Two weeks ago, on a very long flight home from South Africa, I was up all night watching some in-flight movies and out of those movies, the two that stuck in my mind were Rocky Balboa and The Fastest Indian in the World. One was about a boxer (in case you missed the previous five movies) and the other was about a guy and his modified motorcycle. Both were about old geezers living their dreams in defiance of their age. So there I was, feeling old and about to move on to the next stage of my life, watching these two old guys fight younger men and setting land speed records. I don’t know if it was coincidence or a reflection on the movie-going demographic or some kind of sign from above, but I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to quit climbing just yet.
Just watched an old video of me climbing in 2003. I was doing it so badly, but it was fun. I think I can at least get back to that level again and have some fun in my spare time, scarce as it may be. I’ve still got a bit of it left before I have to decide.
The video.
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I used to climb rocks. I’m not quite sure when I stopped. I guess I kept cutting down on the frequency of climbs and now I’m at the point where I don’t know if I am still doing it at all or not. I’m not even sure if I want to continue doing it (or start again, depending on your point of view).
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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