I’ve been having some pretty rough months lately. Once Wednesday, I woke up, and I told myself “ I cant bare to go to work today”. I took an emergency leave; it was an emergency of the self. I woke Charlene up at 10am, grumpiness and all; she joined me for a smoke. We planned out a nice day out, shopping, movie and alcohol.. how soul healing is that? It couldn’t have gotten better.
Before our movie, we had our “Charlene-Kathy” ritual which comes in handy for shit filled days and fun and laughter. One Mango-strawberry margarita for Kathy and one lime margarita for Charlene please!!! Not any margarita, it’s got to be Chili’s top shelf margarita. We had our usual 3 for all, and enjoyed the sour taste of godly nectar on our tongues.
In the midst of all that, I got a call from Leon. “Hunnie, where are you?? I have a surprise for you!!”. OUUU….how exciting!!! A surprise for me, its almost valentines day, and I remember pointing out a beautiful piece of lingerie that we saw online….maybe it arrived early I thought. Leon arrived within a few minutes. EMPTY HANDED. “Where’s the surprise hunnie?”. He reached in his pocket (it couldn’t have been my lingerie, darn), and brought out a little ugly sparrow. Charlene and I were so excited, we immediately rushed to name the little one. Charlene settled with Casper, I settled with Poncho. Currently named: Happy Feet @ Casper @ Poncho. The three of us hurried up to the pet shop, and picked out some bird feed.
Poncho’s first trip to the city was to the cinema. We heard the little tweet chirping away throughout the movie, but there was nothing much we could do. After the movie, we picked up a free sauce trey and a drink mixer from McDonalds’ and hurried down to the bathroom. Since I had the long nails, I pried its mouth open, and Charlene shoved some bird feed down its throat. Pretty scary, I was afraid that I might tear its little beak and Charlene was afraid of choking the little thing. But all was fine.
We took it home, and I attempted feeding time again. This time, Poncho looked excited when it saw its signature McDonalds’ free mixer feeder. As soon as I placed it near its mouth, it gobbled the entire tip. I couldn’t believe the amount that little thing can eat, and I think Poncho has the most efficient bowel system in the world!!! At first we were pretty skeptical that the bird would survive, but judging from the appetite, this little one had a long way to go in life. Charlene and I had our fair share of trying to save birds, it’s quite a tough job and it’s almost impossible for a birdie to survive without its mother.
It’s been two weeks now, and the plan was to wait for Poncho to be big enough to be let go. It’s been two weeks of waking up in the middle of the night to feed it, two weeks of taking it to work, two weeks of travelling with it in the cab and LRT, and two weeks of teaching it how to fly. I have to admit, the ugly tweet has grown on me. I cant imagine not having it around.
I have an ethical dilemma, I don’t believe in keeping birds, coz it’s just not right. Secretly deep down inside, I’m hoping that when I set Poncho free, it would love me enough to not go. Poncho still feeds from the mixer, it hasn’t learned how to peck, which is quite worrying. At the same time, it’s starting to learn how to fly, and I think it’s about time I get it a bigger home- a cage. But when I get a cage, will I ever be able to let it go? If I let it go, will it ever be able to fend for itself?
Sigh, its funny how a little sparrow can brighten your life so much, it was the best Valentine’s gift, better than any lingerie piece.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Have a good one Quintin
I met this boy last year…his name was Quintin….short, cute, and shy, he looked like a little boy. Every time I walked in the house, he would be lying down in front of the TV, fitted perfectly on the two seated sofa, he would jump up, run into the room and put on a shirt that he picked up off the floor. I was shocked when I found out that he was 27, and even more shocked when I heard of stories….apparently, he was known as the terror of the family. Leon and Vernon were his cousins and housemates, they paid for his little room in their apartment, made sure he had his meals and pretty much tried their best to keep him out of trouble.
Quintin was always his daddy’s boy. Apparently, his dad was a bigger terror, and they made the perfect partners in crime terrorizing the town together. The mother was always distant; they never really had a relationship. Two years ago, Quintin’s father took his life, he set himself on fire, and died two days later on the hospital bed…unrecognizable. From then on, Quintin was pretty much homeless, jumping from one friends house to another, mixed with the wrong crowd, and landed in some pretty deep shit once in a while.
Poor boy I thought, every time I looked at him. Leon and Vernon always worried about his drug abuse, they say that staying in the same house with Quintin kept him off the bad company. He reminded me so much of my brother. Quintin was good with his hands, he broke almost everything he touched, but repaired anything that was spoilt. I remember walking into the house once to find an ear bud sticking out of the TV. Apparently, Quintin had figured out how to fix the speakers to their little TV by sticking an ear bud in it. Only Quintin.
A few weeks ago, Leon and I spoke about the possibility of sending him to a rehab, the same rehab that my brother was in. If Zachy could do it, I was certain that Quintin could do it to coz they reminded me of two peas in a pod. Leon posed the idea to Quintin, almost sure that he would disagree, but to our surprise….he said okey. Quintin was pretty hyped up about the whole thing, he asked me about the rehab on a few occasions and he told me one night in his drunken state that he would love to check in rehab the very same day. He pulled me aside and told me how he felt that he was going insane, and how he didn’t kno what he was thinking or even doing sometimes. I remember saying that it’s normal when you’ve been on drugs for so long, but I also told him that being willing to go to rehab is a very brave and strong thing to do. We made a few calls, arranged for an interview, and Leon made some calls to gather the finance, and the plan was all set to go…..we were suppose to check in tomorrow, Wednesday, Febuary 16th.
Two days ago, I got a call at 2 pm from Leon, he said “Kathy, can you call me back, its an emergency!!”. I hate emergencies, its always bad news. Leon sounded so different, panicked, sad, scared, all at once. He told me that Quintin had passed away. I immediately rushed to GH, and walked about to find Leon. There he was, sitting on a stone with his head down. I hugged him as tight as I could, as he told me how Quintin had committed suicide by jumping off a building. He survived the jumped, but passed away in the hospital two hours later. We walked together into the emergency room, and sat beside his lifeless body. What a weird feeling.
There were some complications at the hospital. Apparently, Quintin had converted to Islam two years ago, but nobody knew. The body was taken by Jabatan Agama Islam Selangor (JAIS), and they were to organize the funeral. There were four of us present at the hospital; we took the opportunity to say a decade of the rosary for him, before he was taken away. The funeral was the next day, not many family members turned up at the Muslim cemetery. They brought in the body, all wrapped up in white. One of the members from the JAIS committee took lead, and explained the process to us. The white was to represent his purity, he was brought onto the earth pure, and that’s the way he should be put back into the earth. They opened the white cloth, and showed us his face. They did a grate job covering up the bruises. He looked so….Quintin. The few of us that were there took the opportunity to put the sign of the cross on his forehead. The people from JAIS were not as anal as we thought they would be, they were pretty understanding, polite and respectful.
We gathered in silence, as they read the verses from the Quaran. The rest of us prayed in silence. I guess we were all praying for pretty much the same thing, it didn’t really matter who or when or why, the ritual was peaceful and important. They placed him in the ground, we couldn’t help but keep the “throw in a rock” ritual. After burying him, a few people poured water over the grave. They said that, when you pour water, and grass grows over the grave, the grass will pray for Quintin when nobody is praying for him. I thought it was pretty sweet. The representatives from JAIS explained to us that we could go visit the grave anytime we wanted, but we were not allowed to conduct any rituals in the cemetery. I guess it was a pretty fair and reasonable deal. They apologized for having done what they did, and they thanked us for our corporation. All the things I’ve heard about JAIS since I was young, they are pretty intimidating, but I guess there are some exceptions to the bunch.
I thought about Quintin these past few nights, and then I thought about my 20 year old cousin that took her life a few years ago. The thought of suicide. All those things that they teach in religion, about the souls never being forgiven. Not to be disrespectful, but it can’t be true. How can anyone be in their right mind to commit suicide? Can life be more scary than jumping down a building?? I cant imagine Quintin as himself saying “ I’m going to die”. So sweetheart, rest in peace. I hope that wherever you may be, it’s better than the life that you had on earth. I’m sorry that life was tough for you, I’m sorry that you didn’t have enough love, I’m sorry that we nobody realized how much you were going through, and most of all, I’m sorry that we were too late for you. Please know, that there are people who will miss you, and there are people who loved you. I hope you’re reunited with your daddy, go paint the town red with your new found wings hunnie!!!
Quintin was always his daddy’s boy. Apparently, his dad was a bigger terror, and they made the perfect partners in crime terrorizing the town together. The mother was always distant; they never really had a relationship. Two years ago, Quintin’s father took his life, he set himself on fire, and died two days later on the hospital bed…unrecognizable. From then on, Quintin was pretty much homeless, jumping from one friends house to another, mixed with the wrong crowd, and landed in some pretty deep shit once in a while.
Poor boy I thought, every time I looked at him. Leon and Vernon always worried about his drug abuse, they say that staying in the same house with Quintin kept him off the bad company. He reminded me so much of my brother. Quintin was good with his hands, he broke almost everything he touched, but repaired anything that was spoilt. I remember walking into the house once to find an ear bud sticking out of the TV. Apparently, Quintin had figured out how to fix the speakers to their little TV by sticking an ear bud in it. Only Quintin.
A few weeks ago, Leon and I spoke about the possibility of sending him to a rehab, the same rehab that my brother was in. If Zachy could do it, I was certain that Quintin could do it to coz they reminded me of two peas in a pod. Leon posed the idea to Quintin, almost sure that he would disagree, but to our surprise….he said okey. Quintin was pretty hyped up about the whole thing, he asked me about the rehab on a few occasions and he told me one night in his drunken state that he would love to check in rehab the very same day. He pulled me aside and told me how he felt that he was going insane, and how he didn’t kno what he was thinking or even doing sometimes. I remember saying that it’s normal when you’ve been on drugs for so long, but I also told him that being willing to go to rehab is a very brave and strong thing to do. We made a few calls, arranged for an interview, and Leon made some calls to gather the finance, and the plan was all set to go…..we were suppose to check in tomorrow, Wednesday, Febuary 16th.
Two days ago, I got a call at 2 pm from Leon, he said “Kathy, can you call me back, its an emergency!!”. I hate emergencies, its always bad news. Leon sounded so different, panicked, sad, scared, all at once. He told me that Quintin had passed away. I immediately rushed to GH, and walked about to find Leon. There he was, sitting on a stone with his head down. I hugged him as tight as I could, as he told me how Quintin had committed suicide by jumping off a building. He survived the jumped, but passed away in the hospital two hours later. We walked together into the emergency room, and sat beside his lifeless body. What a weird feeling.
There were some complications at the hospital. Apparently, Quintin had converted to Islam two years ago, but nobody knew. The body was taken by Jabatan Agama Islam Selangor (JAIS), and they were to organize the funeral. There were four of us present at the hospital; we took the opportunity to say a decade of the rosary for him, before he was taken away. The funeral was the next day, not many family members turned up at the Muslim cemetery. They brought in the body, all wrapped up in white. One of the members from the JAIS committee took lead, and explained the process to us. The white was to represent his purity, he was brought onto the earth pure, and that’s the way he should be put back into the earth. They opened the white cloth, and showed us his face. They did a grate job covering up the bruises. He looked so….Quintin. The few of us that were there took the opportunity to put the sign of the cross on his forehead. The people from JAIS were not as anal as we thought they would be, they were pretty understanding, polite and respectful.
We gathered in silence, as they read the verses from the Quaran. The rest of us prayed in silence. I guess we were all praying for pretty much the same thing, it didn’t really matter who or when or why, the ritual was peaceful and important. They placed him in the ground, we couldn’t help but keep the “throw in a rock” ritual. After burying him, a few people poured water over the grave. They said that, when you pour water, and grass grows over the grave, the grass will pray for Quintin when nobody is praying for him. I thought it was pretty sweet. The representatives from JAIS explained to us that we could go visit the grave anytime we wanted, but we were not allowed to conduct any rituals in the cemetery. I guess it was a pretty fair and reasonable deal. They apologized for having done what they did, and they thanked us for our corporation. All the things I’ve heard about JAIS since I was young, they are pretty intimidating, but I guess there are some exceptions to the bunch.
I thought about Quintin these past few nights, and then I thought about my 20 year old cousin that took her life a few years ago. The thought of suicide. All those things that they teach in religion, about the souls never being forgiven. Not to be disrespectful, but it can’t be true. How can anyone be in their right mind to commit suicide? Can life be more scary than jumping down a building?? I cant imagine Quintin as himself saying “ I’m going to die”. So sweetheart, rest in peace. I hope that wherever you may be, it’s better than the life that you had on earth. I’m sorry that life was tough for you, I’m sorry that you didn’t have enough love, I’m sorry that we nobody realized how much you were going through, and most of all, I’m sorry that we were too late for you. Please know, that there are people who will miss you, and there are people who loved you. I hope you’re reunited with your daddy, go paint the town red with your new found wings hunnie!!!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Ugly Truth
On a first conventional date or in conversations leading to future romantic involvements, it’s almost a stencil for partners to ask questions about past relationships. I personally, dread answering anything of such manner. I don’t recall answering any of these questions directly. Why do people even ask such questions? Isn’t it a bit too personal to reveal on the first date? How about waiting a year or two to get that touchy?
“How many relationships have you had?”
Ermmm…. Do flings that last longer than actual relationships count? Do relationships that last for less than a month count? How bout boys I dated that I denied dating? Oh, or the boys that took the best of my commitment phobia out of me?
“When was your last relationship?”
Ermmmm….. Does the four months trying-to-break-up count as me being in the relationship? Once again, are they asking about my “relationship-relationship” or are they just referring to my relationships? Hmm…..how bout defining “relationship” for me please?
“Why did you end things?”
Ermmm……….should I be up front with my commitment phob? Is it ethically okey to break up with someone because he was clingy? How do I explain things like : My ex-boyfriend tried to jump off my balcony every time I tried to end things” or I hated the way the dude numbered everything he said or “My ex-boyfriend thought that he was the son of god/ Archangel Michael’s evil twin brother/ the fallen angel put on earth to save the earth from dooms day in the year 2012, and that I was the chosen one to bare his child that will be the next messiah on earth … HOW???
When I sense the conversation heading that way, I usually change the subject. And to shut the persistent ones up, I slash off a couple of people from my “ex-boyfriend” list according to the numbers that made it to my “real relationships” list… which is approximately in the region of four…maybe.
I never ask questions related to relationships, and I try to avid this conversation for as long as possible, stretching it to the last thread. In fact, I refrain from even mentioning the “R” word. If I were to psychoanalyze myself, I would say that I have inner fears, and somewhere deep down inside, I am subconsciously anxious about being the second best, or knowing that my date is still hung up on some other chick, or worse, he got dumped by the woman that he loved. To the contrary, I’d rather date a dumper than a dumped for two reasons; he didn’t really fancy the girl that much, plus, if he has a history of dumping people- that could mean that he has a commitment phobia- which could mean that the future relationship wouldn’t last that long- which is perfect!, in most instances.
I rate the depth of my relationships by its duration. If it lasts for more than six months, there must be some sort of heart involved in it, meaningggggggggggg….it's kinda about time to talk about the past relationships, as part of the whole “getting to know each other better” thingy. So now, all the bits and pieces of random mentions come together to form a jigsaw puzzle. We finally know. The only problem is, I haven’t seen the actors in the play…. and that jigsaw puzzle I mentioned, it kinda looks like a perfect painting that only God could have painted. Gorgeous looking women with never ending legs dancing away with my man under the moonlight; beautiful lustrous hair on a face with dimples having a picnic in the park with the sunray shining on her milky skin, women that sing with angel voices and write poetry for my man, endless joy and laughter and over pouring love beaming through their smiles. Nothing near to the truth….or is it??
This isn’t the illusion of insanity; this is bang your head on the hard wall nuts! Mystery sucks, it really fucks with your mind. So the question is, do I really have to know to get to know the person better? How bad a policy is “you are what you are now”? This might just be me justifying myself, but I don’t think you should judge someone based on their past relationship. I guess that works for me, in many ways. Not knowing leads to not comparing which leads to you just being you, and not trying to live up to some picture perfect image of “the best girlfriend he has ever had”.
“How many relationships have you had?”
Ermmm…. Do flings that last longer than actual relationships count? Do relationships that last for less than a month count? How bout boys I dated that I denied dating? Oh, or the boys that took the best of my commitment phobia out of me?
“When was your last relationship?”
Ermmmm….. Does the four months trying-to-break-up count as me being in the relationship? Once again, are they asking about my “relationship-relationship” or are they just referring to my relationships? Hmm…..how bout defining “relationship” for me please?
“Why did you end things?”
Ermmm……….should I be up front with my commitment phob? Is it ethically okey to break up with someone because he was clingy? How do I explain things like : My ex-boyfriend tried to jump off my balcony every time I tried to end things” or I hated the way the dude numbered everything he said or “My ex-boyfriend thought that he was the son of god/ Archangel Michael’s evil twin brother/ the fallen angel put on earth to save the earth from dooms day in the year 2012, and that I was the chosen one to bare his child that will be the next messiah on earth … HOW???
When I sense the conversation heading that way, I usually change the subject. And to shut the persistent ones up, I slash off a couple of people from my “ex-boyfriend” list according to the numbers that made it to my “real relationships” list… which is approximately in the region of four…maybe.
I never ask questions related to relationships, and I try to avid this conversation for as long as possible, stretching it to the last thread. In fact, I refrain from even mentioning the “R” word. If I were to psychoanalyze myself, I would say that I have inner fears, and somewhere deep down inside, I am subconsciously anxious about being the second best, or knowing that my date is still hung up on some other chick, or worse, he got dumped by the woman that he loved. To the contrary, I’d rather date a dumper than a dumped for two reasons; he didn’t really fancy the girl that much, plus, if he has a history of dumping people- that could mean that he has a commitment phobia- which could mean that the future relationship wouldn’t last that long- which is perfect!, in most instances.
I rate the depth of my relationships by its duration. If it lasts for more than six months, there must be some sort of heart involved in it, meaningggggggggggg….it's kinda about time to talk about the past relationships, as part of the whole “getting to know each other better” thingy. So now, all the bits and pieces of random mentions come together to form a jigsaw puzzle. We finally know. The only problem is, I haven’t seen the actors in the play…. and that jigsaw puzzle I mentioned, it kinda looks like a perfect painting that only God could have painted. Gorgeous looking women with never ending legs dancing away with my man under the moonlight; beautiful lustrous hair on a face with dimples having a picnic in the park with the sunray shining on her milky skin, women that sing with angel voices and write poetry for my man, endless joy and laughter and over pouring love beaming through their smiles. Nothing near to the truth….or is it??
This isn’t the illusion of insanity; this is bang your head on the hard wall nuts! Mystery sucks, it really fucks with your mind. So the question is, do I really have to know to get to know the person better? How bad a policy is “you are what you are now”? This might just be me justifying myself, but I don’t think you should judge someone based on their past relationship. I guess that works for me, in many ways. Not knowing leads to not comparing which leads to you just being you, and not trying to live up to some picture perfect image of “the best girlfriend he has ever had”.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Your betrayal, your deceit,
So carefully planned; right from the start,
So flawlessly executed; all the way through,
So much hurt anticipated; right to the end,
Nothing else seemed real, except for the lies.
Your betrayal, your deceit,
It’s an emotional ambush,
Effortlessly explained, hastily forgotten,
Is it yours, or is it my denial?
Your betrayal, your deceit,
Wrapped itself in sympathy, stole itself forgiveness,
With a promise of a dawn of a new day,
And a pledged to make it right again,
A mission for a journey to what it was.
It is the empathy that you take for granted,
When you described your soul to me,
It was the trust that you befooled,
When your were reborn in my eyes again,
Your regret embraced, forgiveness showered,
But yet, your promise lingers.
So carefully planned; right from the start,
So flawlessly executed; all the way through,
So much hurt anticipated; right to the end,
Nothing else seemed real, except for the lies.
Your betrayal, your deceit,
It’s an emotional ambush,
Effortlessly explained, hastily forgotten,
Is it yours, or is it my denial?
Your betrayal, your deceit,
Wrapped itself in sympathy, stole itself forgiveness,
With a promise of a dawn of a new day,
And a pledged to make it right again,
A mission for a journey to what it was.
It is the empathy that you take for granted,
When you described your soul to me,
It was the trust that you befooled,
When your were reborn in my eyes again,
Your regret embraced, forgiveness showered,
But yet, your promise lingers.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
New Year with a pop!!
It’s my first day of work and I’m taking this few minutes to share with you a pick from the top of my mind. Honestly, its been on top of my mind for the past two days. Every time i fly into a "normal" mode, i think of the incident and i start blushing. OMG.
BLUSHHHHH*
Two days ago, about 9 of us from the office including Kat J gathered for a pool/ house party. They day went on great; it was lovely and all. There were much wine and alcohol going around, which nobody really hesitated to consume. Kat and i had our own concoction of a cocktail called "fuck it". We downed our “fuck its” with full of gusto, much needed gusto, before discovering a new cocktail called “I don’t know what the fuck that is”. .
Time passed by joyously, and the herd decided to move to the pool. I put on my pink little bikini and jumped into the pool along with Leon and two other (most adorablestttt in the whole wide world) volunteers from the office. The swim was quite a splash. Like first time guppies in the water, we quickly swam towards the water slide. We queued in one by one, and did a belly toss down the slide. I was the last to go.
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeee......plop!!!
The water below was barely four feet high. I got up to get my balance, as I starred at the others to get approval of my "amazing" belly toss. I looked straight ahead at the others and I saw a mortified look on one of the volunteers face, and he, looked at me with his hands on his man boobs, saying "FIX it !". My natural reaction was "Huh???". "Fix what?" I asked. Then he repeated himself, "FIX IT" !!, pointing to his boob again.
I looked down my chest, and there it was... my shameless nipple against the shimmer of my pink bikini, popping out of the bikini top. I hastily pulled up my bikini, and avoided all eye contact. I contemplated keeping the story to myself, but I had to explain my “suddenly-weird behavior” to the boyfriend. Instead of some support to the local voyeur, I think I made his day to his funny bone.
To avoid further awkwardness, I came clean and laughed about It along with the others. I felt like dying. I tried to convince Kat to kinda flash one of her nipples as a test of friendship. I still wish she had….
So here I am, sitting. Dreading the walk of shame as I procrastinate collecting my monthly salary with the fear that I might bump into “the –one- that- saw- IT”. The morning kinda completed itself as my colleagues decided to fill Charlene in on my “wardrobe malfunction” as they would call it.
So…I guess , my new year kinda started with a “pop”. The Big Guy didn’t bother to spare me for the new year. I hope it dusnt pave my luck for the rest of the year.
BLUSHHHHH*
Two days ago, about 9 of us from the office including Kat J gathered for a pool/ house party. They day went on great; it was lovely and all. There were much wine and alcohol going around, which nobody really hesitated to consume. Kat and i had our own concoction of a cocktail called "fuck it". We downed our “fuck its” with full of gusto, much needed gusto, before discovering a new cocktail called “I don’t know what the fuck that is”. .
Time passed by joyously, and the herd decided to move to the pool. I put on my pink little bikini and jumped into the pool along with Leon and two other (most adorablestttt in the whole wide world) volunteers from the office. The swim was quite a splash. Like first time guppies in the water, we quickly swam towards the water slide. We queued in one by one, and did a belly toss down the slide. I was the last to go.
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeee......plop!!!
The water below was barely four feet high. I got up to get my balance, as I starred at the others to get approval of my "amazing" belly toss. I looked straight ahead at the others and I saw a mortified look on one of the volunteers face, and he, looked at me with his hands on his man boobs, saying "FIX it !". My natural reaction was "Huh???". "Fix what?" I asked. Then he repeated himself, "FIX IT" !!, pointing to his boob again.
I looked down my chest, and there it was... my shameless nipple against the shimmer of my pink bikini, popping out of the bikini top. I hastily pulled up my bikini, and avoided all eye contact. I contemplated keeping the story to myself, but I had to explain my “suddenly-weird behavior” to the boyfriend. Instead of some support to the local voyeur, I think I made his day to his funny bone.
To avoid further awkwardness, I came clean and laughed about It along with the others. I felt like dying. I tried to convince Kat to kinda flash one of her nipples as a test of friendship. I still wish she had….
So here I am, sitting. Dreading the walk of shame as I procrastinate collecting my monthly salary with the fear that I might bump into “the –one- that- saw- IT”. The morning kinda completed itself as my colleagues decided to fill Charlene in on my “wardrobe malfunction” as they would call it.
So…I guess , my new year kinda started with a “pop”. The Big Guy didn’t bother to spare me for the new year. I hope it dusnt pave my luck for the rest of the year.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Her destiny is g.r.e.a.t
His mother suffered a great deal in life only to end up crippled on a bed. This made him loose faith in his creator, the only thing that mattered to him was taken away from him. “How can there be a god so cruel?”. And so he says, “ I wish that her misery would just end”. He believed that her destiny was one filled with misery.
There is this special gift we have in us, the power to change the world. We human beings are great, we have magic in us that can touch the hearts of others. Just because someone is in a comma, or unconscious on their death bed- doesn’t mean that they are not contributing to the world. Everyone has a purpose here on earth, and the earthly sufferings might just be worth the joy and change that they bring through the process.
I’ve seen these bed ridden matured people lying on their beds- completely depend on their caretakers. Some of them stare straight into their children’s eyes, without recognizing their own flesh and blood. Tubes running through their mouths, rashes on their skin… “Why my mother he asks”.
As a stranger looking from a window, I see the people that live around her. I see the caretakers that care to all of her needs. I see the smile on their face, the love in their touch and the compassion that they have in them.
May it be that the purpose of her suffering is to change the lives of her caretakers?? May it be that the reason for her to be lying on that bed is to make her son a stronger person? To make bystanders think of their own mother???
No life on this earth is useless. People make changes, wherever they are. A smile on a face may make a world of a difference in a stranger’s life. The journey we take is one to be celebrated for all the joy, not to be mourned for all the sorrows.
I believe that our destiny changes every second we live, because human beings are ever evolving. We are called beings- because we are being mad each moment. We are ever evolving, and our destiny changes along with our thought; we are great- we shall be what we wish to be.
Our destiny is not made by chance, or some luminous man with a scripture. It is a matter of our choices in life. We can’t just wait for our destiny to happen, we live our destiny. It does not exist a second beyond NOW.
There is this special gift we have in us, the power to change the world. We human beings are great, we have magic in us that can touch the hearts of others. Just because someone is in a comma, or unconscious on their death bed- doesn’t mean that they are not contributing to the world. Everyone has a purpose here on earth, and the earthly sufferings might just be worth the joy and change that they bring through the process.
I’ve seen these bed ridden matured people lying on their beds- completely depend on their caretakers. Some of them stare straight into their children’s eyes, without recognizing their own flesh and blood. Tubes running through their mouths, rashes on their skin… “Why my mother he asks”.
As a stranger looking from a window, I see the people that live around her. I see the caretakers that care to all of her needs. I see the smile on their face, the love in their touch and the compassion that they have in them.
May it be that the purpose of her suffering is to change the lives of her caretakers?? May it be that the reason for her to be lying on that bed is to make her son a stronger person? To make bystanders think of their own mother???
No life on this earth is useless. People make changes, wherever they are. A smile on a face may make a world of a difference in a stranger’s life. The journey we take is one to be celebrated for all the joy, not to be mourned for all the sorrows.
I believe that our destiny changes every second we live, because human beings are ever evolving. We are called beings- because we are being mad each moment. We are ever evolving, and our destiny changes along with our thought; we are great- we shall be what we wish to be.
Our destiny is not made by chance, or some luminous man with a scripture. It is a matter of our choices in life. We can’t just wait for our destiny to happen, we live our destiny. It does not exist a second beyond NOW.
Who is Mautik Hani?
Do we care?
This is who she is not:
She is not a 'statistic.'
She is not an ‘isolated incident’.
Mautik Hani was a woman.
She was a daughter; she was someone’s friend.
Somebody called her ‘my neighbour’; another called her ‘my sister’.
Mautik Hani had dreams to chase;
questions to ask; memories to share.
There were things that made her sad;
and there were things that made her laugh.
She had feelings; she had ideas; and she had gifts to share
Her body could be flooded with pain, or pierced with joy.
She carried burdens, and somewhere, she bore hope.
Mautik Hani was a person.
No different from you,
No different from me.
We asked her in.
And then we let her die.
~
Bruised. Beaten. Her bones exposed.
The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air.
Bound. Gagged. Unconscious.
Her body weary; attacked; abused.
She slipped away from consciousness.
As did we.
~
In the past two years, Tenaganita has handled 265 cases of domestic workers who’ve been beaten, raped, deprived of wages, harassed, violated, kept in isolation, tortured and abused. While we’ve been able to get some compensation for cases of unpaid wages, not a single case of violence or abuse has gone to court or been brought to justice.
Police investigations are sluggish, court systems inaccessible, and processes drag on endlessly. Often, the victims drop the cases out of weariness, and go home as the final tethers of hope snap. Some wait persistently, stuck in the hole of trauma, each passing day taking away with it possibilities of justice.
We see the numbers grow, we watch the statistics swell, and we close our eyes as the perpetrators walk away.
The stories of these women are horrific;
Sodomised.
Scalded.
Lacerations on the vagina.
Forced to eat cockroaches.
Mouth stuffed with chilies.
Drowned.
Burned.
Face attacked with a fish scraper.
Raped.
These stories are real. These women are real. Each one is testament to the reality we’ve created around us.
We keep these women unseen and unheard, invisible from the world. They are present only when we want them to work for us, and yet we won’t even recognize what they do as ‘work’.
We are so afraid they’ll run away; we convince ourselves they’ll pick up ‘diseases’ and infect us. We tell ourselves that we’re just protecting our families. We quietly feel superior to them. We don’t let them speak to the neighbours. We worry when they have friends. We feel their work is simple, and yet we don’t do it ourselves. We throw a fit when we need to work on weekends, yet we won’t even grant them a day off. We expect pay raises, and cluck our tongues in shock when they ask for it. We hear about ‘a maid who was abused’ and quickly share the story about ‘the maid who stole from her employer’. We look at the way our friends treat them, convince ourselves that ‘we’re not like that’ and yet we stay silent about it.
This is not a generic ‘we’. It’s a ‘we’ made up of you, of me, of your sister, your friend, your husband, your wife, your boss, your neighbour, your father, your teacher — every person in this country is contained in that ‘we’. Make no mistake of this; we let this happen.
We let this happen because we’ve ignored the thousands of signs that have led to this point. Signs contained in domestic workers whose wages were never paid, who’ve been kept in isolation, who’ve been made to work every day of their lives, who’ve been slapped, who’ve been burned, who’ve been put down. Do a thousand domestic workers need to die before we decide it is enough? Or have we removed ourselves so far from our conscience that this becomes something we merely wince at but stay silent about?
Our actions have harmed these women so severely.
But so have our inactions.
Silence has a way of legitimizing violence, and our deafening silence when faced with the realities of domestic workers in our country has done exactly that.
Mautik Hani died at 36 years old from the beatings of her employers.
Mautik Hani also died because we brushed off each case that came before her as an ‘isolated incident’.
We saw the signs, we closed our eyes, and we let her die.
by Katrina Jorene Maliamauv, 26th October 2009.
This is who she is not:
She is not a 'statistic.'
She is not an ‘isolated incident’.
Mautik Hani was a woman.
She was a daughter; she was someone’s friend.
Somebody called her ‘my neighbour’; another called her ‘my sister’.
Mautik Hani had dreams to chase;
questions to ask; memories to share.
There were things that made her sad;
and there were things that made her laugh.
She had feelings; she had ideas; and she had gifts to share
Her body could be flooded with pain, or pierced with joy.
She carried burdens, and somewhere, she bore hope.
Mautik Hani was a person.
No different from you,
No different from me.
We asked her in.
And then we let her die.
~
Bruised. Beaten. Her bones exposed.
The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air.
Bound. Gagged. Unconscious.
Her body weary; attacked; abused.
She slipped away from consciousness.
As did we.
~
In the past two years, Tenaganita has handled 265 cases of domestic workers who’ve been beaten, raped, deprived of wages, harassed, violated, kept in isolation, tortured and abused. While we’ve been able to get some compensation for cases of unpaid wages, not a single case of violence or abuse has gone to court or been brought to justice.
Police investigations are sluggish, court systems inaccessible, and processes drag on endlessly. Often, the victims drop the cases out of weariness, and go home as the final tethers of hope snap. Some wait persistently, stuck in the hole of trauma, each passing day taking away with it possibilities of justice.
We see the numbers grow, we watch the statistics swell, and we close our eyes as the perpetrators walk away.
The stories of these women are horrific;
Sodomised.
Scalded.
Lacerations on the vagina.
Forced to eat cockroaches.
Mouth stuffed with chilies.
Drowned.
Burned.
Face attacked with a fish scraper.
Raped.
These stories are real. These women are real. Each one is testament to the reality we’ve created around us.
We keep these women unseen and unheard, invisible from the world. They are present only when we want them to work for us, and yet we won’t even recognize what they do as ‘work’.
We are so afraid they’ll run away; we convince ourselves they’ll pick up ‘diseases’ and infect us. We tell ourselves that we’re just protecting our families. We quietly feel superior to them. We don’t let them speak to the neighbours. We worry when they have friends. We feel their work is simple, and yet we don’t do it ourselves. We throw a fit when we need to work on weekends, yet we won’t even grant them a day off. We expect pay raises, and cluck our tongues in shock when they ask for it. We hear about ‘a maid who was abused’ and quickly share the story about ‘the maid who stole from her employer’. We look at the way our friends treat them, convince ourselves that ‘we’re not like that’ and yet we stay silent about it.
This is not a generic ‘we’. It’s a ‘we’ made up of you, of me, of your sister, your friend, your husband, your wife, your boss, your neighbour, your father, your teacher — every person in this country is contained in that ‘we’. Make no mistake of this; we let this happen.
We let this happen because we’ve ignored the thousands of signs that have led to this point. Signs contained in domestic workers whose wages were never paid, who’ve been kept in isolation, who’ve been made to work every day of their lives, who’ve been slapped, who’ve been burned, who’ve been put down. Do a thousand domestic workers need to die before we decide it is enough? Or have we removed ourselves so far from our conscience that this becomes something we merely wince at but stay silent about?
Our actions have harmed these women so severely.
But so have our inactions.
Silence has a way of legitimizing violence, and our deafening silence when faced with the realities of domestic workers in our country has done exactly that.
Mautik Hani died at 36 years old from the beatings of her employers.
Mautik Hani also died because we brushed off each case that came before her as an ‘isolated incident’.
We saw the signs, we closed our eyes, and we let her die.
by Katrina Jorene Maliamauv, 26th October 2009.
What a friend they found in him
Remember Finardo G Cabilao that was brutally murdered, tortured, found sprawled in a pool of blood just like a butchered animal in a pasar malam, with severe head injuries due to repeated hitting with a blunt object by several assaulters??
I speak of him as though he was a good friend. Our paths have never crossed in this lifetime, but I trust the words of the thousands of people whose hearts he has touched, and who speak ever so fondly of this great man.
Finardo Cabilao was a diplomat from Philippines, assigned to Malaysia with an important task at hand; to stop human trafficking.
As a fully qualified social worker, Cabilo headed counseling and many other social services for countless Filipino laborers working overseas, especially those who have fallen trap into slavery gangs in Malaysia. He, a 49 year old petite man, never took fear or hesitated to join the raids and rescue operations in scattered nightspots all over East Malaysia in look for the culprits of this nasty business that thrive on women and children.
Cabilao was, by all accounts, a dedicated public servant and a tireless defender of his fellow-Filipinos who were in trouble. He was constantly risking his own safety or his status as a diplomat to help Filipinos who were sold as meat to brothels, with barely any hope for redemption. Cabilo’s embrace was described by the victims as being a sanctuary from their tormentors. Sitting next to him, one would never guess that upon the shoulders of that frail man- rests the salvation of many trafficked victims.
Cabilo put his life on the line, knowing that he was messing with some of the biggest tycoons who were making money off these trafficked victims. However, after “in-depth investigations”, Inspector-General of Police Tan Sri Musa Hassan said there was NO link between the Cabilo murder and human trafficking syndicates.
How does one rule out ALL possibiliies that the Cabilo, the Head of the social welfare department of Philippines Embassy had NOTHING to do with the fact that he was fighting against human trafficking??
Well, the authorities seem to have a perfectly reasonable and practical answer… “probably, the motive of the murder had to do with a homosexual relationship” said Musa.
Wow, who would have reckoned huh? After years of fearless fighting against some of the biggest gangsters in Malaysia, and after receiving several work-related death threats, he goes and gets himself butchered by a man that he was supposedly having a homosexual relationship with. Not only did he visit a sex worker, it was concluded that the motive of the murder was because the suspect was not paid for his service."
So here we have, a respectable 49 year old man who had devoted his life to fight against the trafficking of people, not to mention working in an embassy that has a reputation of paying their staff handsomely, married to a beautiful woman – murdered for not paying a male sex worker his worth.
According to The Star online, September 5th 2009- "Investigations are still ongoing to make a stronger case, including checking his DNA before sending it to the Attorney-General’s Chambers" (Musa, Sep 2009).
It seems to be that the purpose of the investigation was not to find enough evidence to rule out various motives to the murder. Rather, it is to find enough evidence to prove a preconceived motive of the murder.
Well, its just part of history repeating itself I guess. When there is a lack of evidence and the public is watching, let the gays get the blame for it!
As thousands of Philippians and victims of trafficking pine for the loss of a great soul, and await justice for Cabilo and those alike, the Malaysian authorities were reported to be still “working on the case.” Looks like the tycoons just found themselves some new BFF’s !!
..........................................................................................................................................................................
Just sum info that a friend had shared with me as i was writing this article; i thought might be interesting:
According to a pole done by the Malaysian Home Ministry:
* 76 % out of a 1600 sample size were angry at the local police.
* 70% out of a 1500 sample size had paid bribe to a police officer out of desperation.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Twenty froggies
This was my favourite bedtime poem that mummy use to read to me when i was tiny :)
Twenty froggies went to school, down beside a rushy pool,Twenty little coats of green, twenty vests all white and clean."We must be in time", said they; "First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the rule, when we froggies go to school."
Master Froggy, grave and stern, called the classes in their turn,Taught them how to nobly strive; likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon a log, showed them how to say "Kerchog!"Also how to dodge a blow from the sticks which bad boys throw.
Twenty froggies grew up fast, big frogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot; not one lesson they forgot;Polished to a high degree, as each froggy ought to be,Now they sit on other logs, teaching other little frogs.
Twenty froggies went to school, down beside a rushy pool,Twenty little coats of green, twenty vests all white and clean."We must be in time", said they; "First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the rule, when we froggies go to school."
Master Froggy, grave and stern, called the classes in their turn,Taught them how to nobly strive; likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon a log, showed them how to say "Kerchog!"Also how to dodge a blow from the sticks which bad boys throw.
Twenty froggies grew up fast, big frogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot; not one lesson they forgot;Polished to a high degree, as each froggy ought to be,Now they sit on other logs, teaching other little frogs.
Monday, October 19, 2009
f.e.e.l t.h.e l.o.v.e
JUSTICE is what LOVE LOOKS LIKE IN PUBLIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Above is officially my favourite phrase of the year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This simple words are true encouragement, to continue doing the things that i find worth doing in life, regardless of the hardship.
Above is officially my favourite phrase of the year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This simple words are true encouragement, to continue doing the things that i find worth doing in life, regardless of the hardship.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
One revolution
There is an estimated over 2 million migrants and 100,000 asylum seekers and refugees in Malaysia. Most of them from neighboring countries such as Mynmmar, Philipines, Thailand, Viatnam, Nepal, Bangladesh, India and Indonesia. These people, mostly Asians, are well assimilated into our culture and some of them are even born and raised in our “Tanah tumpah darahku”. They look like us, they eat our food, they speak our language, they walk our land, they wear our clothes. Needless to say, with our multicolored and multicultural society within Malaysia, it is difficult to differentiate a true Malaysian from “the rest”.
Illegal Migrants and asylum seekers and refugees are often intertwined with each other because of their nature of “not belonging to the country”. However, there is a huge difference between these groups. Illegal migrants are foreigners who cross national borders in a way that violates the immigration laws of our country or overstay their visitation/ study / or work permit. Refugees are people who flee their country of origin to escape danger or persecuting. On the other hand, asylum seekers are people who seek to be recognized as a refugee, a point where ones status is afloat.
There is obvious worry among the rakyat and our government regarding the influx in illegal migrants and asylum seekers in our country. Some of these worries are baseless, and others completely understandable such as the lack of resources within the country to sustain the growth of this community and the rise in crime. Whatever our stand may be on this issue, we have to acknowledge the fact that they are here in our present, and the numbers seem to be growing as the days pass us by.
In the current situation, less has and can been done to assist this group- mainly because of labels such as “illegal” and “foreign”. Children are raised without education, families have no access to medical support and most of them live in slumps that you and I would never imagine even walking pass by. This ghetto they call it, is one of the rich soil for social and health problems to flower. It is where women and children are abused, it is where people start stealing, it is where diseases and STD’s such as AIDS sprout, this is where people die of abuse, hunger and illness.
A conversation regarding the issue of illegal migrants in our country sparked a debate between a fellow friend and i. “Why should we help out foreigners when there is much space for improvement in our rakyat?” she asks. Besides the obvious argument of “basic human rights” and “ a world without boarders”, I realized that different goals and interests can be achieved from common processes.
If the debate should take a turn to a more technical approach, I would argue that the overall lifestyle of illegal migrants and asylum seekers residing in our country should be overlooked, and assisted for improvement as a step to improve our Malaysian society as a whole taking into account that they make up 10% of our society.,
There is always a bigger picture to look at. For this purpose, allow me to paint this picture of the benefits of efforts to improve the lifestyle of migrants and refugees in our country.
Access to health care would definitely reduce the prevalence of epidemic such as HIV, and promise a more “civilized” portion of the community. Should there be improvement in the area of medical access, HIV and other STD’s within the migrant community can be curbed, this will in return reduce the transmission of the virus to the “locals”. Access to education may allow young children to learn values that would make them “friendly” members of the community where the “locals” shall not fear safety when walking in their own land.
An acknowledgement of a “refugee” status for asylum seekers (the term “refugees” are not acknowledged in Malaysia) would allow a faster and smoother process of their relocation to other recipient countries.
A migrant can be killed and go unnoticed because there are no records of their existence.
Other than that, there are many abuse and rape cases that go on unreported because “illegals” are afraid to approach our local authority. Should there be a safe place where they can make complaints, there will be lesser “ harmful” people walking our streets.
These are just some of the many steps that can be taken into considerations.
At this moment, I believe the future of our nation should overpower the jurisdiction. By improving the lifestyle of illegal migrants and refugees in our country, I believe that the government would not be encouraging or welcoming illegal migrants into the country, but instead looking out for the future of our nation. I understand that resources are scarce, especially with the wave of global recession, however, there are many international funding that support such efforts, and would be more than willing to elevate our financial burden or constrains, with the support of the government. There are also many sprouting NGO’s that are beginning to lend a hand, and with collaboration from the government, wonders can be achieved.
Thus, whichever point of view we may come from, whether or not it is to advocate for basic human rights, a world without boarders, or to put the interest of our people before the “others”, I believe it can all be achieved by one common process. Let me stress again, whether we like it or not, they are here in our now. Its either we sit back and complain about the situation, or we can make the best of what we have and work around our struggles.
Uphold rights of every person as set out in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which is international customary law and therefore binding on Malaysia.
R.I.P Kuchimai
Thank you baby for living such a beautiful life. You were always so forgiving, youthful till your last day, and just pure....
We love what you have thought us, we love that you were in our lives, we love that you were more than we could ever ask for.
We love what you have thought us, we love that you were in our lives, we love that you were more than we could ever ask for.
R.I.P Uncle Muru
You can cry now that he is gone
Or you can smile because he has lived
You can close your eyes and pray
That he will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see
All he has left for us
You heart can be empty
Because you can’t see him
Or it can be full of the love you shared with him
You can turn your back on tomorrow
And live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow
Because of yesterday
You can crush your faith
Because of his life that was taken
Or you can strengthen your spirit
Because of the life that was given
You can think of all that he would have had
Should he have lived
Or you should know that he has more
Should you choose to believe
You can cry and close your mind
Be empty and give up hope
Or you can do what he’d want:
Smile, open your eyes, love, and go on!
Love,
Or you can smile because he has lived
You can close your eyes and pray
That he will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see
All he has left for us
You heart can be empty
Because you can’t see him
Or it can be full of the love you shared with him
You can turn your back on tomorrow
And live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow
Because of yesterday
You can crush your faith
Because of his life that was taken
Or you can strengthen your spirit
Because of the life that was given
You can think of all that he would have had
Should he have lived
Or you should know that he has more
Should you choose to believe
You can cry and close your mind
Be empty and give up hope
Or you can do what he’d want:
Smile, open your eyes, love, and go on!
Love,
Lil one.
Mind Vs Mater
What the hell is reality? Do you, me or this Seasons chrysanthemum tea in front of me really exist outside of the mind? The possibility of objects and even thoughts might just be an illusion is truly annoying, as close as trying to quantify infinity. It’s sickening.
Have you ever seen a figure from the corner of your eye but when you turned to look there was nobody there? If it is possible to be sometimes deceived by the human mind, therefore isn’t it possible to always be deceived?
Ho do we figure out the purpose of life when we cant even be sure if life exist?
As science would explain matter; we know that an object exist because our 5 senses tells us its there. We see, touch, smell, hear or taste it, and therefore it is real.
But when you look at an object, the light bounces off the objects and hits the retina, some wham bham chemical changes happen, alakazheem alakazhaam and wallah……we see!!!! And the same process somewhat repeats when we use all our other senses too.
So technically…… its not that we are experiencing the object itself, by right….we are experiencing the chemical change that happens within us. NONE of us has EVER experienced ANYTHING directly.
Suppose we were to mimic those exact chemical reactions and channel it into our brains….wouldn’t it look/see/fee/smell/taste like a matter from outside your brain? Would we then know how to differentiate between mind and matter?
So then…how do we know or proof that anything scientific is “true” if we never get a chance to experience/ perceive ANYTHING on this world directly???
I’m starring at my chrysanthemum tea at the moment. If nobody was looking at it, would it still be yellow? Is color just a common reaction by the human mind? Does the world only have color when someone is looking at it?
Ages ago, people believed that the world was flat until one find day, one smart fella went “hey guess what?? It’s a sphere!!!”. People thought he was crazy, it was only after a long time was his theory proven and people started accepting the new found “truth”. Once, the reality was that the world was flat, nobody questioned it, nobody doubted it….. but then, the reality changed. Maybe 2000 years from now, people will be laughing at our stupidity for believing that “this world/life” is the reality. Our perception of the world doesn’t necessarily depend on the object itself, it depends on the mind. If what we experience in life merely just a blob of chemicals, are we then living in reality? Is reality referring to stuff that our minds conjure??
When we say the word “chrysanthemum tea”….. we generalize the word to all tea that are similar. But truth being, no two tea have anything in common except for its name. When we talk to someone and refer to something, we assume that it’s the understanding of the same “something”….when in fact….its not!!!
So how do we trust what we have been thought? Are we sure that it is the same “teachings” of the founder and not an altered state of it by the learner?? As we turn to people who we assume to be more stronger/ wiser etc… we should rely wonder… how the hell do they know???? How does anyone ever be sure about anything???
Doesn’t everything just seem maya? Is it less of a life value being stuck in a state of maya???
Have you ever seen a figure from the corner of your eye but when you turned to look there was nobody there? If it is possible to be sometimes deceived by the human mind, therefore isn’t it possible to always be deceived?
Ho do we figure out the purpose of life when we cant even be sure if life exist?
As science would explain matter; we know that an object exist because our 5 senses tells us its there. We see, touch, smell, hear or taste it, and therefore it is real.
But when you look at an object, the light bounces off the objects and hits the retina, some wham bham chemical changes happen, alakazheem alakazhaam and wallah……we see!!!! And the same process somewhat repeats when we use all our other senses too.
So technically…… its not that we are experiencing the object itself, by right….we are experiencing the chemical change that happens within us. NONE of us has EVER experienced ANYTHING directly.
Suppose we were to mimic those exact chemical reactions and channel it into our brains….wouldn’t it look/see/fee/smell/taste like a matter from outside your brain? Would we then know how to differentiate between mind and matter?
So then…how do we know or proof that anything scientific is “true” if we never get a chance to experience/ perceive ANYTHING on this world directly???
I’m starring at my chrysanthemum tea at the moment. If nobody was looking at it, would it still be yellow? Is color just a common reaction by the human mind? Does the world only have color when someone is looking at it?
Ages ago, people believed that the world was flat until one find day, one smart fella went “hey guess what?? It’s a sphere!!!”. People thought he was crazy, it was only after a long time was his theory proven and people started accepting the new found “truth”. Once, the reality was that the world was flat, nobody questioned it, nobody doubted it….. but then, the reality changed. Maybe 2000 years from now, people will be laughing at our stupidity for believing that “this world/life” is the reality. Our perception of the world doesn’t necessarily depend on the object itself, it depends on the mind. If what we experience in life merely just a blob of chemicals, are we then living in reality? Is reality referring to stuff that our minds conjure??
When we say the word “chrysanthemum tea”….. we generalize the word to all tea that are similar. But truth being, no two tea have anything in common except for its name. When we talk to someone and refer to something, we assume that it’s the understanding of the same “something”….when in fact….its not!!!
So how do we trust what we have been thought? Are we sure that it is the same “teachings” of the founder and not an altered state of it by the learner?? As we turn to people who we assume to be more stronger/ wiser etc… we should rely wonder… how the hell do they know???? How does anyone ever be sure about anything???
Doesn’t everything just seem maya? Is it less of a life value being stuck in a state of maya???
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
