Oh Yew Cheong, 1928 — 2010

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

- Mary Elizabeth Frye -

This past weekend I was back in Penang for my great-uncle’s funeral. As the older brother of my grandfather, widowed and childless, his world revolved around his four siblings, their children and grandchildren, and his wife’s family. And even though I had been hauled against my will to Penang on a weekday so that I would arrive in time for the wake, I later found, for the first time in my life, that I was glad to have been there for it.

Death is a very strange thing. People  spend the wake and funeral talking about the deceased’s life, dredging up any detail of their lives that they can remember, no matter how insignificant they may have seemed, inadvertently revealing secrets that had been kept for years, and sharing as much as they can to keep the person’s memory alive. And amidst mourning the loss of someone they had known and loved and celebrating the life they had led, the question eventually creeps out: How well did we really know this person?

I knew him as my grandfather’s older brother, who had lost his wife at a young age and never remarried. I knew that he treated my mother and the other children of his siblings like his own, and that my brother and I were the closest he had to having grandchildren. I knew that he walked from his house to the town every morning to buy breakfast for his ailing brother-in-law, whom he lived with, and their maid.

But I never knew him. I never knew that he had adopted a daughter, who now lives in the U.K. with her husband. I never knew that the room in his brother-in-law’s house that he lived in that been the center of  his world, with all his worldly possessions, including a very old photo of his wife, in it. I never knew that he had been an accountant, and that he read J.D. Salinger and Lord Tennyson. I never knew that he kept a door in his closet locked at all times, and I never knew that nobody, not even his own family, knew why or where he kept the key. All I knew was that he was a good man, who, even in his last days, made sure that his two younger sisters — the last of his siblings — and brother-in-law were all cared for.

So as I watched and listened in those last hours before he was laid to rest, I saw the pain this loss brought to my great-aunts and my mother, and I wondered if they were mourning not only his passing, but also his life, for all the things that they had known and not known about him. I wondered, but I doubt I’ll ever know.

Be in peace.

Filed under: Family

We have released the next update in our content delivery software and accompanying Web-based portal.

Also released within the CDN portal, is a bandwidth trading virtual marketplace called Fleximart. Here, operators can easily trade bandwidth amongst each other.

To know more about the Fleximart, we have a handy animation over here.

Other than that, release version 2.1 includes the following...

• Content security capabilities (i.e., hotlinking protection or bandwidth hijacking) while adding a new CDN site.

read more

Last night Afham and I tried foot reflexology for the very first time in my life. I’ve always loved a good massage, but I used to think that foot reflexology would be redundant if I’m already getting a full body massage, and Afham’s tendency to be ticklish below the knee made him apprehensive about getting a foot massage. However, after spending the last few weekends going out on both Friday and Saturday nights, and feeling the snowball effect from wearing 4-inch heels every single day, I decided it was time to give foot reflexology a try. And despite his misgivings, Afham was willing to try it as well.

So after dinner last night, we made a wild stab at one of the numerous foot reflexology and massage outlets in Sunway Damansara and got an hour’s foot and shoulder massages. It was, by far, the most effective, and the most painful massage I’ve ever had, and this is coming from someone who has sat through seven tattoos and never told a masseuse to lighten the pressure. It was all right up until the masseuse started kneading my heels and calves, which hurt so badly that even the cheesy Taiwanese Human Tetris game show on TV could not distract me; next to me, Afham was cringing and huffing in the chair next to me as he was torn between pain and ticklishness, but could not tell the masseuse to let up because they were both Chinese nationals.

It was this that led to a conversation — in Mandarin — I would normally never have, much less with anyone I’ve just met:

Masseuse 1: Miss, why can’t he speak Chinese?
Me: Because he’s not Chinese.
Masseuse 1: Oh, then what is he?
Me: He’s Malay.
Masseuse 1: Oh… But he can still watch that Chinese show and laugh?
Me: It looks funny enough to him, I suppose. But he can understand a litte bit of Chinese.
Masseuse 2: Waaah, but he’s very fair! And so good-looking. He doesn’t look Malay at all!
Masseuse 1: Is he your boyfriend?
Me: Yes.
Masseuse 1: But are you Chinese?
Me: Yes, I am.
Masseuse 2: Oh, really? You don’t look very Chinese. So if you marry him, you will have to convert, right?
Me: Oh, we don’t talk about that!
Masseuse 2: Why? You must talk about it. You are old enough to get married already!
Masseuse 1: And if you marry him and he wants to take another wife, would you be able to accept it?
Me: Um… I guess not.

From that conversation, I deduced that:

1. My boyfriend apparently does not look Malay to anyone who isn’t Malay;
2. Even without makeup on, I don’t look Chinese enough to be recognized as one, even by fellow Chinese (nationals, at that);
3. Our religious differences, and my refusal to address them are apparently two things that have come to be of concern to everyone except myself; and
4. As soon as one is old enough to be married — which, these days, can be anywhere from the age of 10, or whenever increasingly early puberty strikes — every relationship is automatically inducted into the Marriage Potential List.

And after all that, we took one of the center’s business cards before we left. I suppose now that the masseuses have satisfied their curiosity over our races, religions and relationship, a more peaceful session wouldn’t be too far off.

Filed under: Colloquies, Just Ask Her

I finally managed to catch up with the Spring/Summer 2010 Ready-to-Wear collections, and the one that caught my eye for the season is by the House of Valentino at Paris Fashion Week. Maria Graza Chiuri and Pier Paolo Piccioli, who were appointed Creative Directors in 2008 after Valentino Garavani retired, put together a collection that is romantic  — ‘fairytale-like’, as the designers put it — with a lot of chiffon, tulle and ruffles, edgy with black silk and mesh, and intriguing with sheer fabrics and neutral and earth tones. In short, an incredibly sophisticated and elegant collection, and probably one of the few that I want in my closet — and in its entirety.

But the true works of art are the shoes that were created by Philip Treacy for the collection — court shoes and sandals in lots of lace and frills that should never be worn anywhere except at home:

Filed under: Fashion

- PostSecret

If your heart’s not in it for real
Please don’t try to fake what you don’t feel
If love’s already gone
It’s not fair to lead me on

‘Cause I would give the whole world for you
Anything you ask of me, I’d do
But I won’t ask you to stay
I’d rather walk away
If your heart’s not in it

- Westlife, If Your Heart’s Not In It -

Sometimes I wish I had never learned its power. The power to make or break a relationship, the power to control every situation, every circumstance, the power to love, to hurt, to give, and to take away something that means everything to a person.

Filed under: Relationships, Soliloquies

What is love, anyway?

Ah, best for last. If I were Spock from “Star Trek,” I would explain that human love is a combination of three emotions or impulses: desire, vulnerability and bravery. Desire makes one feel vulnerable, which then requires one to be brave.

Since I’m not Spock, I will tell a story.

Say you decide to adopt a baby girl in China. You receive her photo, put it on your refrigerator and gaze at it as the months pass, until finally you’re halfway around the world, holding her in your arms, tears of joy streaming down your face.

But later in your hotel room, after undressing her, you discover worrisome physical signs, in particular a scar on her spine. You call the doctor, then head to the hospital for examinations and CT scans, where you are told the following: she suffered botched spinal surgery that caused nerve damage. Soon she will lose all bladder and bowel control. Oh, and she will be paralyzed for life. We’re so sorry.

But the adoption agency offers you a choice: keep this damaged baby, or trade her in for a healthier one.

You don’t even know about the trials yet to come, about the alarming diagnoses she’ll receive back home, the terrifying seizures you’ll witness. Nor do you know about the happy ending that is years off, when she comes through it all and is perfectly fine. You have to decide now. This is your test. What do you do?

If you’re Elizabeth Fitzsimons, who told this story here one Mother’s Day, you say: “We don’t want another baby. We want our baby, the one sleeping right over there. She’s our daughter.”

That’s love. Anyone can have it. All it requires is a little bravery. Or a lot.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

- Excerpt from Explaining the Irrational by The New York Times

Filed under: Relationships, Webthings

A good friend of mine got engaged on Sunday (I’m sure it had more to do with the fact that it’s a long weekend and therefore more convenient for the out-of-towners, than that it was Valentine’s Day; we’re not that cheesy), one out of a string of people I know who have gotten engaged or married recently. I woke up on Sunday morning with two thoughts blaring in my head: that it was the first day of Chinese New Year, which meant I would have to drag myself out of bed to go back to my own house to be with my family, and that it was her engagement day.

So in my groggy stupor, I sent her a text message along the lines of: “As much as I may laugh at you, I’m still a closet romantic. So congratulations, darling, and have a lovely day today.”

Because when I remembered that it was her engagement day, I also thought, She’s really going to do it. This was a woman who, not six months ago, was proclaiming quite firmly that she wasn’t looking to get married again, having tried once before and come out of it with nothing to be glad for except her two sons and her freedom from her in-laws, and she was even more determined not to have any more children. She was, at the time, also not too certain about where she wanted to stand with the man she had just started seeing, content with keeping things as casual as society can view ‘casual’ to be.

So when she told me last month that she would be getting engaged soon, my inability to be anything other than candid made me blurt out, “That was fast,” and then try not to laugh because she looked as though she had agreed to marriage at gunpoint, and also because it was set for Valentine’s Day. As the weeks went by, she appeared increasingly agitated when talking about the engagement or wedding, and there were times when I was tempted by candor, but knew better, to ask if this was what she really wanted.

But when I saw a photo of her and the man who has been bestowed the greatest gift of all by God, I realized that it didn’t really matter what I wondered. It didn’t matter if she had agreed to marry him to dispel the insecurities he harbors, a trait that makes men so unattractive, or to put an end to her parents’ fear that she may become a cat-rearing spinster when her sons are all grown up. What mattered is that she did, that she was willing to try again, despite all the failures and the disappointments, to give love another chance.

We often spend so much time trying to heal from failed relationships and pulling ourselves up from the depths of our own dark places that we sometimes forget that no matter how low we’ve been brought down, there will always be a way to get back up, and always something to remind us that we can be as happy as we deserve to be. It may take a few failed relationships along the way, but those failures are the risks we have to take, and can only be lessons for us to learn so that when we finally find what we’ve been looking for, we’ll know it was worth the loss, and the pain.

So this is to Eza, who made her journey and came out on top, who believes (or at least tries to) that some things are worth trying for, again and again.

Filed under: Learning Curve, Relationships

Chinese New Year has come and gone (well, not quite, but the eve of and first day are over, which is good enough for me). Any liking I may have had for Chinese New Year fizzled out when I was old enough to realize that Chinese New Year wasn’t always the happy occasion my young eyes had seen it to be, and I was extremely upset that my one legitimate excuse for not being around for Chinese New Year became invalid as soon as I set foot back in this country.

But this year, I was able to stomach it a little better. It wasn’t only because Afham was with me for the reunion dinner and throughout the first-day obligations of being at home with my family, but also because my parents themselves asked for him to be there. It was the first time that someone not from our family was part of the celebrations, and it made me appreciate my parents for feeling that Chinese New Year didn’t always have to be about family, but more of having the important people around us to celebrate it with.

And, as if he knew how I was feeling as we were making our way back to my parents’ house in the morning, Afham made my day by saying, “Happy Valentine’s, baby. We’ll do dinner next week, OK?”

Filed under: Special Times

It had been a good day so far: I was up fairly early, a result of having consumed alcohol the night before, and was able to dash out to 1Utama to pick up the dress I had put on hold at Topshop before going to Bangsar Shopping Center for my manicure. Traffic was smooth, the single greatest advantage of living in a city which is subjected to large-scale exoduses during the festive seasons, and I didn’t have to prowl the parking aisles for too long before I was able to find a spot.

And then, as I made my way through Sri Hartamas towards Bangsar, wondering quite accurately if the speed traps that highway is so famous for would be set today, the eve of Chinese New Year, I was waved to pull over at the side of the highway, where several policemen were running the roaring trade they are so well-known for, especially during the festive seasons. So, knowing I had been going well over the speed limit, I pulled over, driver’s license already in hand, hoping I wouldn’t be held up too long as I was fifteen minutes away from my appointment.

Cop 1: Miss, you Chinese?
Me: Yes.
Cop 1: Oh… gong xi fa cai (Happy New Year), ya…
Me: Thank you.
Cop 2: You want pay saman (summons) RM300?
Me: (horrified at the amount) Now?
Cop 2: You want settle now?
Me: Well… no, because I don’t have cash. Just give me the ticket.
Cop 1: How much cash you have?
Me: None. I don’t carry cash.
Cop 1: Cash don’t have?
Me: No. Nobody’s stupid enough to carry cash these days. I only have my debit card.
Cop 1: Oh… Miss, are you stewardess?
Me: (highly indignant at the insulting stereotype) No, I do P.R.!
Cop 1: Mana you kerja (Where do you work)?
Me: Bank. Now, can you please just give me the ticket? I have to go.
Cop 2: OK, OK, we send saman to your house.

Obviously, I had been lying through my teeth when I insisted I hadn’t any cash on me, because that is part of their roaring trade: forcing bribes out of people who don’t want to be slapped with a speeding ticket and a hefty fine. But I refused to give them the satisfaction of getting what they set up the speed trap for and perpetuate the blatant, shameless corruption that goes on in this cursed country, even if I had to swallow the violent urge to say, “I’m not about to bribe you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

On another note, I realized the most effective way to get the cops off your back in this country is to speak English, and only English, to them. Their completely inability to converse in English cripples their intention of being intimidating, and they realize fairly quickly that it would be easier to extort money out of someone else who will speak their language.

And maybe someone else stupid enough to work with the System.

Filed under: Colloquies, Life's Like That, Seriously

It seems that as we grow older, there’s just no escaping it.

Last weekend I caught up (via Gtalk) with an old friend, who announced that she had gotten engaged in January and is planning to have the wedding in the summer (I suppose being weighed down in a big white dress and having her makeup sweltered off in Charleston, South Carolina’s 90°F weather is her thing).  With her parents in Queens, New York, and relatives in other parts of the U.S., they decided that anyone significant enough and who doesn’t live in the U.S. would have to fly or be flown to Charleston for the wedding.

I wasn’t surprised that she would be getting married. She is only my age, but had been with the man since we were all still in college, and even then they were already talking about tying the knot; I was only surprised that they had waited this long — three years, to be exact — after graduation to even get engaged. And although I’m happy for them, I’m only sorry they have to dive into  the wedding planning immediately to meet the summer deadline, instead of having a little bit of time to just enjoy being engaged.

What really surprised me is that they are going to have both the church wedding and the Chinese ceremony, complete with the trend of humiliating the groomsmen when the groom comes to fetch his bride, so favored by Malaysian wedding-lovers these days. It’s a trend that, my friend assures me, has been both explained to and approved of by her all-American fiancé; she suspects he agreed to be put through it because he’s never heard of such a thing and figures it would be no harm trying.

On these unusual terms, part of the planning would also involve coaching the groom-to-be and his family, in the most tactful way they can think of, on the customs and traditions of a Chinese wedding, from the tea ceremony to that-part-I-don’t-know-what-it’s-called that involves a whole roasted pig. It would certainly be a learning experience for the groom’s retinue, and also a chance for the bride’s own family to have the traditional wedding that our race so unconditionally demands.

So when I commended my friend for having the patience to put up with two versions of a wedding, and for having future in-laws who were willing and respectful enough to be put through the ordeal, she said, “It’s really not as bad as we used to think. I think it will be fun, watching them do something that is so completely alien to them. Now that you’re in a serious relationship, you should seriously consider changing your mind about not having a wedding.”

I didn’t tell her that now that I’m in a serious relationship, a wedding — or lack thereof — would be the least of my problems.

Filed under: Just Ask Her, Relationships

- PostSecret

Well, like I said.

Filed under: Relationships

So what if it hurts me?
So what if I break down?
Don’t care about all the pain in front of me
I just want to be happy

- Leona Lewis, Happy -

“It doesn’t matter what you do, what you grow up to be, or whether or not you get married, as long as you’re happy.”

It’s a line parents so often wax off on their children; that it’s OK if they want to be stamp-collectors or architects or soldiers, as long as they are happy with themselves and their choices. I am not disagreeing with the concept; childless though I may be and am likely to remain, I am fully supportive of parents encouraging their children to pursue their passions and ambitions — or at least whoever they’ve fallen in love with — and do what they believe in and feel strongly about.

But then, where does one draw the line between happiness and pragmatism (or, in more reader-friendly terms: contentment)?

We’ve seen them before: people with high-paying jobs seeking something more fulfilling, and eventually changing careers which come with personal satisfaction and a galling pay cut, only to realize that the pittance they earn isn’t going to be able to keep up with the mortgage payments in the long run; people in good relationships for years and years, and then waking up one day to realize they are in/past their prime, but they have yet to actually settle down and fulfill their secret lifelong dream of starting a family.

When we’re willing to give up everything for the sake of happiness, when does happiness kick us in the [insert body part of choice here] and remind us that there could come a time when, penniless, childless and/or homeless, we will realize that we should have just been content with, or grateful for, what we had, which could have kept a roof over our heads and stopped us from committing crimes with the office stapler?

I am guilty of being in the same Catch-25 (a reference to my age and consequently my lot in life): in a job I once loved and have grown too attached to to just up and abandon ship, because of the handful of people I’m happy to work with, and in a relationship whose fate remains in a purgatory of so many things that can’t be said, but with a man I love with my whole heart and who makes me happier than I’ve been in years. I gave up a life I loved in a place I had been happy in, knowing that my real chance to grow and learn lay elsewhere; I gave up on a love that had taught me so much, but that I had traded my self-worth and dignity for.

We may not have the heart to teach our children that with happiness comes pain, believing that we can protect them from it, but we have to teach them to understand that everything comes with a price. And we hope that they will be able to learn to tell which price is worth paying for their own concept of happiness, and learn how to pull themselves back together when the price is too high.

And I realize this is violently contradictory to my stand on happily ever after, but that’s what disclaimers are for. After all, what is happily ever after if there’s nothing to make us appreciate it all the more?

Filed under: Human Nature, Learning Curve

We have just launched our version 2.0 of our CDN software solution!

For more information, you may refer to the press release here.

Our free introductory Publisher package with a free bandwidth of 500 gigabytes is still available! Kindly contact us for more information.

A far cry from my usual purchases from bookstores, I bought these books by Enid Blyton yesterday for the World Vision children my mom and I are sponsoring. The two on the left are for my 8-year-old (I couldn’t decide between them so I got both and will send each one to her over the course of a few months), and the third is for my mom’s 13-year-old girl from Indonesia. We have yet to get bookmarks for them, and also something for my mom’s 17-year-old from Thailand, but we’re not sure what boys like at that age.

The last time I browsed the children’s aisles in any bookstore was when I was still young enough to read books by the likes of Enid Blyton, who was the first author I thought of when I read in the World Vision guidebook that sponsors are allowed to send their children little gifts. So when I was looking through the (limited) selection of Enid Blyton books, I was taken back to a time when I was completely fascinated by Blyton’s alternate universe, where goblins and pixies and gnomes existed and lived in complete, it seemed, harmony, and everything from trees to fireplace fenders could speak. Her stories about girls in boarding schools and friends getting together to figure out who stole violins and pearl necklaces inspired me by the age of 11 to become a writer, because I wanted to be able to evoke the same kind of imagery and emotion in my writing.

Now, years later, even though it’s evident that I have not acquired the talent and vision for storytelling, I want to be able to pass on this love of the classics that has been overshadowed by the current younger generation’s preference for Ben 10 and Spongebob, especially in a society that is becoming increasingly averse to reading. And until (or unless) I have children of my own, I will do it, book by book, for an 8-year-old girl, far away in South Africa.

Filed under: Arts, Written Word

Its been a long time since I last went to a waterfall. 

The last time I went was perhaps with GG3PG to Sg Chongkak as well. I must say that I miss those times.
This was a good break for me...out from the normal routine. Well, its a new season for me personally too =) I can't ask for a better outing than this to break out into the new season!
In the morning, Sam took us to "the best fish head noodles" in Serdang. This happens to be one of my favourite chinese dish and I tend to be quite particular about it.
With Tony & Jeslyn in my car, we met up with Sam, his parents, Tim, Kenneth & Jamie for breakfast.
Nice fish head noodles - This one from Serdang
This fish head noodle was quite good, tastes like the one I really love in Taman Desa (we later found out that they are actually from the same branch)
It took us about 45 mins to reach Sungai Chongkak in Kajang. Surprisingly the crowd wasn't as big as we expected. 

Sam in his full attire

Fancy staying in a "resort" here?
Lets get it started!
The first thing we did was....to get wet and wild!!
Sam took out his home made "water guns" and started to attack each of us.





We came well prepared. Sam and his family took care of the food there...which was one of THE MOST IMPORTANT thing! 
We were well fed alright. 
Play


Eat


Play

Eat

Well, that technically sums up what we did for almost 4 hours there.
Of course, we also went back to the days when our ancestors didn't have burger patties to cook and had to catch their own food.





I must say...based on our catch and the number of people in our group, we would have starved to death a long time ago....

In the end we only caught a few shrimps and some small fishes, good enough to feed the fishes in Uncle's (Sam's dad) fish pond.
In the end we decided....Forget about fishing!! Lets just relax....enjoy the natural jacuzzi


We packed up around 5pm and adjourned to Sate Kajang (Haji Samuri) for our dinner. (Yes...eat again) 

Sad to say, the facilities in Sungai Chongkak is quite run down. 
All in all, the best thing about this whole outing is the company and the experience.

by Alyssa Milano for Esquire

1. Women are innately self-conscious. This is not a choice; it’s a genderwide condition. On a bad day, I look in the mirror and see my ten-pound-heavier alter ego. Her name is Bertha. On a really bad day, Bertha sees her two-hundred-pound-heavier alter ego. Her name is Brian Dennehy.

2. Women produce half the world’s food but own only 1 percent of its farmland. So we’re fine with you picking up the tab. And after about three thousand dinners at Nobu, we should be even.

3. Women like porn, too. We just hate it when you hide the porn.

4. Women remember everything. Don’t believe me? Ask your girlfriend where you met. She won’t tell you it was at a party. She’ll say it was a Thursday, she had just come from dinner, where she ate a veggie burger, and she was wearing her friend Cathy’s pink top, which was big on her because Cathy is a big girl. You were wearing a blue button-down, drinking a Jack and Coke with two straws, and talking to Bill, that mutual friend. She waved and you gave her the “what’s up” nod. This still infuriates her. (“How could you give me the nod?”)

5. An eyelash curler, while mean and ferocious looking, is not a weapon.

6. No matter how much your woman loves you, there are going to be three to seven days each month when she wants you dead. (She may even quietly fantasize about turning her eyelash curler against you.) You have two options: Tie yourself to a tree and wait out the storm, or stock up at Tiffany’s, toss a blue box or two into the wind, and hope for the best. We recommend the latter. (The key chain doesn’t count.)

7. We think it’s weird when you watch sports and concentrate to help your team.

8. “Hey, Melissa, who’s the boss?” Not a good pickup line. “Hey, Phoebe, where’d you park your broomstick?” Not a good pickup line. “Hey, Alyssa, you look 250 pounds lighter than Brian Dennehy in that dress.” Surprisingly good pickup line.

9. Women hear better than men. That’s before you even factor in listening skills and attention spans. Come to think of it, I should have listed this one first because I’m sure I’ve lost you by now.

10. You may be surprised to know that women were responsible for inventing all of the following: the circular saw, the signal flare, the space suit, the bulletproof vest, and the windshield wiper. You’re welcome.

*          *          *

I can’t say I agree with all of them. No.10 I will discount because I didn’t know it in the first place either, but the only ones I can relate to are numbers 1, 2, 4 and 9.

Most of it is nothing we don’t already know, but it’s amusing to revisit them every now and then, not in the least because, as No.9 states, men could use a little repetition every once in a while.

Filed under: Just Ask Her, Relationships, Webthings

In my history of changing phones, the one feature I’ve never really paid attention to is the camera function. I figure I would barely use it, as I already have a perfectly good camera all on its own, when the rare urge to take photos seizes me.

But as I look through the photos that I had taken with my previous Nokia E71 and transferred to my new BlackBerry, and after taking my very first photo with this BlackBerry I realize that perhaps I do need a camera phone, to capture all the moments that call for immediate hoarding in the memory, both human and digital, like these:

A couple eating with their feet up identically, as pointed out by Eza at Berjaya Times Square's Kenny Rogers - taken with Nokia E71

Afham getting his shirt lodged in a cracked stool... - taken with Nokia E71

... and Abby having to help him out of it - taken with Nokia E71

A driver who is either blind or has perfect distance judgment, parking exactly in between two spots in Platinum Walk, Setapak - taken with BlackBerry Bold 9700

Posted in Fun, Toys

Juz received another email scam today... Aih...I have been receiving so many of these nonsense that I just ignore and delete them without a second thought. Somehow this recent one that I received really irks me!
fromLinda Gartner  subjectcharitable offer Contact me for more information.Via (mrssarahhendrick1@gmail.com) mailed-bymorrisdickson.com
Dear Beloved in Christ,

 It is by the grace of God that I received Christ, having known the truth;I had no choice than to do what is lawful and just in the sight of God for eternal life and in the sight of man for witness of God & His Mercies and glory upon my life.I am Mrs.Sarah Hendrick,the wife of Mr.Robert Hendrick,both of us are citizens of the united state of America.. my husband  worked with the Chevron/Texaco in Hong Kong for twenty years before hedied in  the year 2003.We were married for ten years without a child. My Husband died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before his  death we both got born-again as dedicated Christians.

Since his death I decided not to re-marry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is strongly against.When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of (FOURTEEN MILLION POUNDS) with a Bank in Europe. Presently, this money isstill  with the Bank and the management just wrote me as the beneficiary that our account has been DORMANT and if I, as the beneficiary of the funds, do not re- activate the account; the funds will be CONFISCATED or I rather issue a letter of authorization to somebody to receive it on my behalf (note  that you need to activate his account) as I can not come over. Presently,

I'm in a hospital in Hong Kong where I have been undergoing treatment for throat  cancer. have since lost my ability to talk and my doctors have told me that I have only a few weeks to live.It is my last wish to see this money distributed to charity organizations and NGO anywhere in the World in helping human race.Because relatives and friends have plundered so much of my  wealth since my illness, I cannot live with the agony of entrusting this huge responsibility to any of them.Please, I beg you in the name of God  to help me Stand-in as the beneficiary and collect the Funds from the Bank.I want a person that is God-fearing who will use this money to fund churches, orphanages and widows propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is maintained.The Bible made us to understand that blessed is the hand that giveth. I took  this decision because I don't have any child that will inherit this money and my husband's

relatives I await your quick response to this mail as this  is my last wish to see this funds transferred before my Death. Please my beloved for further communication on how we are going to conclude this,contact me via this Email: (mrssarahhendrick1@gmail.com)

Your Sister in Christ,
Mrs. Sarah Hendrick.
Email:mrssarahhendrick1@gmail.com


I am totally speechless when I read this....

Because we all need a laugh before our job sends us leaping out of our 5th(or 10th)-floor office window.

To: All Staff

Dress Code
1. It is advised that you come to work dressed according to your salary. If we see you wearing Prada shoes and carrying a Gucci bag, we assume you are doing well financially and therefore do not need a pay raise.

2. If you dress poorly, you need to learn to manage your money better, so that you may buy nicer clothes, and therefore you do not need a pay raise.

3. If you dress just right, you are right where you need to be and therefore you do not need a pay raise.

Sick Days
We will no longer accept a doctor’s certificate as proof of sickness. If you are able to go to the doctor, you are able to come to work.

Holiday Days
Each employee will receive 104 personal days a year. They are called Saturday and Sunday.

Compassionate Leave
This is no excuse for missing work. There is nothing you can do for dead friends, relatives or co-workers. Every effort should be made to have non-employees attend to the arrangements.

In rare cases where employee involvement is necessary, the funeral should be scheduled in the late afternoon. We will be glad to allow you to work through your lunch hour and subsequently leave one hour early.

Toilet Usage
1. Entirely too much time is being spent in the toilet. There is now a strict three-minute time limit in the cubicles.

2. At the end of three minutes, an alarm will sound, the toilet paper roll will retract, the cubicle door will open, and your picture will be taken.

3. After your second offence, your picture will be posted on the company notice board under the ‘Chronic Offenders’ category.

4. Anyone caught smiling in the picture will be sanctioned under the company’s mental health policy.

Lunch Break
1. Skinny people get 30 minutes for lunch, as they need to eat more so that they can look healthy.

2. Normal size people get 15 minutes for lunch to get a balanced meal to maintain their average figure.

3. Chubby people get 5 minutes for lunch, because that’s all the time needed to drink a Slim-Fast.

Thank you for your loyalty to our company. Remember we are an employer of choice and we are here to provide a positive employment experience. Therefore, all questions, comments, concerns, complaints, frustrations, irritations, aggravations, insinuations, allegations, accusations, contemplations, consternation and input should be directed elsewhere.

The Management

Posted in Fun, Rat Race

I’ve been watching Walt Disney animated movies ever since I can remember; they were part of the Growing Up Essentials Kit my grandmother imposed on me, which included Old Hollywood musicals like The Sound of Music, nursery rhymes about pennyworths of hot cross buns, and the works of Hans Christian Andersen, the Brothers Grimm and Aesop. To her, they were the only movies and stories worth watching and reading, and it’s an education I’m eternally grateful to her for giving me.

My earliest memory of watching Disney movies involves trying to catch the Seven Dwarves singing It’s home from work we go. And as I grew older, coming to understand beyond just the moving pictures and music because I could read the actual stories, I learned that many of these stories ended with a variant of that age-old phrase: “And they lived happily ever after.”

Like so many other girls growing up, I harbored dreams of finding my own version of happily ever after. To me, the formula seemed so simple: meet a boy, fall in love, and live happily ever after. When pitted against all my other dreams of becoming a teacher, lawyer, doctor, singer and actress, my dream of finding love didn’t seem all that difficult to achieve.

Until, at the ripe old age of 15, I finally woke up.

Now, more than ten years later, I look back at the relationships I’ve had, the mistakes I’ve made, and the lessons I’ve learnt, and occasionally I ask myself if happily ever after really does exist anymore. Or more accurately, if I actually still believe in it. I have been so consumed by unhealthy bitterness and cynicism that every now and then, like when my best friend starts to rant about how relationships and marriage don’t last because happily ever after doesn’t exist anymore and I have to wax optimistic on her in an attempt to stamp out her pessimism, I stop and listen to myself and wonder if I believe in half the things I tell her.

Because in this day and age, where sociologists have suggested that marriage should be a 7-year renewable contract, and where people have the option of changing partners at their fancy, it comes as no surprise that nobody believes in happily ever after anymore. But in retrospect, doesn’t happily ever after require some amount of working at to actually happen? If we are looking to cure the proverbial 7-year itch with a 7-year nuptial timeshare, and we know that at any point in our relationship we can choose to bail and hop on to the next boat, we would never feel the need to make any effort in the relationship, subsequently leading it to its (un)timely demise and reaffirming our belief that happily ever after is so once upon a time.

Wouldn’t that, then, mean that if happily ever after doesn’t exist for us, it’s most likely our faults, and we would have no call to snipe and gripe about not being able to find someone we can spend the rest of our lives with? What happened to having just a little bit of faith that if we try hard enough, and if we stop thinking about ourselves and what we want so much, we can hang on to our relationships, and perhaps even live happily ever after?

So yesterday, I came to the conclusion that no matter how proudly I claim to be cynical and realistic, I realize that deep down, I’m still a romantic at heart. I still believe that we are able to find someone with whom we can share a mutual feeling of love, respect and trust, if we just make that effort. So maybe that makes me a romantic realist. Or a realistic romantic.

But I will find my happily ever after. I can believe in that much now.

Posted in Learning Curve, Relationships