In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Opportunity comes knocking

Lately I've just finished a contract of part-time work. So I'm a bit more free lately, wondering about employment issues. In fact, I was just thinking to myself yesterday, "Wouldn't it be funny if a job opportunity dropped itself on my lap all the sudden?"

Today I just got a phone call from my old employer back in Melaka. They want me back for teaching and training. They want to expand their services it seems.

Huh. Not quite what I had in mind.

I liked working in my old workplace. I already get along with the staff there, and I know I can do my job well there. Pay is of the non-profit organization variety of course.

Working in Melaka means living there though. Away from KL.

It's funny. Of all people, I should know that nothing lasts forever, and eventually people will move away. I'm used to traveling and staying in other (mostly unfamiliar) places for decent periods of times. As a matter of fact, I've been considering the need to move overseas before 2012 i.e. the next elections. Even made some arrangements that would help me move to Australia if needed.

But the thought of leaving KL really irks me. Life in KL has been really good to me. Since I've come here, I've had the opportunity to make up my own home, experience a relationship and most importantly, make valued friendships. Not that I can't make friends anywhere else, but you guys know who you are and why you're special.

You see, I tend to associate places I've stayed in with my experiences during my stay there. And I've come to realize that KL represents some of the happiest days in my whole life. I'm one of the most fortunate people in the world.

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"Mr. Finch: Imagine what you could do. Think of the civilizations you could save. Pergunot. Lysinder. Your own people Doctor, standing tall. The Time Lords, reborn.

Sarah Jane Smith: Doctor, don't listen to him!

Mr. Finch: And you could be with him throughout eternity. Young, fresh. Never wither, never age...never die. Their lives are so fleeting. So many goodbyes. How lonely you must be, Doctor. Join us.

The Doctor: I could save everyone.

Mr. Finch: Yes.

The Doctor: I could stop the war.

Sarah Jane Smith: No. The universe has to move forward. Pain and loss, they define us as much as happiness or love. Whether it's a world, or a relationship... Everything has its time. And everything ends."
- Doctor Who, "School Reunion"





Must we say goodbye?

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Employer: Do you know J*** L***? We want to make him executive director over the new branch you'll be working in.
Me: Er, who's that again?
Employer: You should know him. He was the pastor at your father's funeral.
Me: OH GODS!
Employer: ...oh. That bad huh?

The guy was one of those many people who my late father had *plenty* of time to talk about his ungrateful children. During the funeral, I think have the crowd had this disapproving look on their faces, and there were carefully inserted mentions in the speeches of the need of 'forgiveness' and so on. Somehow, I don't think I would want to be working under this guy anytime soon.

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Everything ends... eventually. But not just yet. :)

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Pumpkin

Just wanted to share this rockin' video with you all. Enjoy!

Monday, May 04, 2009

The Photo Album, part 2

"...but what if a picture comes out and your father sees a picture of me?" my mum asked, referring to the photo album that I was bringing.

"Oh, that's easy. I'll just say that's the maid," I replied.

She rolled her eyes, "Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmph. I'm so fortunate for having such a clever son."

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Just remembered this bit. Lol...

Saturday, May 02, 2009

The Photo Album

It was an inspired moment.

"Oh, this is so lovely" my mum said, smiling as she took a picture of her ex-husband posing with her children out from one photo album and passed it to me.

I placed the photograph into another photo album in my lap, using it to cover a picture of my mum. The photo album I was holding was looking positively curious; photos of my biological father from all eras were randomly scattered throughout. And underneath each misplaced photo of my father was a hidden photo of my mum.

The effect was a photo album full of random pictures of my father, mostly posing together with me and my brother when we were children. What was missing was any picture of my mother. Or hidden away, to be more precise.

I had arrived in town the night before, hoping to meet my father who had lapsed into a coma that day. It had been too late at night to visit, so I had to settle for visiting the morning after. But not before making preparations.

My brother had arrived earlier, so he had the chance to see how my father's condition really was. The man was lapsing in and out of consciousness, and when he was conscious he was delirious. Apparently thought my brother was working in the Royal Bank of Scotland, and was delighted he could make it from... Scotland.

Hence the editted photo album.

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"What's that?" My aunt would ask.

"Morphine. The best kind," I would reply as I walked into the room to speak to my father in private.

"Look. This is your life," I would say, as I would open the pages of the photo album and show it to my father. Inside would be picture upon picture of himself posing with his young children. Pictures of his success, of him being a father.


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It was a brilliant plan. It depended of course on the fact that the poor man was delirious. That way he didn't have to think of what happened after the scenes in the photos. He could enjoy every moment depicted in each photo, missing any unpleasant memories or blemishes. Because he was delirious, he could enjoy the early days of his first marriage without remembering that he was ever held accountable for his actions and suffered the consequences that followed.

But did the photo album show him everything he had, or everything he had lost?

Holding the finished photo album in hand, I arrived at my father's new house that morning with my presentation for the dying man rehearsed in my head. But my aunt's first sentence to me was quite different from the one I expected.

"He passed away early this morning," my aunt said,"I only found out when I arrived today myself."

You're too late.

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This is not fiction. The recollection of the events are accurate, but in truth it's not nearly as sad as it sounds in writing. I was disappointed that I arrived too late to give the photo album, but a part of me didn't mind all that much. The dying, delirious man would have enjoyed looking through the album, but something felt terribly wrong about it. It was as if I was taking advantage of the a dying man's inability to think properly in order to feed him a wonderful lie.

The photo album was indeed a curious thing. Was it truly an object of kindness, or in actual fact an object of ultimate cruelty?