When to walk away

Adapted from The Star Monday 24 September 2012

Addiction takes many forms as many of us are painfully aware of.

It seems that I now have a slight cholesterol problem, which has prompted me to change my eating habits and undertake regular exercise. When I say "slight", I mean that if you were to cut my arteries and open you would probably find them lined with a mixture of rich creamy Gorgonzola, crisp sharp Cheddar and crumbly Parmesan cheeses, such has been my life-long affair with the stuff.

As soon as I'd received the bad news, I headed home, opened my fridge door and looked at my stash of cheese. I know we should never stare at our enemies longingly, but I couldn't help myself. Cutting back was going to be difficult. Over the next few days, the more I thought about not eating cheese, the more I wanted to have it. Addictions are like that. Deprived of my fix, I became obsessed with it. Suddenly, the only food worth eating had cheese in it.

"You need to find a substitute for cheese," said a friend, trying to be helpful. "You can get some non-dairy cheese in the health food section in the supermarket. When people are coming off heroin, they often take methadone, a synthetic opioid, to help them make the transition. I guess it will be just like that."

"You're comparing cheese to heroin?"I asked. "Well, they both can kill you, if you don't control your intake." It was obvious that I needed to find a substitute for my friend's advice.

I did look at the cheese alternatives available, but there's no way that I'm going to subject myself anemic soy cheese, or some doubtful plastic stuff that only melts at 1000 degree celcius or textured protein slices that are so tough that they can be used to re-sole your shoes. Any such substitutes would just makeme yearn for real cheese all the more and serve to underscore my deprivation.

Of course, it's not just my cheese intake that's now restricted. Many other favourite foods have also been put on the warning list: nasi kandar, char koay teow, nasi lemak, roti canai, pisang goreng, and mee goreng,to name just a few of the Penang specialities that have found a place in my heart, and possibly my arteries over the years.

My partner, a sickneningly healthy man who gets a huge kick out of eating nuts and fruits and running around a squash court for several hours, must have felt a bit sorry for me, because he went out and bought me a present.

"Ah, what a thoughtful man," I can hear some of you saying just about now. Ah, but wait till you hear what he bought for me.

A pedometer.

Other women get flowers, or jewellery, or perfume when they are feeling down in the dumps, but I get a device that counts every step I take. "If you want to get healthy, you need to take at least 10000 steps a day," said my partner. "It's a good starting point."

A good starting point? What did he want me to do? Walk to the moon and never come back?

Of course, since he was so concerned, the least I could dowas humuour him. However, I'm ashamed to admit that outside of holidays, when I can hike for miles without complaint, walking is pretty much an alien activity to me. If I want to go anywhere, I almost always take my car. And if there's a drivethrough option for buying food (usually contain cheese) or paying bills, that's where you'll find me.

I have since discovered that it takes 38 steps to get from my bed to the fridge, where my cheese is stashed -  I now limit myself to a small piece once a week. My partner, who doesn't have a cholesterol problem, continues to eat cheese whenever he wants to. But he does so discreetly.

While I'm doing my grocery shopping (2000 steps), he can indulge in any number of artery clogging activities, as long as he doesn't tell me every excruciating detail of the experience afterwards. Likewise, while I'm enduring speed walk(7000 steps) every other day, he can happily get stuck into a melting Camembert, far from my deprived eyes.

Contrary to my intitial reaction to the pedometer, the gagdet has now become my new addiction. Why, last night I even paced up and down my bedroom floor for 10 minutes, just so I could achieve my "step quota" before going to sleep. When my partner found out what I was doing, he whipped out his handphone.

"Say cheese!" he said, as he clicked on the camera function. I couldn't help but smile.

Love her, warts and all

Adapted from The Star Sunday July 22 2012

I was about seven when I was told something which amazed me. We were on our way to church that Sunday morning and beside me sat Nanny. She was her usual self, chirpy and well-prepared with nonsensical questions regarding anything and everything that was mentioned during the entire journey.

She didn't expect any answers as the questions were raised to fill in the gaps when silence crept in. Sort of like a cue card contrived to throw us off track so that we would repeat ourselves and include her in the conversation. Cheeky. Along the way, dad made a sharp turn and we were on Jalan Sungei Besi. It was the first time that morning that I bothered to look out the window. Straight ahead on my right, slightly below the white clouds that illuminated the dark sky was a hangar.

Airplanes of different sizes and models were in the hangar. A big green helicopter that looked battered stood out. It reminded me of the aircraft summoned to war during the attack on Pearl Harbour.

I ooh-ed and aah-ed and, noticing the gleam in my eyes, Nanny said that in her early days, she used to fly it. being too little to tell the difference between her lying and her honest face, I believed her. Besides, she had the most innocent eyes, the kind children have.

Some months back, we passed by the hangar again and I suddenly remembered what Nanny had told me that Sunday years ago. This time, however, I started to doubt her words, to the point that I couldn't just let it go. So, with her seated beside me again, I decided to bring it up.

I asked Nanny about the olive green helicopter. I interrogated her. After a few minutes, I realised how stupid it sounded. But, being senile but not deaf, she heard me, registered my questions for a while and, without giving me a straight answer, she began to laugh her wicked-witch laugh. I knew then that she was just messing around with me. Even so, I sulked during the entire ride home.

This, coming from the person who taught me to always tell the truth and that even is you tell a little white lie, it's still a lie. I couldn't believe it. The seven year old me would have cried, but the 18 year old me just sat in a corner and kept to myself. I wondered if Nanny would have told the older me the truth. But I then realised that it wouldn't matter either way. In life, there are people you can stay mad with but who don't give a damn if you ever forgive them or not.

There are also the handful people whom you can squabble with, and have tiff after tiff. But at the end of the day, you realise that even if it wasn't your fault and you aren't willing to apologise, you will do so anyway because you cherish your relationship with them more than your pride and ego. Nanny is one of those people.

I'm beginning to cherish and appreciate my grandma a little more these days. I know I should have started a long time ago. Right now, she's sitting on her usual right-side of the sofa, as she flips through the newspaper. I glance at her every now and then I think of the times I put my pride ahead of my better judgement, which led to never-ending disagreements. I think of the times I raised my voice while tyring to put my point across to her. I think of the times I shouted back at her when she was just advising me to be careful. As I replay those horrible incidents, a wave of regret washes over me.

Nanny is only a few feet away from me and I miss her, and that's never a good way to miss someone. We haven't fought for a few weeks now and I'm beginning to believe that my Wednesdays aren't cursed at all.

I hope she knows that I love her. She is the only grandparent I have left, and no matter what, there will always be a part of me that's willing to do anything to see and make her happy :)

"Lost" generation given hope

Adapted from The Stars, Sunday 1 July 2012

Wang Ming has visited three provinces in China since the beginning of 2011. That's not bad going for a 12-year-old. Without a guidebook or a change of clothes, the boy took nothing but 200 yuan to 300 yuan (RM100 to RM 150) for each trip. Sharing a passion for globe-trotting with his hero Bear Grylls in the tv programme Man vs Wild, he has attempted to realise his dreams by becoming a runaway.

At a juvenile centre in Beijing, Wang is among 40 children brought in off the streets. Some ran away from home, others were abandoned. Since it opened in 2003, the centre has helped more than 5000 "lost" children. It's difficult to gauge how many children are living rough on China's streets, but on June 1 the Ministry of Civil Affairs revealed that more than 10000 juveniles nationwide had been rescued or were being given shelter and protection in government-run-centres from January to April this year.

A 2007 survey conducted in nine cities, including Beijing, Hangzhou and Shanghai, by the National Working Committee on Children and Women under the State Council, estimated the number to be between one million and two million. Situated close to Beijing's East 5th Ring Road, the pink roofs of the centre's six bungalows are bright and vivid in a sea of grey or white builidngs. Youngsters aged between three and 18 - mostly from rural areas in provinces such as Hebei, Henan, Sichuan, and the Ningxia Hui autonomous region - make up the bulk of inhabitants.

"The children sent here are those who can't remember where they're from or who haven't contacted their relatives for many years," said Xu Dong, director of the centre, who explained that domestic abuse, difficult relations with parents or a cripplingly low standard of living are the reasons usually cited when the children are asked why they ran away.

Wang's story is slightly different. His parents are divoreced and Wang and his older sister have been living with their father in a village in Jiangsu province in East China. Wang's father works in construction and rarely has time to devote to his children or their education. Wang found himself at loose end. "I don't like school or the village. They're so boring," he said, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously.

Xu said that many of the children give false names and lie about their backgrounds when they first admitted to the center to avoid being sent home, but they usually end up admitting the truth once they learnt to trust the staff. That was the case with Wang, who was persuaded to reveal his real address and contact details for his father.

"I don't want to stay here, even though it's nice to have clean clothes and sleep in comfortable bed," he said. He ran away from home early last month and sneaked onto a Beijing-bound train. This latest escapade followed two previous attempts to break free when he travelled to the provinces of Guangdong and Yunnan "to see those beautiful sites", he admitted, as he described the bridges and mountains he'd seen. With little money in his pocket, he ate food provided by locals until the police sent him to the juvenile centre.

According to Xu, this type of "free travelling" is quite normal for runaway kids. They can easily avoid detection and the ticket checks on trains, although Wang occasionally bought a ticket using an ID card he found in the street and the money he had "borrowed" from home. The mini-adventurer is driven by wanderlust.

"I saw people travelling to famous places on TV, and I wanted to be just like them," he said. In the early days of his trip to Beijing, his love of TV prompted him to visit the Military Museum of Chinese People's Revolution. "I knew the museum from a TV programme. It's a place I dreamed about," he said.

Like Wang, who is moving from childhood to a sense of self engendered by adolescence and beginning to pursue his own choices, most of the children at the centre are 11 to 16 years old but few have close connections with their immediate family. However, their lifestyles have provided them with strong survival skills. roaming the bar areas of North 2nd Ring Road, Wang spent most of his days in electronic games arcades, picking up dropped coins to feed the machines, and slept on park benches at night.

A number of residents provided food, including an African man who piqued the boy's curiousity. "I took a bus to the international airport and asked the service people how I could get to Africa. I even showed them the ID card,'' he said. "But, they refused to let me travel, saying that I could only go there with my parents."

After a few days on streets of the capital, the police sent Wang to the rescue centre. Once the boy revealed his real address, Xu contacted Wang's father, who refused to take his son back, reasoning that he will almost defnitely run away again. "If local government in his hometown can't send someone to collect him, we will have to send him back alone," said Xu.

Basic education is provided for long-term residents and the centre is supplied with books covering the entire nine-year school curriculum. Although there are only about 40students in the class, far fewer than in ordinary primary schools, teaching is not an easy task. Every 60 minute lesson is split into three, 20 minutes allocated for each group, with students taught according to their ability and previous educational background.

"Teaching those students really takes a great deal of patience and advanced skills," said Feng Guixia, a 59- year-old who teaches Chinese and Mathematics. She has been working at the centre, earning 1500 yuan (RM750) a month, since retiring from her job as teacher at a nearby school five years ago. "The bonds that connect the kids are very touching," she said. "Unlike a lot of children nowdays, the kids here always share what they have, whether it's delicious food, new toys or other things. The youngest child is always treated well, just like in a family," she said.

Roughly 90% of the children sent to the centre are eventually reunited with their families, but the others, those that have been abandoned, are destined to live there until they are 18. Li Shengli, 15, who arrived at the centre in 2005, was abandoned on a train. " I was travelling with my parents and fell asleep. When I woke up, they had gone," he said, avoiding eye contact and rubbing his left hand on his clothes. His hand looks unusual because he was born with just vestigial digits and not fully formed fingers. He doesn't know if that is the reason he was abandoned.

Li said he can't remember anything about his birthplace and little about his family, but he knows that he has an older sister and a brother. When asked if he wanted to find his family, he looked  down at the floor and shook his head. He perked up momentarily only when he spoke of things he's seen and done.

"I love the Great Wall. It's so long and so beautiful. We climbed for hours until our legs were tired and we could hardly take another step. We went to the highest part and saw the lovely scenery, colourful trees, blue sky and birds,'' Li smiled.

"I know where Beijing is. It's on the neck of the cockerel (to many people, the depiction of China on the map makes the country look like a crowing cockerel)."

But his interest evaporated when he spoke of life outside the centre, a life with which he's unfamilliar and a frigthening prospect: " I dare not explore the outside world. If I leave here, I will just be homeless again," he said.

My real life Hero

Adapted from The Stars, Sunday 22 April 2012

As kids growign up, many of us had our comic book or Tv show hero. We would be wide-eyed and in awe watching him(or her) in action. More often than not, we'd look up to our heroes and go, “Wow, that's cool!"

Besides Knight Rider and Airwolf, I was always amazed by how MacGyver was able to solve problem and get out of sticky solutions by fashioning a device, gizmo or gadgets with everyday materials at hand. Another amazing actor is Clint Eastwood in the movie Unforgiven- a seasoned cowboy of the Old West with raspy voice, rough skin and a serious demeanour.

Combine those two characters and you get someone who has always been my real-life hero. Someone I look up to. He goes by the name of Sharif, or more affectionately, Uncle Sarip.

I still vividly remember the two of us boiling a bunch of fresh crabs, which he had caught with his bare hands, and devouring them without the fancy-schmancy of plates and cutlery. And there was once when, as I pulled in frustrastion at the loose threads on the strap of my bag, he struck a matchstick and burnt the ends of strap.

Problem solved in mere seconds! Wow, why didn't I think of that? And he did it with a stoic expression, like Eastwood drawing his gun and shooting an empty tin can off a bench without batting an eyelid. It was he who took me on his motorcycle on my first ever motorcycle ride. I clutched his waist tightly as we rode around the neighbourhood with the wind in my face. I was exhilarated! It was such an adventure! As I alighted from the bike, my legs felt slightly weak and wobbly.

Uncle Sarip built houses and chalets with his bare hands, crafted a seagull mobile from wood, and fixed a classic Peugot 504 on his own. These things that he did made me go, "Whoa!" I was impressed with his abilities.

Like a mysterious, wise hero with a cool head, he doesn't talk much. Often, I'd find him sitting quietly at the back porch of my grandparent's kampung house, smoking his cigarettes while sipping hot black coffee. A man of a few words, but when he speaks, they are laden with care, sincerity and a sense of, "Everything's gonna be alright, kid."

I recently got news that Unlce Sarip, who is in his 60s, has been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. My first thought was that it was because of his heavy smoking. But the kid in me is devastated. A little panic creeps into the kid. He 's lost without his hero. Where does he go from here?

Slowly, my heart began to feel heavy and my head throbbed. How could my hero be weak and lying in bed? It doesn't make sense. Is this how it's supposed to end?

My mature, adult head tells me to wake up and not be naiive. But the pint-sized kid who looked up to his uncle in wide-eyed amazement is real. The expericiences that he gave me were real. The "Whoa!" that I had for him was real.

Perhaps he is going to another universe? And I'll eventually meet with him one day? In the mean time, may God bless my uncle - my hero :)

Long long time ago...

Once upon a time, there was an ordinary little girl who was as ordinary as raindrops where you can see and get it everywhere. She was shy, and very shy (redundancy shyness). She was shy to the extend that she had no guts to walk out of the classroom to the school canteen to buy some food during recess. So, she had to starve for the next hours. She was quiet too. She did not talk to her classmates, because(oh) she was extremely quiet. When teacher asked her to answer question, if she could not answer, she would cry because teacher did not let her to sit. Back at home, she was not like this. She was a bad tempered little girl. She angry and upset over something small very easily. She was like, a turtle outside the house and a cat at home. A turtle because turtle does not make any sound, or noise when it walks, or what. A cat because cat is proud and very lady-boss. Just nice like her character. So, what do you think will happen to this little ordinary girl ? So, what is the point of this story ? It's not a story, just an introduction of how the story line will go......to be continued.............

A Christmas Gift

Christmas is a significance of the birth of Jesus Christ. The day when Jesus was born. It celebrated by the christians worldwide. Some who are not christians also would like to celebrate this occasion because it is worth to be rejoiced about. Anyway, here are some sharing that I found on facebook.

Suggestions for Christmas gifts :)

To the enemy : Forgiveness
To your opponent: Tolerence
To your friend: Your heart
To a customer: Service
To all: Charity
To every child: A good example
To yourself: Respect

You can shop this last minute too!

Merry Christmas everyone ! :D

A "sorry" is meant to be forgiven.

I am truly sorry for neglecting this blog for many months. My last post was 3 months ago. Very sorry about that, I will be posting some new stories soon! A whole chunk of stories were waiting for me to be typed in here!

Wait for my good news yah!

Nerd, redefined

Extracted from The Star 25 September 2011

It takes time and effort to see beyond what meets the eys.

Nerd: an intelligent but single-minded person obsessed with a non social hobby or pursuit. I love books. They're my best friends. In fact, once upon a time, the only boyfriends I had were Harry Potter and Edward Cullen, if you know what I mean.

I have to say that I am perfectly content with how my life is but I'd be lying if I said that the little dreamer deep within me didn't yearn for some TLC (Tender, Loving, Care). I'd be lying if I said I never dreamt of Prince Charming sweeping me off my feet. I'd also be lying if I said I liked being alone.

Growing up as an introvert is not the greatest thing. I rarely ventured outside my conmfort zone and preferred the companionship of books to people. But yes, reading does have disadvantages.

I waited for a long time for that person to complete me. For that fabled soulmate to make me feel on the top of the world. It wasn't until I was older that I learnt there is no such thing.

My first day of secondary school was awkward. Stepping onto unfamilliar territory is not my forte. Too bad the back door of the classroom was locked or I would have sneaked in from behind. No such luck.

So I entered from the front with as much bravura as I could muster, which wasn't much considering how I shuffled along the walls and tried not to be noticed.

I touched down safely at the very end of the classroom and tried to look busy, ignoring the stares my new classmates were giving me. A guy at the same table didn't stare but the look in his eyes showed that he understood how horrible being in my shoes was.

I cannot remember the first words we exchanged but I was glad we did because we became close friends in our remaining two years of school. It turned out he was the smartest guy in the class. And I didn't mind it at all because now, we love reading.

Then we went our separate ways and I thought I'd never find a companion like him again. I went about my days keeping to light conversations with acquaintances, and limited them strictly to topics related to college.

I thought that in lifetime there was only one person who could understand you, only one person who knows you better than yourself. I was prepared to be in my own world.

But the forces that govern life decided to take things into their hands and pulled the rug from under my feet. I fell hard but have no regrets whatsoever for getting a sore bum. I met stranger whom I never knew would be my best friend. She astounded me because we are so alike, despite her being my senior. We became joined at the hips, like sisters.

However, just as fleetingly, she completed her two years at college (with perfect CGPA) and is currently studying at the University of Michigan in America. Thus is the reality of life. I feel there are many people who can complement us. They come and go; there is no denying that what you love the most, you cannot keep.

Friendship is like flying a kite. You have to let it soar high up in the air. If you hold the thread too tightly, it will crash to the ground. Although your kite may seem small and distant from afar, you know it's there in the sky because you're connected to it by the thread. And you're comforted because wherever the kite goes, it will return to you.

To date, my secondary school friend is the only one who dares call me a nerd to my face and every once a while, I try to prove him wrong. My college mate has shown me how much more a person can be beyond the books we study and I hope to follow in her footstep as I prepare to transfer to the United States next year.

I appreciate people who make someone smile, who take time to know someone, who accept someone without judging her. They are no Mother Teresa or Oprah Winfrey, but in their own way, they help make the world a better place by bringing hope to those who are alone.

And to those who are discouraged, and feel uneasy and ever so small, I wish to say this: "You are someone. Just believe and you will be.''

This piece goes out to my two most awesome kindred spirits - you know who you are. Thanks for being worthy friends and teaching me that you are more than what people say you are. I know this sounds totally cliched but I am who I am today because of your friendship and gentle guidance.

Nerd: just another noun that fails to take account the person as a whole.

Yesterday Once More

Extracted from Ths Star Thursday 22 September 2011

Recently, I read an entry in my friend Arisha's Facebook, which said : "When I was a kid, I didn't have a laptop, iPod, Blackberry, PS3 or Tablet. I played outside with friends, bruised my knees, made up stories and played hide-and-seek. I ate what my mum or caretaker made. I would think twice before I said "No" to my parents. If I misbehaved, I got caned. Not just me, my friends too. Life wasn't hard, it was good and I survived. Kids these days are spoilt ..."

Her entry inspired this column. I began thinking about my childhood and how wonderful it was. Mum and dad were very busy making ends meet, and lookind after my two older sisters and brother. So the three youngest ones - my brother, sister and I - were brought up by my grandparents in Cheras, KL. Grandpa was very kind but also very quiet. He was hard of hearing and didn't speak to us much. It was Grandma who became our nanny/mum/best pal. She was great. She taught us to enjoy a simple life with wholesome fun.

We hardly ever watched television, except for the occasional Chinese opera. Even then, it was far more exciting to go and watch a live performance at one of those Chinese assembly halls with Grandma. The three of us would play outdoors a lot. There was sandy patch otuside the house where we would play masak masak (pretend cooking), using leaves and tree branches as kitchen utensils.

There was a small lake near the house where we would catch little fish using empty cans and a sieve, and a playground where we'd spend hours before or after dinner. It was so safe that we were allowed to play by ourselves, without adult supervision.

But weekends were the best. Every weekend, my seventh and ninth aunts would bring their children for a sleepover. On Saturday morning, when Grandma left for the market, the fun would begin. We would get dressed up in sarongs and pretend we were famous Chinese singers, performing on the long dining table which became our stage. Other times, we "sold" kacang putith (peanuts) and junk (from Grandma's cupboards) using paper money we made ourselves; or we played teacher and students ... until we heard Grandma's voice from the outside. The we would clear up everything in an instant and life was back to ''normal".

Sundays were outing days. Grandma, uncle and the aunties would often take us to Lake Garden in Kuala Lumpur, where we would jog, roll on the grass, chase each other and have a picnic. We were creative. We used out imagination to have fun, lots of it! We appreciated nature more.

Kids today prefer to stay home, watch TV, play PS3, get onto Google and gossip on their Facebook pages. I know many parents would love to have our kids enjoy what we had before but there are all sorts of obtacles. We're too busy to take them outdoors because of work. And the living environment today is different and not as safe.

So many of us live in high-rise condominiums with little contact with the world outside. Our kids don't have much space to explore and have fun. We don't let them out for fear of them being kidnapped.

But I know some parts of the world where children can still have good old-fashioned fun. While I was studying in Montreal, one of my lecturers (now a very good friend ) had a country home two hours away from the city. Her family would spend every weekend and school holidays there with the children. Although they were already teenagers, they loved being outdoors. They built a tree house, planted trees and herbs, counted the stars at night, made wishes when tehy saw shooting stars, made fires for a barbeque or just to roast marshmallow, and made toys from old socks. They would pick mushrooms during the rainy autumn season and flowers to decorate the cottage. I felt the privileged to be part of their wonderful life.

As far for my own kids, we hardly let them watch TV; use of the Tablet is restricted to once a week, once they have finished their homework. I try to influence them by making things from recycled items. Max has even acquired the habit of keeping junk, saying he will make something out of it one day when he has an idea.

They are also very lucky, as they have wonderful grandparents in Germany who make them things themselves. This summer, when we went back to Germany, the children were welcomed by a new swing in the backyard made by Opa ( grandfather in German ),right next to the tree house made by Opa and Max tow years ago.

Back here in Malaysia, when I met up with my family for dim sum recently, I brought up this issue about kids being into electronic gadgets. I was surprised to hear my dad say: "It's good! Then they will not learn bad things outside." I guess my parents aren't aware that the Internet is not all safe either.

I feel lucky to have been born in era without digital devices. Otherwise I may not have appreciated nature the way I do.

Yes, I do enjoy the convenience brought by the Internet and mobile phones. They make the world feel smaller, we're more in touch with other side of the world. As always, there are pros and cons.

But while we should appreciate the benefits of digital wizardry, I just wish the younger generation could appreciate the beauty of nature more.

Say No To Bullying

Extracted from The Star Wednesday 11 May 2011

Memories of sitting under the staircase, holding on to the pieces of my shattered self-confidence still play in my mind whenever I hear the word "bully". Having grown up being chubby in comparison to my stick-thin cousins, I was subjected to both harsh comments and other rather cryptic ones.

One of the most common ones are, "Oh, you're looking... healthy!". All I could do was reply with a mere "thank you" in a bid to not come across as impolite.

Although adults in my family never directly taunted me about my weight or size, my cousin who weren't as kind all reflect back on other words with remorse now that we're older.

I'm glad to say I've moved on, and the feelings of hatred have dissipated as the years passed. Still, it doesn't give anyone the right to physically, mentally or verbally bully an individual. Bullying takes place in any situation or form, and at any stage of one's life. Although the way we react to it differs from time to time, in the end, it all comes down to same thought : "It hurts."

There are many reasons why bullying is such a common occurrence, especially in schooling environment.

There are school-going adolescents who are attention seekers, jealous peers, and those hat succumb to peer pressure just too easily. As such, some of us fall "prey" to those who appear to be higher up in the "social hierarchy".

In that sense, school is similar to the food chain in the wild. The weaker ones get picked on and trampled over by the ones who seemingly have more power. Bullying in schools appears to be more common these days. We read about it int he local and international media and watch first hand video accounts of it online. Although we express sympathy and disgust, we often overlook the root cause.

When I was studying in Malaysia, I've witnessed quite a few of my peers transfering schools after constantly being verbally bullied.

Being picked on for your taste in music, body image, language fluency and even intelligence level was not uncommon at my old school. Nothing protected my peers in these situation; there were no school rules or policies dealing with bullying. There was only so much could do as friends to stick up for them as once the people who "ruled the school" spoke, everyone else followed suit.

Thankfully, I've never seen my schoolmates take drastic actions in response to all the tormenting. But I have seen the tormentors walk free, leaving the victims to resolve the situation by changing schools. Perhaps this is the cause of the never-ending chain of bullying in Malaysian schools and schools throughout the world. T

The offenders never get put off from doing what they do because there is an appeal to committing such actions and not being disciplined for it. Students are getting bolder, recording videos of these bullying "sessions" and posting it up on social networks. This indicates that the offenders simply have no fear of getting caught.

They openly reveal their faces and school uniforms and are seen to be taking pleasure in inflicting pain on others. There is little, if any, attempt at being discreet. Looking at it from an offender's perspective, one would be more inclined to repeat their actions if they've done it before and gotten away with it.

If a victim does not report a case, or takes some form of action against bullying, the offender is likely to repeat his or her actions. While the subject of bullying is occasionally brought up as an issue in schools, it generally only happens when a major incident occurs. This might put the offenders off for a short period of time, but they are likely to resume their usual routines, eventually.

In Australia, I feel that there is a cerain feeling of safety when I walk into my classroom as compared to when I was studying in Malaysia. Here, an anti-bullying charter is read out in each class room at the beginning of each school year. The charter states that there is an expectation that all members of the school community respect and tolerate individual differences.

Definitions of bullying are outlined in the student diaries we carry around everyday to our classes and a copy of the anti-bullying charter can be found in there too. The effort to eradicate bullying in schooling environment in Australia is taken very seriously and is not something to be taken lightly.

Most schools here have a zero-tolerance policy to bullying and enforce compulsory counselling or even expulsion in extreme situations to discipline students. Without the stress of dealing with bullies, a student's schooling experience can be so much more enjoyable. After all, we already have enough homework and eam stress to last us till oour golden ages.

It is difficult to enforce something as abstract as "anti-bullying", but perhaps more needs to be done within school communities to stress psychological effects that bullying has on young mind.

There is still much more work to be done before we reach a point where students are able to be educated in a protected learning environment.

How a stem cell transplant altered two lives, for the better.

So, here's another story that I am going to share to you guys, the whole world.

Extracted from The Star, Wedenesday 11 May 2011

The meeting between the seven-year-old boy and the 31-year-old man began awkwardly, as meetings of strangers often do. But then young Jacob Kowalik sized up the adult, and began to drop his guard. They played tic-tac-toe. They talked about hockey. Jacob and his parents invited Marshall Davis to their house for pizza, Jacob's fovourite meal. There also was a gift, a husky dog stuffed animal, although it was not for young Jacob. It was from him, a small token of thanks to this man who had given Jacob a gift that the boy was too young to understand fully.

Jacob's parents knew what Davis had done for their son, but how would they convey the magnitude of their gratitude? "What do you say to someone who saves your child's life?" Jennifer Kowalik later asked.

So she kept it simple.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out to give Davis a hug.

Gift of Life.

It all started with a swab of the cheek more than a decade ago, almost four years before Jacob was born. The a young collegiate fencer at the University of Florida with his sights set on law school, Davis saw that a bone marrow registry called Gift of Life was having a drive on campus. He and some friends offered their DNA samples; it seemed like the thing to do. He filled out the required paperwork and gave it little more thought.

Then, in the summer of 2009, he received a phone call. A five year old boy needed stem cells, and Davis was a match. This was his chance to save a little boy's life.

"Wow," Davis thought. "How cool."

He was excited, but he was scared, too, as he considered the seriousness of the commitment he faced. There was medical risk to him, although generally managable, he was told. Treaments before and during the cell harvest could be uncomfortable.

But if he did not do it, the chances of finding an equally good match, quickly, were slim.

For Jacob, this was the equivalent of winning the lottery. Doctors said the abnormalities in his marrow eventually would develop into acute leukaemia without the transplant. Davis matched seven of eight of Jacob's characteristics that are considered when pairing donors and recipients; even Jacob's immediate family members were not nearly as good as a match.

Davis knew he had to go through with it.

"We found a donor!" Becki Maloney, a nurse in Chicago's Children's Memorial Hospital, told Jacob's parents. They, too, were thrilled but, like Davis, initially hesitant. At this point, Jacob was not showing any external signs that he was sick. In fact, he appeared to be the picture of health, a gregarious, sports-loving first grader with a bis smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. For him, a stem cell transplant came with its own risks and challenges, among them a common, potentially fatal complication called graft-versus-host-disease.

But his parents also knew this had to be done. This donor, and his stem cells, represented Jacob's best chance at life.

The procedure.

In the suburban Philadelphia where he lived with his wife Helen,Davis began treatments. As the stem cells multiplied in his blood stream, he felt archy, almost as if he had the flu- an expected symptom.

In October 2009, when it was time to harvest the stem cells, he travelled with his parents to the University of Maryland Medical Center in Baltimore. There, he was hooked up to a machine that, for six hours drew his blood and sifted out his stem cells before returning that blood to his body.

The stem cells were out on ice and flown to Chicago, where Jacob and his family were waiting. At this point, the process was still anonymous and would remain so for a year, although the Kowaliks were able to send cards to Davis, who had returned to normal life as an attorney and as fencing coach at Swarthmore College.

"Thank you for saving my brother," Jacob's older brother, Zach, said in a handmade card.

Finally, a year after the transplant, Davis and the Kowaliks were allowed to contact one another. They were in touch by e-mail at first and shared details about their lives.

Jacob, Davis learned, had indeed developed graft-versus-host-disease. He had lost his sandy brown hair and his skin had turned blotchy and red, and is still sometimes so raw it bleeds. He also wears special glasses to protect his light-sensitive eyes.

Typically, Jacob is very strong, his parents say. Occasionally the tears flow.

"He bottles it up," says his dad, Michael Kowalik, a salesman in the semiconductor business. "So it's a release. He needs to get it out.

Jacob also asks a lot of questions. "Why did I get sick?" he sometimes asks his parents. "When will I get better?"

He was aware that some of the other children he has met at the hospital have not made it. But increasingly, his parents feel confident he will. His doctors do, too.

"It is very favourable for him now. The biggest concern is if he gets an infection," says Dr Reggie Duerst, clinical director of the stem cell transplant unit at Children's Memorial.

First meeting.

Last month, Davis, his wife and his mother flew to Chicago for a national fencing championship and to meet Jacob and his family. Together, they visited the hospital where Jacob was treated; a reporter and photographer were invited along.

Jacob was shy. But his parents thought it important to share their story so that others might register to be donors.

"By telling your story, you could save another kid's life" Jacob's mum told him, on the way from their home in Chicago suburbs.

He stopped what he was doing. "What?" he asked.

"I think that's when he truly got it," his mom says. "The light bulb finally went off."

Jacob goes to the hospital twice a week for photopheresis treatments; his blood is exposed to light and medicine to help the donor cells adapt to his body. He also is on steroids, though he is being weaned from them.

During treatment, he played cards and joked around with Davis. Even after a single weekend together, there was a surprising comfort level there. The families already were planning their next visit together on the East Coast.

"So the beach next summer?" Davis asked Jacob. "I'll go, if you go."

"Maybe," Jacob said, grinning. "Maybe never."

He giggled. Davis shook his head and smiled, too.

Jacob now goes to school two days a week. Next year, he dreams of being back on the baseball diamond and soccer field. The Kowaliks thanked Davis and his family repeatedly, until his mother, Carol, had had enough: "No more thank-yous," she said.

"It felt good to know it was appreciated," her son added. " But this has been life-changing for us, too."

Long road to justice

* Extracted from The Star (Monday 25 April 2011)

It all started when Jane (not her real name) began returning from kindergarten in sets of underwear that were not her own. He grandparents John and Linda, who were taking care of her, were initially perplexed to discover this but accepted the explanation of the kindergarten that Jane was being given baths at the centre.

The discovery that something much more horrifying was happening to the active four-year-old was made months later, and it rocked the foundation of the family as well as sparked a three year uphill battle for justice.

"A kindergarten is supposed to be a safe haven for children. We were so stupid. We didn't realise what was happening," John said sadly.

The retiree, who is in sixties and resides in Penang, said eyebrows were raised when Jane complained of discomfort when using toilet. She was diagnosed with a recuring infection to the genital area, and later, discharge was found in her panties which led the Kohs to seek explanations from the kindergarten. The couple also sought the help of their daughter, a gynaecologist, which led to the discovery that the child had been sexually abused.

"Jane's parents, who are working outstation, were present when we found out and everyone was dazed and very, very angry. John and I were horrified. Our children had trusted us and put their child in our care and something horrible had happened to her," Linda said, with tears in her eyes.

Looking back, John said he and his wife blamed themselves for Jane's ordeal, although the child had not exhibited signs of distress during her four months at the kindy in early 2008. A police report was lodged and Jane was admitted to a government hospital for two days for observation.

"We were asked to make statements to the police and I met with the officer investigating Jane's case.

Over the next few weeks, statements were recorded from the child and a suspect - the co-owner of the kindergarten in Bukit Dumbar where Jane attended - was detained by the police.

Losing Hope
John called the police weekly for updates, but received a general response that the case was being investigated.
"Four months after the police report was lodged, we started to lose hope. Everything was "pending" and "under investigation" and we did not know to which stage investigation had proceeded.

"Even Jane's mother told us to forget about it as nothing would be done", Linda said. The experience took its toll on the couple as well, with John admitting that the family went through very low time, while Linda was hospitalised for depression.

Finally in October, Linda heard from a friend about the Women's Centre for Change (WCC) based in Penang and made an appoinment.

Centre executive director Loh Cheng Kooi and her team took up the case and set up meetings and sent letters to various parties like the police, the Attorney-General's office, state Welfare Department as well as the Women, Family and Community Development Ministry.

Finally in March 2010, almost two years since the incident had been reported, the kindergarten co-owner was charged in court with raping a child under age of 12 under Section 376(2)(e) of Penal Code.

Justice, at long last
We were so happy when we heard the case was finally on, although I was worried that the man may get off the hook," Linda said. John added that the weariness he had felt for almost two years lifted when trial began and the family started receiving updates from WWC, whose volunteer lawyer Karen Lai held a watching brief for the family.

"WCC helped us so much. Before the case, we had never been to court or had to see police. We didn't know what a prima facie case was or what the sequence of events would be. WCC took us through the whole court process so we understood what was happening," John said.

A year later, on the day of the verdict on March 29 this year, John was awakened at 10.45am by Linda's crying. The tears, however, were happy ones as court had convicted Ewe Peng Lip of rape, sentencing the 48 year old to 20 years' jail and 10 strokes of cane.

Ewe has since been granted a stay of execution pending an appeal to the High court and is out on bail. For John, the verdict was the best ending possible to the three-year ordeal.

"For me, the sentence wasn't so important. What he did can never be undone but it was important that he was found guilty," he said.

John and his wife's relationship with Jane's parents has been severely strained by the whole episode.

"Things haven't been the same between us since the incident,'' John said, hoping that reconciliations can be made in the future.

On their experience of seeking justice for their granddaughter , the couple said the journey had seemed hopeless at times, but giving up was never an option.

"We feel the whole experience was very hard but we could not give up. I owe it to my granddaughter for what happened to her,'' added John.

seasons of fun under the sun

* taken from the Star 23 June Wednesday 2010

When I see my teenager son seated at the computer table, I am transported back to the days when I was his age. How different were the activities which we had indulged in compared with the present generation. While the youths of today spend most of their time in front of their computers, engaged in endless chat-room conversations or online games, their counterparts in days of yore did just the opposite.

Even though 40 years have come to pass, I still have vivid recollections of my days spent under the sun. Though we did not have computers, Play Stations and handphones, boredom never featured in our vocabulary. I hail from a small town nestled between the hilly terrain bordering Kedah and Perak. I remember that every outdoor activity that my peers and I engaged in came complete with an unwritten and unique set of rules. The timing and duration of every popular pursuit that we indulged in seemed to follow a chronological order, like the seasons.

For instance, there would come particular time of the year when we find ourselves suddenly playing with tops. Every child would then go in search of suitably-sized tree branch. With a folding knife in hand, he would slice off the wood bit then be hammered carefully into the tapered end. The nail head would be snipped off with pincer, after which it would be honed to a sharp point with aid of a file.

The so called "top season" had turned some of us into experts in making our own tops. However, for the inept ones, they had to settle for a less elaborate design which could be made by driving the whole length of panel nail right through the middle of a pinang seed.

As for the rope, the free end would be glued using rubber latex to keep it from fraying. The other end would be knotted and secured with a bottle cap to act as a stop when spinning the top. When interest in top-spinning waned, another game would magically surface to take its place. It could be playing with bottle caps, flattened with a hammer and with a loop of thread inserted through two holes punched into the center of the caps. Using the thread, the metallic cap would then be spun at top speed to sever the thread of an opponent.

This game would then give way to yet another popular interest which involved lining up flattened cigarette boxes in a row on the ground, only to be mowed down lalter using pipes of rounded cement slaps flung from a distance. Another favourite pastime was collecting rubber seeds and turning them into minirattlers with dried stems of coconut fronds, bent and inserted through the middle of the seeds.

We discovered, too, that when the green fronds were twirled into a tapered spiral form and blown with mouth, beautiful high pitched as well as buzzing sounds would emanate from the large hollow end. Other times would be spent on fashioning our own slingshots from the twigs of guava trees or shaping and pasting our own kites from sliced bamboo shoots.

And yet there were some who enjoyed catching colourful dragonflies by their tails, or plucking the green pointed leaves off hibiscus plants wherein could be found the tiny "fighting" spiders.

Other more adventurous indulgences include swimming in rivers and cooling oneself under a roaring waterfall. The bolder ones would wander into jungle fringes to collect berries which were eaten on the spot. Some would venture into soggy softness of padi fields to catch vibrant-coloured fighting fish, at the risk of being bitten by leeches. Having the nerve to peel off leeches lodged between the toes was nothing to shout about.

As for girls, they filled their free time playing seven stones, rope skipping and hopping on the airplane shaped square boxes scrawled crudely with twigs on the ground. Another favourite pastime was collecting the tiny bright red seeds of Flame of the Forest. They girls played with the seeds by throwing them into the air, and catching them with the back of their palms.

Origami was another engaging pursuit. The kids took delight in folding pieces of paper into attractive shapes. With so many varied activities to keep us occupied, we had so much fun. We grew up strong, healthy, high-spirited and with treasure trove of memories.

Sad to say, if nothing is done to preserve these pursuits, a time will come when they will be forgotten or at best, be relegated to inconspicuous corner of the National Museum.

December

It was the wettest December I had ever experienced. The torrential rains had ruined my holiday plans as floods continued to wreak havoc in several states. I had pleaded with dad to allow me to go to the east coast with my friends but he had been unyielding. Th thought of having to stay indoors for the next two weeks was not only depressing but also unbearable. Television did not excite me anymore. I was fed up of watching the same old movies on the cable television. Even the other channels had nothing exciting to offer. Finally, I decided to go into the attic to retrieve some books which I had not read for a long time.

The attic was surprisingly clean - a sign that mum had finally completed the chore that she had kept putting off. I looked around and noticed a teak chest that I had never seen before. Curiosity got the better of me and I walked towards it. I lifted the lid slowly and was pleasantly surprised to see variety of things in it - all of them reminders of my childhood. I looked nostalgically at the clothes I had worn as a child I had worn as a child and the toys I had played with. "Bobo" the teddy beat, which I had slept with until I was ten, had been dry-cleaned and kept in a box which also contained the first Mother's Day card I had made myself. I was not prepared for what I saw next. Lying at the bottom of the cardboard box was an old black and white photograph of a young woman. I stared at it incredulously. It was as if I was looking at a female version of myself. All sorts of questions and dreadful thoughts flooded my mind. I held the photograph tightly in my hand and dashed out of the attic, only to bump into my mother.

"Mum... who is this?" asked in a quivering voice.

From the look on her face, I knew it was a question she did not want to answer. Quietly, she held my hand and led me towards the study where dad had been working all the morning. She knocked on the door once before opening it. Dad looked up, and his expression of annoyance disappeared when she saw the photograph in my hand.

What I heard that day is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. The woman in the photograph was my mother, my biological mother - Lily Lee.

"Son, Lily loved you very much; just as much as Janet here loves you."

Dad's use of the past tense made me uncomfortable. It took a great deal of effort on his part to narrate the painful past.

My biological mother was six months pregnant when the incident happened. She had been walking towards her office when a motorcyclist came from behind and grabbed her handbag before speeding off. As a result of the sudden assault, she had lost her balance and fallen on the kerb. The head injuries she had sustained had a devastating effect on her health. The only option was to perform surgery, but due to her condition, this option was risky. The doctors had wanted to terminate her pregnancy to save her life but she refused. A month later she fell into a coma. Although the doctors had given up hope, Lily continued to live, though in a comatose state. It was as if she was not giving up on life till her baby was born. When the doctors deemed it safe, they performed an emergency C-section. Lily breathed her last the moment I was born into this world.

Dad sobbed softly as he finished relating the heart-wrenching story. All sorts of emotions consumed me. I was sad, confused and angry. Was I adopted? What about my father? Who was he? Had he abandoned me? After a while, I braved myself and stated what I thought was obvious.

"So, that means you are not my real parents. I am adopted!"

"No, son. You are not adopted. I am your father. Lily was my first wife. She made me promise her that I would marry her younger sister, Janet, so that you would not grow up motherless."

The sense of relief that I felt at that moment was indescribable. I looked at mum and I saw the pain and anguish in her eyes, as though she was anticipating rejection. Quickly, she looked down.

Slowly, I got up from my chair and walked towards her. I went down on my knees and held her hands in mine. Her eyes remained downcast, fearful of rejection.

"Mum, I know I am only seventeen but I am more mature than you think. You might not have given birth to me but you are and will always be my mother." I comforted her as much as I comforted myself.

She looked up slowly, her eyes searching my face for sincerity. Then with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.

Treasured Memories Grow Fonder With Each Passing Year

I am on my usual morning walk in the park and it is drizzling. I like to walk in the rain. It is cooler, the air is fresher and I like the touch of light breeze that usually accompanies the rain. The trees look greener as if the rain has washed off the dust and dirt from their leaves. The park is quieter as there are only a handful of us around. The playground is empty of shrieking children, and groups performing callisthenics like tai chi are also absent.

Pa, I remember the times that I rode with you, sitting on the front of you motorcycle with my hair blowing in the wind as we travelled from town to the army camp and back. I was very young then, maybe five or six years old, but I was not scared, with you sitting behind me and your strong arms around me.

I remember, too, the times we went swimming at Burmese pool. I used to sit with Ma and Ping(my older brother) by the side of the pool to watch your friends and you swim and play. How I wished then I could swim like you.

The lake looks whitish, reflecting the white clouds above and there must be billions of ripples in it. I can see small waves form as the breeze blows across the lake. I can also see the rushes by the side of the lake swaying gently. However, the anglers are missing, deterred by the rain. I remember the time in 1969 when I was leaving for Kualu Lumpur to further my studies. I was surprised to find you waiting at the station to send me off.

Although you had casually asked me the time of departure, I had not expected you to be there because as I was growing up, we had slowly grown apart.

You were always busy working, so we seldom saw each other. I was asleep when you came back from work and you were asleep when I left for school in the morning. Furthermore, you had become like grandpa - a strict, no-nonsense disciplinarian.

The butterflies are missing. These fragile creatures must be shelthering from the rain somewhere. The birds are quiet, too. The drenching they received must have dampened their mood to sing and they must be sitting on the branches of the trees, cold and miserable.

It was in my fourth year at University Malaya that I had to undergo an operation to remove a gluteal abscess followed by a skin graft. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to find you sitting beside my bed! I did not know how long I had slept or how long you had been sitting there. I was just glad that you were there.

My shoes are wet from stepping on too man puddles, I must have been daydreaming. The coloura of the flowers do not seem as bright today and some of them are soggy. The branches of the trees are bowed down, especially the Rain Trees, and the tips of their branches are almost touching the surface of the lake.

It was early 1975 and I had just started to work in Kuala Terengganu when I was informed of your illness. You were stricken with meningitis. I traveled to Kuala Lumpur to visit you at the General Hospital. The doctors said that they had to operate. The chances were 50:50 and that you might not fully recover; you might even be paralysed of worse.

I knew the graveness of the situation and was quietly worried. You looked normal but you could not remember anything we told you and would repeat the same question over and over again. You also kept asking for the time and I knew you were worried that visiting hours would be over and we would leave. I could sense that you were frightened which shocked me as you were a strong man. I hated what the disease had done to you.

I have reached the end of my walk now, gone past the playground again and out onto the sidewalk. I am now passing the big drain that flows beside the park. It is low tide and I can see the sandy bottom of the drain. I t reminds me of a video that i had recently watched. It showed a phone standing on a remote sandy beach. That phone connects to afterlife and you can talk to departed through it. The singer was bidding teary farewell to her late father.

Pa, it has been 34 years now. If I ever come across that phone, I want to tell you that I love you, and that I miss you.