The Wall of Fame and Shame

I bumped into a girl last week. She looked rather familiar, but I just couldn’t place her in my thoughts. “Cleo..is that you?”. “OMG, from the camp rite??” As we held our hands forward for a shake, we locked eyes and suddenly it all came back……

We were young and had just discovered our new found freedom. 80 teenage boys and girls with raging hormones and boiling thirst for excitement were rounded up and dumped into a quiet house on the top of the hills for 5 days and nights. Two dormitories beside each other, unlocked. This was the camp that marked our passage towards adulthood. We were promised a fun and unforgettable experience, and that’s what we got… more so for some of us.

For the first two nights, people were still a tad bit shy and reserved, trying to portray their best behavior to their newly discovered friends. There were fun activities planned out for us, from plays to dance to a mud fights, which got us closer and closer to each other. During the night after lights off, the boys and girls would sneak out to the back of the wooden dorm to get to know each other and giggle and flirt while the mischievous ones would go around playing pranks on each other.

By the end of the fourth night, people were already starting to feel the separation anxiety. We have had the best weekend of our lives and it was almost time to go home. Many first kisses took place at that camp, many best friends were found on that weekend and many memories were found in that time. There were many gossips that were lingering around, and we were all curious to know about “who was dating who” and “who had a crush on who”. I still believe that the camp was basically a secret match making effort by the church to keep the Christian teenagers within the clan.

On the last day there, there was a little surprise planned out for us. The organizers had invited our parents for a little “sharing and public confession session”. There were many of the boys and girls that broke down in tears in front of the crowd for committing sins such as “kissing” and “dating”. The entire session was almost like a joke to my mum and I. There was nothing that I felt that I should have confessed, God knows I was doing much more at that time and enjoying every moment of it thus we sat at the corner of the room criticizing almost every one that walked up to that stage.

There was this elderly and dignified looking man that marched his way up stage. He was the only one who had no guilt or sorrow or anger to unleash. With pride, he told the crowd what a beautiful relationship he had with his son and how he was the luckiest dad on earth. The change in dimension caught my attention for a while, but I couldn’t hold it for long. Slowly, his voice drowned into the background as I was filling my mum in on the “who did what and where”. The entire church gave him a standing ovation. This man, stood on stage, and nodded his head to his son as an invitation to join him up stage to say a few words. Little did he know, that that invitation was about to be one of his biggest mistakes.

Lollipop head walked up to the stage as his father took a seat in front of the crowd. Lollipop head turned around to the priest and said “ I’m sorry father, if what I am going to say may upset you”. With a shakey voice he said “ I think my dad is a fucker!’. “Everything he aid was a lie, and he is a bastard”. “My father walks around with a mask, and pretends to be someone else so that people will like him, but I hate him”. He broke down in tears, and as he was dragged down by our fellow friends he ended his speech with … “ He is a fucker!!” pointing at the direction of his father. There was silence in the crowd, and everyone there tried their best to hold their tongues. Whispers were passed, and confusion were lingering. The priest quickly apologized on behalf of the drama that took place, and things resumed to what it was.

We all thought that Lollipop head would have been crowned king on the wall of fame for Camp 2004. Theres always this one incident that happens in camp that is usually remembered for life. Least did we expect, that there was another public confession that would steal the thunder and wow the crowd. Something worse than that? Is that even possible??

Up on stage walks one of our friends, an average looking girl that I would have never remembered if it had not been for her tragic confession. Call it being humbled upon by the Holy spirit or just plain stupidity, I think I would have rather be caught dead than to be caught in such a nightmare. Cleo walked up the stage, and since she was not associated with the “popular kids”, nobody paid much attention to her presence until she made her announcement “I AM ADDICTED TO MASTURBATION AND I HAVE BEEN ADDICTED FOR TWO YEARS NOW”.
…………………….
…………………………….
…………………….. *silence*
……………………..WTF???????????????????????!!!!


………..OMG OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She did not just do that………



None of us could believe it. It was hard to get over, we were feeling embarrassed and suicidal on behalf of her. When she decided to go up the stage and say IT, it was committing to a lifetime of embarrassment to more than 150 people and A PRIEST!!

The story of Lollipop soon faded, he was talked less and less about as the months went by. I regret to say, every time I bump into someone from the camp and we reminisce about the good old times, Cleo never fails to be mention. Talk about making an impression heh. Its been six years since the disastrous incident, yet as I held on to her hand, God knows I was thinking about all the possible places her hands could have been prior to the hand shake.

All in the name of God

Not many of us feel the pinch of the restrictive nature of our Malaysian law. Yes we hear about cases, and we sympathies with our fellow citizens that make it to the wall of disastrous fame due to some conflict with the law, and we are passionate about fighting for our rights and the rights of our people…. But it pretty much ends there unless you personally know someone who is a victim of our highly biased, discriminating and flawed law. Then we start to take notice of how personal the law can be, how it can affect all of our lives- even those who pay their tax on time, stand up straight to the NegaraKu and cast their ballads when they are summoned.

I want to talk about an issue that has somehow become rather personal to me over the past few months. We all know that converting into Islam in our country is a one way road. Even though the Quran had quoted “Let there be no compulsion in religion, no one can be compelled to embrace Islam”, but somehow our Syariah court had decided to overrule the teachings of the Quran in their strive towards religious domination. All in the name of God.

Under our Syariah court, marriage between a non-Muslim and a Muslim is forbidden. Conversion by one party in a marriage is not allowed unless both parties has agreed to convert into the religion. It’s surprising how our law can be courageously flexible when It comes to cases that benefit their side of the court. There have been cases in Malaysia where parents who are seeking custody of their children convert into Islam so that they would have the upper hand in the custody battle.

Cases such as these can not fully fall under out civil court because the newly convert is now subjected towards the Syariah court. Even though these Islamic laws are discriminatory towards the non-Muslims, we all know that the Syariah court and civil court can not interfere with each others jurisdiction and the Syariah court will eventually prevail above all. Not only do the newly converted parent receive full custody of the child, the non-Muslim parent will also loose all visitation rights towards his or her child.
Parents ripped apart from their flesh and blood and children crying for their parents love, all in the name of God.

For every battle that is heard, I’m sure there are hundreds of people out there that are struggling to get their voices heard. But they will step on you when you stand up, and they will kick your feet when you try to walk, and they will cage you up when you have the strength to fight.

Royal Gold Luxurious Interleaf Tissues, thicker, stronger for silky comfort, color tinted, 3 ply and 100 % pulp

I think I owe it to my fever to spare some time and space to acknowledge and salute her for all her hard work and effort to make my life a living hell. Kudos I must say, she made my flesh weak, but the spirit is still strong. I’m suppose to meet someone for lunch in a bit, I almost feel embarrassed to step out of my office. My hair looks like a hives nest, I have peeling skin flaking off my nose, my eyes look like I just smoked a bong, and the constant need to wipe snort off my face is not so appealing I must say.

I brought a small hankie that I stole from a hotel washroom to work today, I rotated it 360 degrees, flipped it over and navigated it well but it only took 30 minutes for me to cover the entire radius. So I walked down the spiral stairs, and fluttered around like a dying moth in search of some tissue- willing to settle for literal ass wipes, but apparently we have run out of funding to fund ass wipes. Just a random thought- do environmentalists use ass wipes? I’m sure that by the time you’re on your death bed (assuming that you lived the average lifespan), you would at least killed one full grown tree, which would have took more than 40 years to sprout through rough whether and provided shelter for parasite plants, ants, birds, and many other living beings…..just to wipe your ass. How mighty are we humans heh?

So I found a tissue box in the conference room, it says: Royal Gold Luxurious Interleaf Tissues, thicker, stronger for silky comfort, color tinted, 3 ply and 100 % pulp. Wow, just from the name, I feel like the luckiest woman alive. Its blue and feminine, with a lacy border, and it is thick n strong I have to stay. Tho, I think I kill the feminity of it every time I stick it up my nose to stop my snort from dripping over my keyboard and reports.

I hit the button, and I waited by the lift hoping that I wouldn’t bump into anyone. Crossed he road and ran into the shop. I’m not sure if it’s in my head, but I swear that the entire shop was starring at me. I wonder if they could see the skin peeling off my nose from two feet away. But I had my trusty Royal Gold Tissue with me, at least it was an indicator to my spectators that I was ill and THIS is not the way I usually look. Plus, I think my Royal Gold tissue would have added class to my appearance. I mean, how many people out there could have afforded Royal Gold Luxurious Interleaf Tissues, thicker, stronger for silky comfort, color tinted, 3 ply and 100 % pulp just to blow their nose??? It was tissue fit for the king, and it made me feel like royalty. Looks aside tho, I think my only saving grace was my well shaped eyebrows.

In the midst of lunch, I had one of my psychotic compulsions. It was to stuff as many tissues as I can up my nose. I hurried my lunch, and ran back into the office. So here I am, sitting at the top floor of Tenaganita along with my 3 other colleagues that are well scattered across the room, trying to stuff tissue up my nose. Current standing score- 8 Royal Gold Luxurious Interleaf Tissues, thicker, stronger for silky comfort, color tinted, 3 ply and 100 % pulp up my nose. If I hit 10, I’m rewarding myself with one Marlboro Light ciggie. I think it’s a fair trade.

Santa Maria, this fever is killing me. Just switched on Mix FM to listen to the winner of the “Pay your bill” competition. Me and my ass luck, I can’t believe that I’m still hoping for my name to be called out….. and this is coming from a girl that looses her underwear in public and has NEVER won a competition in her life. But honestly, I think my story was among one of the most pathetic cases all, it definitely beats that bimbo who spent all of her ang pau on cookies and was stuck with credit card bills, or hat A-hole that vacationed his savings away. Some people just have it all.

Just heard on the radio that earth hour is around the corner. All the publicity last year, it’s sad how the enthusiasm had simmered off a tad bit this year. I was surprised at the support it managed to rope in last year. I switched off the car lights on the highway and went on a first date for a salsa lesson in a dark room lit with candles. Besides the groping gatal boy that was lurking around the corner, it was a pretty awesome night. Everyone I knew were also doing something to commemorate the hour. Vigils, gatherings or simply just sitting in the dark.

Did the one hour of “lights off” really make a difference in the world or did we go back to slowly murdering our mother when the lights went on again? I think that earth hour was more symbolic rather than an effort to make a difference for most people. Were we saying sorry to mother earth, showing her that we cared but yet, we do not have the will and strength to change our habitual ways? Should we feel proud for observing earth hour or should we feel humiliated for the rest of the 8759 hours that follow in the year which we choose to remain traitors and hypocrites?

Should I take that extra mile and overcome my psychotic compulsion so that I can stop stuffing Royal Gold Luxurious Interleaf Tissues, thicker, stronger for silky comfort, color tinted, 3 ply and 100 % pulp up my nose? Its not about being a nature lover anymore, its not about taking in homeless animals, its not about abstaining from buying leather and all the other things that comes naturally to us. It’s about taking that extra mile and being conscious of our habitual ways………. It’s about putting down my Royal Golden tissue and carrying bigger hankies.

A confession of an NGOholic

All my life I grew up as a daughter of an NGO worker. We lived NGO, we spoke NGO and we ate NGO. Both my siblings ended up working in NGOs and naturally, I followed suit. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Somehow, the corporate world just didn’t seem like me- its scary, with money chasing mean people. Working in an NGO is a total different experience as compared to the usual 9-5 corporate world. We are supposedly paved with good intentions. All the people that I’ve met in the same line were all so lovely, sugar and spice and everything nice. I guess that’s the way we seem from a window. This is a confession of an NGOholic.

I think the main difference between us NGO workers and corporate workers is that work seems rather personal to us. It is almost impossible to stay professional. Work is not just work to us, it is our passion, and it is what we are. There is no clear definition between work and play. There is no clear definition between a colleague and a friend. In fact, I stumble over calling my colleagues by their name or aunty. When words or criticism are exchanged in an NGO, it is not constructive criticism but it is a personal attack. When you compliment someone’s work, it’s complementing the self. Our work makes us who we are.
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I have stood in front of my boss with tears in my eyes as I was yelled at repeatedly in front a bunch of strangers for forgetting to photocopy the last page of a document. I have been asked by my boss, “Did you go to school?” in front of my colleague. Rather than treating you like any other working adult, bosses tend to treat you like their own children. It somewhat feels like walking into the discipline room every time you are called into the office. I get a shiver down my spine every time I am summoned; therefore I avoid him or her like a plague. Avoiding in return gets me in trouble, because of the lack of communication. It’s a vicious cycle, if you defend your self in front of your boss; you get shot down for the difference in opinion. If you remain quiet, you’re assumed incompetent. What the self defense say? – “FLIGHT”!!!

You would think that once you reach your mid life crisis, gossiping sort of looses its novelty. Well, in my working life, no doubt that it has been a short one, I have learnt, seen, taken part and also victimized by this gossiping cult. The things you get accused of are indeed funny. Among my top 4 accusations’ that I have been faced with in an NGO are: (*drum roll please*)
1) Calling my boss a type of fish ( too rude to mention) on a piece of paper
2) Feeding information to someone that wrote a hate mail against my organization
3) Falsely accusing someone of sexual abuse in the workplace
4) I wake up beside a different man every morning

The funny thing about gossips is that, no matter how severe the crime may sound, the accused will always remain the last one to know. It is a method to avoid all chances for the accused to seek justice or redemption. And people crave for gossip, I mean, who wouldn’t want to know what type of fish I supposedly called my boss? These are the news that will make it to my wall of fame one day. One more thing I realized about gossips that go around, you can’t just avoid it. The best way to stay on top of the game is to be the one spreading the gossip; I have noticed that some of my colleagues have been successful in gaining respect through this way. There is no such thing as confidentiality within the work place, all it needs for a rumor to spread like wild fire is one person to know or assume, or in most cases, fabricate a story. It’s hard to spot a gossip that’s travelling around, because people have a way of being so pleasant and nice to you, that its hard to even assume that such a person would be the Lucifer of the devil’s workshop.

Seniority presidents amongst everything. Experienced and elderly colleagues are very unwelcoming to new people in the organizations. Sometimes, it feels like they would do everything in their might to squeeze you out of the circle or just break your spirit. I admit, it is a great technique. Most of the times when I felt that going to work was the worst part of my day- it was thanks to people at work who were able to break my spirit. It makes you feel like someone had snipped your wings. They are groupish, they share gossip, they judge you and they make your life a living hell. The only way to go about this is by bootlicking. Anyone who has no issues with bootlicking shall flourish in their cult.

Rules and regulations usually work out to the benefit of the organization.
I remember not getting paid for 6 months, but I was required to receive a salary and give the money back to my organization one year after I quit my job so that they could use my salary as petty cash. That’s 6 months of travelling to the office, and 6 months of catching a taxi to the bank, and 6 months of getting harassed by my boss. I was promised a pay of Rm 2500 but I ended up getting paid Rm 1300 even though I was doing the exact same work as the rest of my colleagues. A lack of funding they say, though they could afford to employ another worker after me...i guess they split my pay in two. The pay is always an issue, if they can’t pay you what they promised, they should tell you up front rather than avoiding the question or shrugging it off every time you ask. Come in from 9 to 5, but overtime and time spent at home working goes under the rug. You are required to keep hush regarding any injustice that takes place at the workplace. Discussing/ questioning- even amongst close friends- may be considered a crime. Technically, you are expected to be zombies with no feelings when you commit to an organization; not allowed to talk about your feelings and you are also not allowed to address any sensitive issues with the management.

Sooooo…..how does one deal with issues as such? We don’t. It builds up within us over the months or years, and it eventually breaks you. I have noticed, almost everyone I know working in an NGO has had a nervous breakdown or gone through work depression at one point or the other in their life. Just a few days ago, I was talking to a young boy who was seriously contemplating of taking his life due to work stress in an NGO. I have seen family members that contribute their life’s time break down from betrayal. I have seen my own father who has committed the past 45 years of his life serving the community loose all hope after being accused of swindling money from his organization. If they only knew what his family had to sacrifice, and the amount of his personal money that went to putting a roof and feeding the drug users that he loved very dearly- but none the less, people believed it because it sounded interesting and it spiced up their lame life.

As accusations pile up, I somehow have lost my drive to defend my self. This is a side of me that I hate to be, the door mat that people take advantage of, just because they can. This can somehow be a good thing, or a bad thing…depending on how you look at life. It would be great to be one of those people who don’t give a flying rat’s ass about what people think of them. They seem to be pretty happy and content with life. It’s hard to do. It takes a whole lot of courage and walrus skin. I’m sure, for every advocate/director/CEO of a company/organization, there are hundreds of people who hate them; but yet they strive, and better good grows out of their strength.

This is not hate towards NGOs. I am proud to be a servant of one. This is just reality as I see it, and as I have experienced it. Throughout my growing years, I have heard the most dreadful horrible and outrages things about people who work in the corporate line. Much worse than the above mentioned. People will remain eople no matter where they work. Is the “perfect job” an oxymoron? When I was young, I dreamt of working with orang hutans- seems like a breath of fresh air.