Augustine’s Chronicles

A tribute to the classic Ladybird storybooks

2012-02-12T15:15:00.000+11:00

I grew up reading well-lovedLadybird books such as King Arthur, Robin Hood, Ali Baba and theForty Thieves and Aladdin and His Wonderful Lamp. My son is growingup with Hi-5, an iPad and YouTube.

I wouldlike him to enjoy the stories that I read when I was growing up like him. Iwould like him to know what the significance of the words “Open Sesame!”and “rubbing the lamp” are. I would like him to know how Sir Lancelot ofthe Lake defeated Sir Turquine of the Fort in a duel, and what the “TwelveLabours of Hercules” are. I would like him to know that there was a wealth ofchildren’s books and fairy tales – long before the Internet and a purpledinosaur called Barney came onto the scene.

I wouldalso like LadybirdUK to give me one good reason why they do not continue to printthese well-loved and timeless (read: no revisions required, just re-print themas they were – and in Kindle format, if that is the way to go in the 21^st century)classics – despite them still thriving healthily in the children’s bookpublishing business after all these years. As a parent of Generation X who grew up on and loved these storybooks, I believe I speak for many of my contemporaries when I appeal for the resurrection and return of these literary treasures for the sake of our children and grandchildren – many of whom will grow up not knowing an iota of these wonderful tales.

The collage below is a small tributeto just some of the classic Ladybird storybooks that helped to shape my childhood, my grasp of the English language at a very early age, and my rich imagination. And for that, I have my parents to thank for instilling the Ladybird reading habit in me.

Why do they even bother asking...

2012-01-06T22:59:00.000+11:00

A Malaysianpractice I grew up observing, but never quite understood: When customersplacing an order for food in a restaurant point to an item on the menu and askthe waiter, “Eh, this one nice, ah?”

I mean, what theheck were they expecting the poor chap to say? “Oh, Sir... actually it tasteslike vomit, smells like shit, and has the texture of sandpaper. But we thoughtwe’d put it on the menu anyway, charge an arm and a leg for it, and have a goodlaugh at the sad sods that are actually stupid enough to order and eat itnonetheless. Can I interest you in a serving? Very good, Sir.”

中文教育劣於英文教育？

2011-10-03T21:34:00.000+11:00

我於數年前居於檳城之時、時常與老一輩的居民聊天。一旦談着他們不熟悉之題目、他們便回應說：『（閩南語）汝人是讀紅毛册兮 lu-lang si thak ang-mO cheq eh。』(你們是受過西方（即：英文）教育的。）、意味中文教育劣於西方（即：英文）教育、而不受西方（英文）教育者則『缺乏常識』。

我很希望此思想是限於老一輩而已、否則會對我國（馬來西亞) 華校的未來有大影響。何故？因爲、若我們不將此思維定勢改變、則我國的中文獨立中學始終會被視爲『劣勢』。雖然我國今代的華裔家長會將孩子進華小受中文教育（爲保持語言及文化的起見）、但一到中學、大多數的華小生會離開中文教育而進國民型中學、一切捨棄中文、連課外母語補習班也不上。長期的結果是、我國華校生的中文平均水準便僅到小學六年級爲止。

注：本人非華校生、中文不佳、若上述有任何字彙文法錯誤、敬求讀者見諒。

What happened to the fine art of Euphemism?

2011-09-16T01:00:00.001+10:00

A: Would you like to attend <some event that is guaranteed to be soboring, you would want to cut your wrists just to pit yourself out of misery>?

B: I think I am washing my hair.

A: Wahhh... you wash hair take solong time one, meh?

Okay... somebody here seriously needs some lessons in euphemisms and sarcasm.The above example may not really have happened. But believe me, I have heard of/ read about very similar episodes in real life.

These are whatI call “potong steam” (Malay: Lit. “cut off the steam”, or kill-joy) responses toreally cheeky one-liners that were meant to be funny – not taken literally or seriously.And I’ve read quite a few such singularly obtuse responses on Facebookrecently. It just takes all the fun out of drywit. I really feel like wringing the buggers’ throats and saying, “Which part of the joke don’t you get?” Cometo think of it, if you have to even ask the question, then the exercise ofexplaining it is futile in itself. Perhaps it’s a language thing, no two waysabout it.

Neil Humphreys even devotedone chapter of his book “Notesfrom an Even Smaller Island” to this. I couldn’t agree more. These sad sods need to stoptaking things so literally, and get a life.

Facebook Etiquette 101: Do you plankheads know what the “photo tag” function is really for??

2011-09-11T19:32:00.003+10:00

I never really understood why some people habituallytag their Facebook friends’ ID's to clothes, flowers, furniture, restaurantmenus, dogs and cats... just about anything other than the personsthemselves. It’s no wonder then, when you browse their photos in theirFacebook profile, 90% of the tagged pictures show nothing but inanimate objects(the remaining 10% being dogs and cats), making you wonder if the poor buggersare even human.

When I browse a friend’s tagged photo, I expect to see justthat - my friend’s face. Not Fifi her neighbour’s chihuahua, a pair ofPrada stilettos that does not even belong to her, or a club sandwich on theTGIF menu.

So much for the Facebook developers taking all that trouble tobuild-in the automatic facial recognition feature (yes, people - in case youhave not figured it out even after reading this far, you are supposed to tagyour friends’ faces) in the photo tagging function. They may as wellhave saved themselves the trouble, and designed it to recognise a horse’s arse.

Yes, I know what these blockheads are going to say, “Oh, Itagged those pair of shoes to their ID, because I wanted to mention about it tothem.” To which I respond thus, “If you are a regular-enough Facebookuser to know how to tag someone in a photo, surely you are also familiar withthe [@person’s ID] function in the comments text-box (if not, please go andlearn).” That will just as certainly ensure that they get notified of your“mentioning them” in their e-mail Inbox, and it takes just as little effort toexecute. For Pete’s sake, please learn to use your tools properly, as they wereintended for.

Love Thy Job, Not Thy Company

2011-08-30T20:22:00.004+10:00

In one of my ‘mid-life crisis’ moods, I Googled the phrase “Do I need to be passionate about my company?” It was almost as if (God-like) Google read my mind, because the following link appeared at the top of the list of search results:

Creating Passionate Users: Don't ask employees to be passionate about the company!

The article really hit the nail on the head. Across the five (5) companies that I have worked for in the past 13½ years, I have never once been passionate about the products and services they sell – be it light-emitting diodes, mobile phone cameras, cigarettes, conveyors, robots, petroleum or soft drinks. I don’t get all hyped-up about brands (unlike some of my colleagues, whom I personally deem to be neurotics). I just happened to enjoy doing the stuff I did at work, and I did my job well because I liked it – plain and simple. And once I stopped enjoying it, or when assholes at the workplace made the job no longer enjoyable, I just moved on. So, does that make me a bad employee?

Thankfully, a number of my friends agree with my viewpoint. It’s nice to know that I am not alone on this. Honestly, for a while, I thought I was the only disloyal bastard who – time and again – was “not with the team”, just because I happen not to go all ga-ga about the companies I work(ed) for, and their products and services. I work for a company because I enjoy the job that it offers, and not because I get a hard-on over its brands.

Quite frankly, I find those people who chime those sickening “Ooh, I love my brand so much” theatrics so fuggin’ fake – and especially so when the product in question is about as exciting as toilet paper (no offence intended towards toilet paper manufacturers). Let’s see them continue to wax lyrical when they switch companies or, better still, if they jump ship over to a competitor. I would be the first to ask them, “So, I take it you decided to file for divorce so that you can sleep with the enemy, huh?”

To my current and prospective employers: When you decide to hire me, please do so because you deem me as someone capable of doing a good job within your company, and not because you think I am someone who is madly in love with your company’s brand and products/services. The latter is not a prerequisite for the former. And between the two, I think you know which of the two is the more important trait you would want in an employee.

Facebook Etiquette 101

2011-08-09T20:41:00.002+10:00

Some people should learn to tell the difference between public wall posts and private messages. I do not need to know that Tweedledum is rendezvousing with Tweedledee at whatever-ungodly-hour and whatever-dodgy-joint, wearing whatever-gaudy-coloured-underwear.

Let’s keep those one-on-one conversations offline (yes, plank-heads – the catch-phrase “We'll take it offline” was invented with you in mind) where they belong, shall we? Or, if you must use Wall Posts, then at least learn to use the “Custom Privacy” settings to limit readership. Unless you’re feeling so unloved that you absolutely feel the need for the whole wide world to be privy to the details of your weekly diary and the contents of your wardrobe.

Call me a closed-minded grouch if you like. But in an increasingly-connected world, let’s not forget that there is a lot to be said for this precious, fast-diminishing, and nowadays taken-for-granted asset called privacy. Networking is not synonymous with baring all. The last thing you need is for some loose-tongued Facebook acquaintance (whom you probably detest anyway, but mindlessly acknowledged his/her “Friend Request” with that whimsical click of a mouse) meeting you at a black-tie social gathering and saying out-loud in front of your partner, “Hey, I read on your Facebook post that you’re sleeping with so-and-so.”

Now, THIS is what I call "multi-culturalism", lah!

2011-07-10T15:43:00.007+10:00

Was sharing a light-hearted conversation with two La Salle PJ ex-schoolmates via Facebook this morning, following the events of Bersih 2.0 rally in Kuala Lumpur yesterday.

Now, one of my ex-schoolmates is an Indian, and the other is a Chinese. During the conversation, the Chinese chap would call the Indian chap ‘estate’, referring to the days when the first generation of Indian migrants to British Malaya worked in the rubber estates. In turn, the Indian chap would call the Chinese chap ‘lombong’ (mine), referring, in turn, to the days when many of the first generation of Chinese migrants worked in the tin mines of Perak’s Kinta Valley.

Firstly: These nicknames are not recent ones; they date back almost 20 years, to the time when we were all in high school back in the 1980’s/early-1990’s. Secondly, and this is the most important point: There were never any hard feelings, and the thought of the nicknames being offensive never crossed any of their minds. Back in our time, we could call each other ‘estate’, ‘lombong’, ‘ikan’, ‘sawah padi’, ‘dhut’,… whatever. And at the end of the day, we were all one jolly band of brothers kicking the same soccer ball together on that muddy LSPJ sad-excuse-for-a-football-field. Why? Because we recognised and embraced our diversity (note: not difference). As such, we were totally comfortable about laughing at and poking fun at each other without malice.

Even so-called ‘multi-cultural’ Australia cannot claim to be able to do that comfortably, as there is still the need to observe sensitivity and be politically-correct. In that sense, the Malaysia I knew back in my schooling days was culturally more mature than what Australia is today. We were already way past the stage of toeing the line, comfortable enough with our diversity to be able to cross those lines without fear of repercussions. The trivial nicknames aside, ultimately we still respected one another, and enjoyed our visits to friends’ homes for Hari Raya Aidilfitri, Chinese New Year and Deepavali.

Allow me to put this into further perspective. My ex-boss in Malaysia was an expatriate from England, also called Mark. One day, one of our mutual colleagues, a Scottish expatriate by the name of Bob, stepped into Mark's office while we were having a discussion, and said, “Mark, I need to speak to you.” Not sure which Mark he wanted to speak to, I light-heartedly asked him, “Which Mark – the Englishman or the Chink?” My boss commented, “Watch it, you’re being racist there.” I was incredulous. Excuse me, I just called myself a Chink – how does that make me racist? But the point is, he did not understand that in Malaysia, differences in cultural background are openly recognised and celebrated. Nor did he see the parallel between this and the equally-benign habit of the English poking fun at the Irish. And by the way, Bob the Scotsman grinned and replied without even batting an eyelid, “Actually, I’m looking for both of you.”

What has happened to all that in Malaysia today? Nowadays, silap panggil satu kali, itu parang pun kasi keluar, tahu...

‘Multiculturalism’ – What it means to me

2011-06-19T21:06:00.017+10:00

This one has been circulating around for a while now, but I decided to try and locate the source (this is probably not the original article, anyway):
http://andjohsemail.blogspot.com/2011/02/worst-nightmare.html

Firstly, let me state that I empathise with the reasons for the angst voiced in the article. I myself am a migrant in Australia. But unlike some of the migrant communities (no names mentioned), I do not attempt to assert my language and culture here. I do not seek out a whole army of my own kind to buy out an entire block of apartments and turn it into a mini-Asian suburb to the subtle exclusion of everyone else. I do not appreciate watching a scene where a bunch of Chinks babble on in Cantonese to the total exclusion of their non-Chinese Australian friends.

That is not the intent of my post today. Today, I want to write about what this big word ‘multiculturalism’ means to me, and the stimulus was from that article.

I recently had a conversation with an Australian friend here in Sydney, and he remarked that when he once visited Malaysia, he was incredulous when people there told him that “Malaysia is a multi-cultural country (read: ‘unlike Australia’).” He could not agree with that statement, because on the sheer basis of the number of cultures, languages and cuisines represented in Australia, Malaysia was nowhere close to comparing with the former, in terms of cultural diversity.

Now, if the sole metric for quantifying degree of multiculturalism in a country is the number of distinct cultures represented, then yes, I agree. But here, I humbly submit that it is not only an inadequate metric, it can be a misleading one.

A multicultural country comes about by the inflow of migrants, where the numbers represented by any given migrant culture are substantial enough to form a distinct and visible community (and here, I stress the word ‘significant’, because if the migrant numbers are too small, dilution and eventual total assimilation is inevitable, leading to the death of that migrant culture within a generation or two). But any migrant culture that is not part of the majority, will inevitably be eroded over successive generations by virtue of dilution and/or assimilation, unless there are practical mechanisms in place for their perpetuation and renewal.

True, Malaysia and Singapore may not have as many distinct migrant communities represented as Australia. But the trade-off is a lower degree of dilution. With each distinct community forming a larger percentage of the overall population, coupled with an environment where their cultures and languages are able to be lived and perpetuated in daily life, the renewal of those cultures is more certain.

Actually, I should reverse myself out of the above statement. In my experience, the Singaporeans in my generation are pretty shit at multiculturalism. While me and my Malaysian friends have grown up enjoying lemang and chicken rendang at Hari Raya open houses and rava ladoo milk candy during Deepavali, I have Singaporean Chinese contemporaries who have literally no inkling about what those festivities are.

Multiculturalism does not stop with each community safeguarding its own cultures; otherwise, we would end up with silo, fragmented and totally disunited communities – a perfect recipe for social meltdown. Multiculturalism also means encouraging the communities to embrace each other’s cultures. To those Australians in my generation who studied French or Italian as an elective subject in high school, I humbly ask: When was the last time you actually used your language schooling to exchange a couple of words in the elevator with a fellow Australian friend whom you know to be of French or Italian origin? Or is that stooping too low?

When I buy drinks from a ‘mamak’ stall, I try to place my order using what little Tamil I know (which, at the time of writing this article, is restricted to the numbers one to ten, the word ‘drink’, and ‘thank you’), but I can tell you that it is a gesture that the stall owners appreciate, because I try to connect with them. When I greet a Malay friend, I ‘salam’ them with both hands, and return the right hand to my heart the same way they do. I eat banana leaf rice with my hands the same way my Indian friends do. Conversely, it was a Malay classmate who taught me how to use a pair of chopsticks at the school canteen, and it was an Indian classmate who taught me a plethora of colourful Cantonese swear words.

Today, when I am in Australia, I live out my multicultural principles with a great degree of trepidation, lest I am drawn and quartered by the powers that be for going against the policies of assimilation, as the afore-mentioned article has clearly voiced. I speak proper English with all my colleagues. I have imbibed more beer in the past eight months than I have in the ten years prior. But here-and-there, I try to live out my principles of multiculturalism.

Two weeks ago, I discovered that Barat, my Indian colleague who sits opposite my desk speaks Tamil. Actually, I did not ‘discover’ it – I asked him directly what dialect group (of the 200-odd in India) he belonged to, as dialects always interest me. He was initially a bit taken aback with the question, but loosened up completely when I told him the reason I asked was because where I come from, the bulk of the Indian community speaks either Tamil or Malayalam – to which he quickly responded that he was also familiar with Malayalam, given its similarities with Tamil. Since then, whenever he and I worked together on a one-on-one basis, I would always conclude our collaboration with “Nandiri Vannakkam” (which means “Thank You”). And when we bump into each other on the way to the cafeteria for Friday evening drinks, and I ask him “Thani?” (“drink”), he would grin and say, “Yeah, why not…”

Carolyn, my boss, is of Dutch origin. I do not speak Dutch, and neither have I ever heard her use it. But before I departed on my 11-day Easter break, I quickly ran the words “Happy Easter” through Google Translate, and e-mailed her the corresponding Dutch greeting “Vrolijk Pasen”, to which she happily returned the same in Dutch to me. I doubt she ever uses Dutch anywhere outside the occasional Sydney Dutch Association gatherings. And before I departed for a week’s vacation last Friday, I stuck a notice on my office flat-screen monitor with the words “On Vacation” in ten languages. Yes, that was me making a statement.

Apart from doing my part to embrace the other party’s culture, there is another reason I do all of what I did above. How many generations more do you think my Indian colleague’s family will speak Tamil? I do not know if his children speak it at home, but even if they did, best case is one more generation (i.e. theirs). Last I checked, there are no schools in greater Sydney that teach Tamil as an HSC subject. And if I knew any Italian, I would try to go beyond just “Buongiorno” when I walk past Adrian’s desk every morning. In other words, I am humbly offering myself as one of a dwindling number of individuals in Sydney who can at least exchange two words with him in his mother tongue. Considering that I speak and write English 99.9% of my physical time at the office, I do not think that is too much to oblige, in a country that ‘embraces difference’.

An Australian friend of mine (whom I will refrain from identifying here, as he has been a good colleague, and I respect his right to voice his opinions) voiced his support for the afore-mentioned article, saying, “We need to keep Australia as Australia, not a satellite country for some other culture.” I can understand the spirit behind his statement. But here, I would ask: In that case, are you against Sydney’s Chinatown on Dixon Street, the Vietnamese enclave in Hurstville, or the Italian Forum on Norton Street in the suburb of Leichhardt – the very same ‘satellite’ communities that have provided Sydney with the rich concentrations of their respective cultures and their renewal and perpetuation?

Do not get me wrong. I am not saying that migrants should not assimilate into the mainstream culture, and speak fluently the official language(s) of their country of adoption. When I am in Malaysia, I cringe when I see the younger generation unable to string a proper sentence in Malay, and I feel exactly the same way when long-staying migrants cannot speak proper English in Australia. If there are nine Chinese and one non-Chinese in a group, and the nine start going off in Chinese, I would be the first to tell them to switch to English, for the benefit of the one. I do not deliberately use a foreign language as a barrier. But what I am saying is, we must recognise the differences and, more importantly, the necessary trade-off’s between promoting assimilation and perpetuating multiculturalism. Like any running machinery, maintenance is required. And if you are not prepared to allow maintenance, then do not expect this multicultural machine to last very long.

If a country wants to claim to be ‘multicultural’, then it must recognise the balance between expecting the migrant communities to assimilate, and allowing for perpetuation and renewal of these cultures. Otherwise, it is about as superficial as eating Chinese takeaways on Friday nights and, on that basis, saying “See? I eat sweet-and-sour pork like Ricky Chan over there, so I embrace multiculturalism.” Well, let me tell you that in two generations’ time, without cultural renewal, that yellow-skinned beady-eyed chap who is selling you your chop-suey in a box may not even be able to tell you how to say ‘rice’ in his native Chinese.

Note:

The readers will, no doubt, notice the heavy reference to Asian cultures in general, and Chinese culture in particular. This is in no way meant to downplay the equal validity and significance of the points I have raised, in regards to any other migrant culture. The prominent use of Asian cultures as examples was only on the basis of the author’s relative familiarity with them, as is my bias towards the linguistic aspects of multiculturalism. And by the way, I still think Australia is a great place to live.

NEWSFLASH: Right-angle isosceles triangles DO NOT EXIST!

2011-05-25T22:55:00.009+10:00

For the mathematical buffs and geeks out there:

We know that √2 is an irrational number. But has anyone thought of the physical implication of this?

By Pythagoras' Theorem, it means that a right isosceles triangle with both sides of unit length x would have a hypotenuse of length √2x.

In a mathematical world, the three sides of the triangle would be continuum's. However, in the physical world, we know that the lines forming the three sides are really made up of discrete atoms.

Let us assume for simplicity that the lines are exactly one atom in thickness. This means that each of the two mutually-perpendicular sides would be made up of nx discrete number of atoms in a straight line. We shall also further assume that successive atoms are equidistant from one another.

It therefore follows that the hypotenuse would have to be formed by √2nx number of discrete atoms. But because √2 is an irrational number, √2nx discrete atoms is a physical impossibility.

Let us then assume that we attempt to achieve a discrete number of atoms on the hypotenuse, by splitting the atoms further into k equal parts, i.e. the number of atoms on the mutually-perpendicular side would be nx/k and that of the hypotenuse would be √2nx/k, where k is necessarily a positive integer. However, because √2 is already an irrational number, turning √2 into an integer would require an infinite number of moves of the decimal point to the right, i.e. k→∞ and the atoms are split so small, they become a continuum, which violates physical laws of atoms. Or, stated another way, only if the size of the triangle approaches infinity.

Therefore, a right isosceles triangle in the real world is a mathematical idealisation, but a physical impossibility. Neat, huh?

Sir, there's pee on my tap...

2011-05-21T15:17:00.009+10:00

The hygiene benefit of washing hands under a tap faucet after peeing is a myth. No, I'm not being cute here. Think about it:

You pee. Droplets of pee fall onto your supporting hand (I mean, why else do you have to wash your hands after peeing?).
You go to the sink and turn the tap. The droplets of pee are transferred to the tap.
You scrub your hands with soap till they are so clean, they shine like a baby's bottom. Oh, and I assume that you rinsed your hands before handling the soap dispenser, or else droplets of pee are also transferred to the soap dispenser button.
You turn off the tap. The droplets of pee are transferred back to your hand (and some are left behind on the tap)
You open the toilet door. Some droplets of pee are transferred from your hand to the door handle.
Repeat with the next dozen or so people who use the same toilet.
Result: You have a potpourri of a dozen people's pee on:
- your hands
- the tap
- the toilet door handle
- the soap dispenser button, if you were a prick and did not rinse your hands before using

And I won't even go into the scenario of taking a dump. Better check them old copper taps; the colour camouflages brown pretty well.

Solutions:

Sensor-activated faucets and soap dispensers (foolproof, but expensive)
Continuously running water (wasteful, bad for the environment)
Push-type faucets, i.e. the ones installed at hotels and departmental stores, where the knobs slowly rise back up after de-pressing and cut off the water (okay, this will work, but is frustrating when you need the water to run for longer; and it still doesn't solve the problem of having a whole potpourri of pee collected on the knobs).

No car, no driving test? 駕駛測試必需自己提供車輛?

2011-05-20T19:57:00.009+10:00

I fail to understand the logic behind the New South Wales Road Transport Authority requiring driving test candidates to supply their own cars for their tests. The very fact that the candidates have to sit for the driving test means they do not have a driver's license yet. And anyone without a driver's license has no business owning a car. No car rental company would rent them a car without a driver's license, anyway.

So, what were they expecting the poor buggers to do - borrow their friend's Maserati for the day?

我甚不瞭解澳洲新南威爾士州交通運輸部要求駕駛測試考生自己提供車輛之道理。敬諸讀者思之: 凡進行駕駛測試者確無駕駛執照。非持有駕駛執照者不宜擁有自己之車輛。汽車租賃商實不租賃車輛給非持有駕駛執照者。則車輛何處而來？豈與朋友借其名貴之『瑪莎拉蒂』跑車爲測試駕駛車輛乎？

My first week experiencing the Australian real estate market

2010-10-31T09:22:00.002+11:00

Today is my 11^th day in Sydney, and a day before I officially commence work. It has been a hectic period, scrambling to sort out all the administrative and living stuff.

The Sydney (and Australian, in general) property market is harsh. Real estate prices are so expensive – I would venture to say that square-foot for square-foot, the prices here outclass Singapore’s by several leaps.

To put things in perspective: A one-bedroom apartment in Chatswood (a suburb about 20 minutes from Sydney city centre) commands a rent anything between AUD$350-400 per week - not even furnished except for basic built-in's and a stove (required by law). The same unit could probably sell for roughly AUD$400-500 thousand. Even without currency conversion, I cannot think of a single equivalent one-bedroom apartment in Kuala Lumpur (is there even such a thing?) that could command MYR$1,500 per month – you could practically rent an entire terrace house in Petaling Jaya with that amount.

And the worst part is, it is not as is people are being scared away from the high rental rates. For every apartment advertised for lease that I inspected, an average of 3-4 others were also inspecting the same place, with the hopes of securing a lease. It's a landlord's market here, and it scares the shits out of me.

To my friends and relatives back in Malaysia: Do not rant about expensive real estate. I can assure you, the Australians’ problems with ballooning real estate prices are far greater…

偽君子 Hypocrites

2010-10-13T02:28:00.001+11:00

成語所謂 “疑人不用，用人不疑。” 吾曰 “欲嫌勿做，欲做勿嫌。” 此乃偽君子所為，吾上恨也。

There is a Chinese saying, “If you are suspicious of someone, do not employ him; but if you choose to employ him, then do not be suspicious of him.” Well, here’s my thought for today: If you are going to complain, then don’t do it; but if you do it on your own volition, then don’t complain. To do so is hypocrisy – and I hate hypocrites.

溝通不佳 Poor communication

2010-10-07T13:38:00.000+11:00

我認為大致上馬來西亞華人 (尤其年輕代) 關鍵缺點之一，係溝通不佳。何如? 例: 辭彙不純淨，文法不正確，說話不準確，描述含糊，疑問答覆不具體，欲一需十問，不伸其眞意。

結果，誤會多甚，欲東得西，浪費珍貴時間資源，效率降落。

諸讀者: 君等同意上述否? 若然，君等認為此乃文化之問題，抑或教育之問題? 有一位從前同事回答說, “環境造成文化與教育問題”。我對曰, “環境又何原乎? 乃政治造成也。”

I believe our current generation of Malaysians are plagued by poor communication skills as a result of a bad language culture – adulterated vocabulary ("code-switching"), atrocious grammar, vagueness and inaccuracy, and lack of detail. So much time is wasted clarifying and rectifying Q&A's that could have been done correctly right off the bat, if only we have the discipline to.

Simple example: When I call a person whom I know is on his/her way to see me, and I ask him/her “Where are you?” (which, in full-style, obviously means “Where along the way from your point of origin to my current location are you?”), the response “I am coming” does not tell me Jack Sh*t.

My valedictory address to Murphy Labuan

2010-10-02T01:30:00.000+10:00

Today was my last working day at Murphy. It has been three long and rather exhausting years. I was given a nice little farewell at the KL office. That said, I have to admit that I am somewhat relieved that it is all over, and that I can finally return to doing what I do and like best.

I received a word of commendation from the Shore Base Manager for the Valedictory Address that I e-mailed to my team in Labuan. So, I thought I would post it here for posterity, and perhaps as a measure of inspiration for the future.

* * * * * * * * * *

To:
My esteemed Labuan team

Firstly, I apologise for failing to make the trip to Labuan for last Friday's Monthly Shore Base HSE Meeting, as an unfortunate series of hiccups with the flight plan changes resulted in my not being able to secure a seat on the plane. I hope you will kindly accept this written valediction in lieu of my presence in the flesh to deliver it in Labuan to all of you. Besides, being intrinsically shy and having mild speech impedimus, I am of the opinion that I tend to write a lot better than I speak (in just about any language I am familiar with, other than swear).

A three-year journey - one that began on 1 November 2007 - has finally come to an end. I walked in through the portals of Murphy, not knowing much about the Oil & Gas industry (other than that oil rigs look like miniature Eiffel Towers spitting flames), even less about boats (other than that they have sails, anchors and a feisty-and-bearded skipper) and nothing about drilling equipment (I thought a pup joint was a place where hounds congregate). The learning curve was steep, to say the least, but I have come out of it hopefully with a decent appreciation of how the industry operates. I will not claim to be an expert by any measure, but I believe I should be able to carry out a decent conversation on the industry at a cocktail party, without running the risk of having a casual eavesdropper who happens to hail from the oil patch harangue me for talking through my backside.

I sincerely thank all of you for the support that you have given me. In particular, I thank you for your patience, and bearing with my occasional ignorance about things in the oil patch, even as I fumbled about trying to provide all of you with some sense of direction. You will notice that often-times, and contrary to what I gather is the norm in the oil patch, my leadership style has been one of participation rather than autocracy. This is partly due to the fact that you all probably know a lot more about the operations than I do.

But more importantly, it also stemmed from a leadership style that I learnt from my mentor at Hewlett-Packard many years ago, and one that I successfully applied myself later on: It is the belief that all employees inherently want to do a good job - provided they are given the necessary tools, support and encouragement to carry out their duties with enthusiasm, and recognition where it is due (by the way, the afore-mentioned statement encapsulates what has been fondly called the "HP Way"). To that, I would add the words "respect" and "empowerment" - I do not subscribe to the management style of hounding over my staff (read: "management by fear"), and believe that all of you are capable and mature enough to be empowered to make decisions and take action where appropriate. What works in military does not necessarily (and oftentimes does not) work in the workplace. Employees need a certain degree of freedom (through responsibility, of course) and empowerment to grow, and an autocratic and micro-management style does little to promote such growth.

My job as a leader, as I envisaged it, has therefore been to clear the path, and eliminate the distracting and detracting bureaucracies and manholes, such that you are free to execute your tasks and lead your own teams without frustration or trepidation. In addition to that, and contrary to Sun Tzu's "Art of War" which proscribes the policy of "keeping the troops in the dark", I try to provide you with what necessary background information is available from the KL ivory towers (as and when it is apt to do so), so that you know the reasons (good or bad) behind the instructions I pass on to you, and more importantly, so that you are well-informed of the overall picture and therefore in a clear state of mind to, in turn, provide me with feedback, should such oftentimes high-handed decisions made upon this lofty perch called "the KL office" run totally against the grain of good operational sense (this I learnt from a 1980's BBC-produced documentary on good leadership). It is too easy to make decisions on paper in a nice swanky air-conditioned boardroom (the Chinese have a saying for it: 紙上談兵 "discussing warfare on a sheet of paper"), but the fact is, the real business takes place at the docks, in the yards and on a rig 120km out at sea. Being the boys in the front-line of the battlefield, you would know aeons better than us chaps in cushy offices, what works at base and what does not. To cite just one example, I once took away a valuable lesson from Rob that a "500m² clear deck area" quoted on a vessel specification sheet very quickly translates into 300-odd m² in reality, once you take into consideration fouling of pipe inlets and other deck appendages conveniently omitted from the literature - there is no substitute for standing on the vessel's deck and running through the drill-pipe load-out patterns in person with the skipper.

I leave all of you with just one request, i.e. that you continue to provide that same level of support to whoever my successor shall be.

I bid all of you adieu, and in an ever-connected, ever-shrinking world and ever-diminishing borders, I am sure our paths shall cross again in most unexpected ways.

Yours sincerely,
Mark Yong