Short fuse getting shorter (Part #2)

In May this year, I posted a blog entry about how, in the past couple of years, I have degenerated from a usually patient and tolerant person to one with a short fuse and bad temper. And this has been pointed out to me, not just by casual observers and acquaintances, but by the very people whom I hold dear to my heart.

It is one thing to have this trait being pointed out to me by the casual observer. But if my random outbursts and beginning to affect those around me, and worse, hurt those whom I love - none of whom bear even a minutiae of malicious intent in their words and actions, then it is time to stop and take stock of the situation.

It is my fervent hope, and a prayer that I cry out to the Heavens above, that those whom I have hurt from time to time with my random bursts of fury (often sudden, but short-lasting), do not see me as any less of the person that I am and can be. It is unfortunate that history and past events in my life have planted into me some undercurrents of rage, and a life of constant vendettas.

Until now, I have not yet found it within my heart to release that unrelenting iron grip called pride that binds me. But someone has come into my life. Someone who means so much to me. Someone who has given me a reason to turn all the pent-up fury into affection. Someone whom I would never want to hurt with my temper, but yet is one whom I have hurt with my temper. Someone whom I would never forgive myself for if I were to drive her away, all because of vengeful pride and fury - borne from my past, manifested in my present, and destroying all hope for a joyful future.

It's the Christmas season. It is a time to forgive and forget the past. It is a time to accept people and things for what they are. It is a time to to see love in all things, and in all its unusual and unexpected manifestations. It is a time to love, and allow ourselves to be loved. And even when this Christmas season passes by, Love should still remain.

Thought for today (and something I read many years ago): A child once asked the parish priest, "Padre, why can't people today see God like they did in days of old?" The priest answered, "Because, my child, people today cannot stoop so low." When love gives way to pride, we become blind.

The "Big Guy" Dilemma

The original version of the article below was actually composed as an e-mail to a couple of my close friends last week. It was one of those days when I was in my rare mercurial mood swings, and desperately needed to lash out my fury using the only civilised tool at my disposal – the vehicle of the written word. Of course, my anger has simmered somewhat since then, but the amber flame from the fire still lingers. So, before the fire completely dies out, I decided to reproduce the text here – edited in some areas, and expanded in others.

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I get the occasional passing compliment from acquaintances about my height and size. Casual observers would think it is flattering. But speaking from personal experience, I can tell you, it’s not all that rosy a picture.

For those of you with average stature (and, I can safely assume, most of you are), you have no idea how tough it is being a big guy. When you are relaxed, people think you are this daft ox who has trouble keeping up with the conversation; when you are up and about trying to participate, people think you are a bowling ball gone berserk. It’s a case of “damn if you do, damn if you don’t”. And in between, everyone around you is so darn afraid of you moving or touching things, and everyone panics when you so much as stir your little finger or move your huge ass an inch - from fear of you breaking some expensive piece of china, or – worse – squashing someone into a pancake. I am so f**king sick of people telling me to "careful, careful… watch it, watch it", like I have no bones in my body. People think you do not have the manual dexterity and grace to use hand-tools, hold a pair of chopsticks, or do origami. You just can't win.

Perhaps the whole visual effect is amplified by the fact that I happen to be a towering 6-foot 95kg lummox (and by Asian standards, that is huge), such that even the slightest movement could rock the building, shake the floorboards, overturn furniture and shatter window panes. It probably would not look so obvious if I were 3 inches shorter and 30kg lighter. But Providence has granted me with such a physique, and so I have to live with it. In order to fit into society, it has become imperative that I reduce the overall velocity and acceleration of my bodily atoms, so that those around me will feel more at ease – rather than subjecting them to the fear of being in the vicinity of a gargantuan sack of TNT mounted on a springboard… just waiting to bounce off, hit the ground, and explode into motion.

I suspect it is only a matter of time before big guys like me earn themselves a classification of their own under the Environmental, Health & Safety Department's list of "Occupational Hazards", and be confined to selected jobs, surrounded by 3-feet thick concrete office walls, and restricted to the use of special industrial-grade stationery that will not snap like a twig the minute a big guy so much as picks them up. Who knows – they may even patent the first industrial grade high-carbon-steel ball-point pens and PC keyboards to cater for the likes of us.

Fear not, for the Darwinian Theory will prevail, and my kind will eventually be eliminated from the human gene pool for the betterment of Mankind. Let the record show that virtually all the giants (tall, fat, or a mutant-like combination of both) documented in the Guinness Book of Records had unusually short life-spans. Seldom past the age of 45. Hey... that's just a decade away for me! Anyone checked the price for XXL-sized coffins lately? Maybe it's time I booked one for myself. Or, wait... cremation in a bio-degradable body bag may work better; let's not have my rotting corpse take up the extra few inches - lengthwise and widthwise - of precious and fast-depleting footprint, and perhaps save a tree or two, shall we?

Oh, and before I forget: Have you ever noticed how, in most movies, the big good guy is always the one who ends up getting killed off because he is the only one who cannot fit through the (a) hole in the cavern wall (b) bars of the prison gates (c) chimney (d) ? And nine out of ten times (I am being conservative in my estimate here), he is usually the Mr. Dopey of the group. The stereotype certainly does mirror the general perception… though, I wonder which came first.

We can learn from the Western work culture

It is now a little over a month since I joined my current company. Although there have been the usual frustrations in having so many things to learn in a totally new and alien industry, it has been exhilarating. More importantly, there has been one aspect of the work life here that I have come to appreciate: The Western work culture. It is probably because the majority of my colleagues are Westerners. But they have brought with them many elements of the kind of working culture that we here in Malaysia - and Asia as a whole - would do well to adopt.

There are too many to list down in detail, and I really do not want to exceed my lunch break with this blog entry, so let the four main ones that come to mind suffice for today, fair readers.


Communicate well!

I realise I have been away from a working environment where English is well-used... or maybe I have not actually worked in an environment where English is well-used!. And here, I must emphasise the word 'well' here. I have worked in local offices of multi-national corporations where English is supposed to be the working language. Yet, I have found the standard of English utterly atrocious - to the point where documents and written correspondences are barely readable, and presentations so incomprehensible that the speaker may as well be conversing in Ancient Greek (no disrespect intended to the Greeks). But where I am now, people use English, and they use it well. And it encourages the locals - no matter how poor their English may be when they start off - to use the language well.

No, I am not saying that English is a language superior to any other (and damn if I do, because it is not even my mother tongue!). What I am saying is that with the effective use of the working language of choice, communication lines are smooth and unambiguous (that's the word for it!), documents are comprehensible, and people are confident enough to use the language such that they are never afraid to speak up.


Speak up!

On the subject of never being afraid to speak up, the employees here never hesitate to take the initiative to present their opinions and ideas (from fear of being shot down, or labelled as brown-nosers). There is none of the "it's not my department, so why should I stick my head out?" or "better I keep my mouth shut, lest the problem falls on my lap" attitudes so prevalent in local work cultures. Everyone gets to contribute ideas, and everyone does so unreservedly. Meetings are conducted regularly, and everyone is encouraged - and expected - to speak and contribute.

And even if there is disagreement towards any ideas presented, they are done so in a professional manner; people explain to you why your ideas may not work, instead of giving you the "shut up, you big-mouthed moron" evil eye.

People are the most important asset to any organisation. And what good are the people, if they do not - or worse, cannot - communicate their ideas, the jewels of their mind? Fear to communicate can be most discouraging and paralysing to one's psyche... and one's career.


Work smart!

The culture of sticking around late in the office just for the sake of clocking hours is non-existent here. From my first day of work, my boss told me, "Mark, do your work and do it well. And unless you have pressing issues to handle that require you to stay back, just leave by 5:30pm. Don't stick around trying to look busy." There is no room for flower vases here. People come into the office early, do real work, and aim to leave on time. There is no point is wasting your time sitting at your desk till the sun goes down when you are not being productive, just so your boss can see you. As far as he is concerned, you are wasting company electricity from the additional lighting and air-conditioning.


Respect one another!

People treat each other with respect. They greet each other along the corridor. They say "please" and "thank you". They smile. They accept you as individuals. They embrace diversity in cultures, and mindsets. And they never make you feel uncomfortable at the workplace - ever.

My random musings on love (Part 2)

When I attended Mass at St. Francis Xavier's Church (a.k.a. "SFX") two Sunday's ago, Father Simon Yong Kong Beng - whose well-thought-out, insightful and often-academic homilies I have often enjoyed (second only to those of Father Michael J. Elligate of St. Carthage's - Melbourne University's parish church) - expounded the subject of "love before duty". To paraphrase, he said: "When an act is borne out of love, it no longer becomes a duty that one is conscious of, but rather something that one does naturally, without any thought of reward or retribution. There is no longer the question of 'what is in it for me?'; the act is done out of unconditional love and the desire to give without receiving."

Now, if I were to extrapolate that idea to love in the romantic sense of the word, then it would suggest that one should love his/her soulmate unconditionally, without thought of that love being reciprocated. But in the end, we are all human. And humans, by nature, need the reciprocity of love. We may have so much love to give, and all so unconditionally. But with the need for reciprocity, can it be that a man can love a woman unconditionally and indefinitely, when he does not feel even a morsel of that abundance of love coming back to him?

Many women believe that in order for a woman to be truly happy, she should find and marry a man who loves her more than she loves him. That only works if the guy is prepared to put love before duty - to give a lot of love to the woman, expecting only a fraction of it in return. To quote the tag line from latest Coca-Cola™ commercial: "When you give a little love, it all comes back to you." But by putting love before duty, and expecting little or nothing in return, for the guy that tag line should read more like "You give a lot of love, hoping for just a little to come back to you." Only then can a woman say she has found a man who loves her more than she loves him.

You are probably wondering where I am going with all this rhetoric. My bottom line question is: Can someone really live unfalteringly by the principle of putting love before duty? Is it really possible for a man to love a woman so much that he would wait on her, give so much of his time and energy to her indefinitely, and yet expecting little or no reciprocity? Can such love be sustained indefinitely?

I have found that the acid test on whether I truly love someone, is when I find myself so willingly showing my care and affections for her - without thought of time, energy or pennies expended. There is no expectation of any equivalent returns from her - save only the hope (or better still, the knowledge) that I have managed to touch the very depths her heart, no matter how stone-hard and icy-cold it may be.

And maybe - just maybe - when putting love before duty creates that bottomless wellspring of energy, fuelling those unwavering and unfaltering acts of love, that hardness will eventually yield, and the iciness will melt under the continuous streams of warmth. And perhaps, when those iron-cold floodgates collapse under the torrential waves, the wellspring of love that she has been holding back thus far will gush forth - waves mingling and intertwining under the gaze of the sunset. For we are only human, and no human being is so cold as to be able to indefinitely hold back the torrential currents of love that nourishes the very core of our souls... and of our humanity.

A time for freedom and solitude (Part 2)

A year ago, I wrote about how frustrated I felt about those around me occasionally taking me for a helpless invalid and how, as a result, I tend to appreciate and enjoy my time alone, away from the crowd.

Well, a year later, little has changed.

Recently, someone asked me why I did not enlist the help of friends to set up my newly-purchased furniture from IKEA. My terse response: If I had to do that, I may as well put on a blouse and skirt, break both my arms and legs, and sit in a wheelchair. For Heaven's sake, IKEA furniture is designed to be assembled by an idiot with ease. Do I look that incapable to you? I apologise if I sound sexist and egotistical, but there are just some things a guy can and should do by himself.

I am tired of people who ask me to speed up when I slow down to tie my shoelaces, yet tell me to relax when I am doing things fast in order to save everyone some precious time. Fast and slow is relative - so, who gave you the mandate to set the standard for me to follow, anyway?

I am aware that I have an eccentric sense of humour that sometimes border on buffoonery. So, does that automatically mean I am an imbecile? Must I ruffle myself up, and look and sound all serious an intelligent?

One thing I have slowly and painfully learnt is that when I try too hard to listen to and follow other people's standards, I stumble and fall. So today, I live by my own standards. I go at my own pace. I make my own eccentric decisions. I listen to my own instincts. And I have found that when I do so, I am seldom wrong. And if I do fall, I take the aches and pains myself. No quarter taken, none given. I do not need your sympathy. I only need you to respect me enough to let me do things my way. For if I could not govern my own decisions, actions and destiny, then what self-respect do I deserve?

So, for those of you who wish to impose your views and standards on me, here's my reply: Go f**k yourself.

My random musings on love

Recently, someone close to my heart commented that while I have written about a whole plethora of topics in my blogs - ranging from the suffocatingly-dull to the unbelievably insane - the one topic that I have never written about is l'amour - love. Now, this could be easily misconstrued to mean that I am not a very romantic person at heart - and I will vehemently deny that I am not! It is just that being both romantic and conservative at the same time, it does not come naturally to me to openly talk - or, in this case, write - about love.

So, for today, I shall endeavour to pen my musings about what love means to me. And, in not keeping with my usual propensity for coherent writings, I shall keep this musings as random and spontaneous as I can, in order to capture the spirit of my heart.

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I am standing in a crowd. The air is thick. The omnipresent chatter surrounding me is deafening. I look around, trying to turn my eyes away from the sea of anonymous faces that drown me. And then, from a distance, I see her. I do not remember when or where I have seen her before. But she seems even more beautiful now than I recall. She looks at me, a faint smile on her lips. She, too, appears to know me, but from where or when, she cannot seem to recall. We stand far apart, separated by the crowd. But as my gaze remains transfixed at her, the crowd seems to fade away, and there seem to be just two of us in a wide open space. My heart stops for seven pulses. Time stands still.

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The years pass. I never forgot her face. Her bewitching eyes. Her captivating smile. I receive word on her whereabouts. The memories come flooding back. I seek her out. The journey is long, the trials are many. But I find her. I look into her eyes. She looks momentarily, then her eyes look away. She does not remember me. But it does not matter. For I have found her again. That alone is enough.

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Perhaps, in time, she will remember me. And accept me for who I am. Can the beautiful gypsy La Esmeralda ever love the hunchback Quasimodo, and choose him over the gallant and dashing Phoebus? For even in her death, Quasimodo came to die alongside her, his deformed arms embracing her in death eternal. Will she ever see and know how much she meant to him?

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I sit beside the one I love. I reach for her hand. There is a mild hesitation from her. But it is mild. And only momentary. It is just shyness. She eventually relents. I feel the warmth of the palm of her hand. Our fingers intertwine. They move subtly, communicating silently our feelings. No words are spoken; none need to be spoken.

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