christina, Grace, Sree, Angeline, Vasanthi, Eva, Jenn, Hazel, Su Yin, Audra, Jenny, Eldo, Ay Leng, Steve, Franky, Toby, Chris, Nathan, Roscoe, Gilbert, Najah, Jikon, John, Kwan, Mike, Szen, Shen, Charlie, Kiat Hong, Adrian, Derek, Erna, Ernie, Erny, Philip, Patricia, Danny, Vianney, Denise, Ker Loon, Lydia, Wan Lee, Khoo, Diana, CY, Debbie, Jui Hong, Elaine Anne, Fitri, Robin, Helen, Ju Nah, Li Nah, Charles, Surin, Malcolm L, Justin, Patricia, Sharon, Meng San, David, Gladys, Miss Loh, our family and our relatives.
Don’t tell anyone yet though. It’s still early.
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“Deterrence is the art of producing in the mind of the enemy... the fear to attack. And so, because of the automated and irrevocable decision making process which rules out human meddling, the doomsday machine is terrifying. It's simple to understand. And completely credible, and convincing." (by the character Doctor Strangelove, played by Peter Sellers in the Stanley Kubrick movie “Doctor Strangelove OR How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb”).
I used to think that the best thing a person can do for self-preservation in all situations is to stay calm and be rational. As a kid, I was constantly being told to not get angry, to always be calm, to always be mindful of what I say. For the past three and a half decades, I’ve been trying to become the perfect thinking machine - like Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) in the Godfather movies – always putting aside grudges to think of what is best in the present situation. The problem with that is people will start expecting you not to hold grudges and they will keep changing the current situation to your disadvantage knowing that the present will become the past tomorrow.
Now that I’m married, I’ve learned to appreciate the value in an explosive temper. My wife is able to do for me what I am incapable of doing myself. Whenever I’m being taken advantage of, it is very difficult for me to react rudely or loudly or even quickly. I have to just say “Oh, I see,” then go home, think of what’s happened and look up my feelings in a thesaurus before I can write a long rant. On the rare occasions when I’ve actually been complimented with a quick wit, it is actually because I’ve been had in the same situation before and had time to write down my complaints in some form. Now that I have my wife, the process is much simpler. I just let her loose on the unsuspecting salesperson, cab driver or motorist and let the words fall wherever they may. Usually, we end up the better for it. Every family needs a little unthinking doomsday device - a Sonny Corleone – a person who speaks their mind without fear of waiters spitting in their food.
The other day, I forgot to wear my seatbelt and was pulled over by a traffic cop. We kind of knew what would happen, so in the short time it took him to get off his bike and walk to our car, we’d already concluded that we’d accept the ticket and pay the fine. If there is one thing my wife hates more than corruption, it is a corrupt cop. The officer came over and did the usual routine that can be expected of a Malaysian cop – ask for my license, tell me my offence, tell me how much it would cost to pay at the police station, and ask me how I wished to settle the matter.
Before I could arrange my words into a sentence, my wife said it for me, “Takpa, tulislah. (It’s okay, just write us the ticket)”.
The guy was a little stunned and repeated how much it would cost to pay the actual ticket.
Then my wife said “Ya, kami anti-rasuah. Awak tulis lah (We’re against bribery, just write it)”, and pointed to his “Saya Anti-Rasuah (I’m against bribery)” badge.
(She saw the badge, I didn’t).
The guy said okay, he’ll write the ticket. While he went back to his bike, we were consoling ourselves that we’d learned our lesson and we could afford the fine and everything’s going to be okay.
The next thing we heard was this loud noise, “Vroom Vroom”. The cop had ridden off on his bike.
Doomsday machine 1 – Greedy cop 0.
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