Years ago, as a writer cum media officer in a NGO, I wrote and published a couple of books, mainly on the environment including:
*Buku Panduan Alam Sekitar (in English and BM), 1984
*State of the Malaysian Environment 1983-84(1984)
*Directory of Environmental NGOs in the Asia-Pacific Region ( a compilation of a postal survey I carried out over six months) (1983)
*Environmental Crisis in Asia-Pacific (1984)
Apart from that, I was also writing for two feature services and other newsletters. My boss, who passed away a few years after a long battle with cancer a few years after I left, was a very dedicated man who loved Mother Earth and a tough taskmaster indeed. Each morning, I would have a one on one with him for about 30 to 45 minutes and leave his office with a pile of books and a list of writing assignments. The next morning, I had to finish reading all the material he gave me and had to give a verbal summary of everything I had read plus my opinion of the material. A tall order indeed. Perhaps now you know why I can blog so much :-). The training that he gave me impacted my life and critical thinking skills and I will forever be thankful to him for the value he added to my life.
In the two years that I worked there, I read and wrote more than I did as an undergraduate. To exacerbate matters, my colleague was a very competitive writer. (VINCENT - Wherever you are now, please contact me!!!) Both of us sat opposite each other and we would be very critical of each other's articles and would challenge each member of the staff to outdo each other in terms of quality of writing and perspective of issues. Then there was the eternal argument as to which university was better - my alma mater or his. We were so competitive that we even fought over the stamps from the office mail to the extent that the manager had to allocate a day to each philatelist in the organisation and we fought over by-lines and made a note of whose article came out in which magazine. It was stressful but I had loads of fun and enjoyed the informal atmosphere of the organization. The pay was peanuts but the lessons learnt priceless.
What was most gruelling was the writing process. I would be banging the typewriter most of the time and doing layouts etc, rushing to the printers, proofreading...in those days, we did not have desktop publishing and I was writing and writing and reading so much that I eventually had burnout. After I left, I was so terrified of writing that I only resumed writing again in 1997 when I did my outline for "ENTWINED". Along the way, I had my second son and I never wrote my story. When I started blogging, I also started writing "Entwined" - a tale spanning three generations over three continents but I lost everything in January when I sent my computers for reformatting and forgot to save my drafts. Then I had to work from scratch again after I found my torn and tattered rough drafts, .
I wrote Chapter 1 on February 2nd and Chapter 2 on February 3rd after which I was stuck because I could not decide on the relationship between the guy in Chapter 1 and the girl in Chapter 2. My dear friend Angela has been giving me a lot of encouragement to write again so today, I finally sat down to do Chapter 3. I am reposting Chapter 1 and 2 here again before Chapter 3.
I am merely an amateur who has nothing better to do than to put my ideas into words ...please forgive my shortcomings and feel free to shoot me down and to give your ideas, criticisms and comment. I have a long way to go and must confess that I am a terrible procrastinator :-) but I hope to finish the book and to dedicate it to a few persons who have been very important in my life. So here goes...This is my baby "ENTWINED"...
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CHAPTER 1
The nondescript man walks into town roughly at the same time when the south-west monsoon strikes. No one is aware of his real identity, his place of origin, his occupation or why he visits round about the same season each year. One thing is for sure. His presence is made known when his yacht sails to the shores. The flapping sounds of the sails seem to announce his arrival to the villagers who carry on with their routine tasks nonchalantly even though a significant few are dying from curiosity as they yearn to know more about this stranger who visits their shores.
That morning, the wind rustled the leaves of the coconut palms kissing the many fruits that were ready for plucking. As he docked his yacht at Teluk Bahang, the sea gulls flew past him as though they were happy that he was back in town again. Walking across the sandy beach, he heaved a sigh of relief that once again the atmosphere was quite stable for sailing. Time to stock up before the next stop. He nodded and smiled to a few familiar faces as he made his way to the kedai runcit round the bend. The familiar salty scent of dried salted fish assaulted his senses and woke him up to reality. Painful memories flooded his mind and once again, from habit, he pushed them back - deep into the recesses of his brain not knowing when they would begin their next onslaught.
How long had he been doing this? He could not even remember. All he knew was that he had to get on with his life and leave the past behind him. Dried leaves crackled beneath his Reebok sandals as he walked towards the familiar corner shop that was manned by a stout Chinese man.
"Hello, sir!" hailed Mr. Chong happily for he knew that this gentleman would be contributing a fair share to his income for that month. "You are back again. How can I help you?"
"The usual stuff. You know the amounts, Mr. Chong. Been the same for the past few years," was his cold reply.
"Er...but the price is no longer the same," snickered Mr. Chong.
"It does not matter as long as it is fresh goods that you are giving me," he answered crisply.
"Nothing but the best for you, Sir. It is my job to make you happy and your job to make me richer," he answered loudly and guffawed even more loudly.
With that, the chirpy sundry shop owner quickly ordered his docile wife to pack the supplies that his obviously wealthy customer needed.
"Three hundred and fifty ringgit, please."
As the crisp notes exchanged hands, he looked around the shop and his eyes fell upon the cob-webbed corners of the ceiling, darkened by the smoke spiralling from the incense being burnt at the altar placed at the back of the shop. Piles of newspaper were stacked untidily either to be sold or to be folded into paper bags by the faithful and quiet madam of the shop.
"Thank you," Mr. Chong replied while grinning from ear to ear.
Lugging his sundries along, he made his way back to his boat. The scene was all too nostalgic. The lapping waves seemed to welcome him as though they had missed his presence when they did their dance against the rocks.
The years had not been kind to his face. Deep frown lines spoke volumes about the struggles he had experienced. Battles with man and weather left their mark in the many wrinkles at the corner of his brow and the many fine lines at the corner of his eye. His weather-beaten skin seemed to crack up in protest for neglect while the soft tousled hair seemed to be the only humane touch in the demeanour of this man who hardly ever smiled. Did he know how to? Could he ever smile again?
The haggard look wore him down and it was a challenge for him to walk upright, weighed down by the many concerns of his heart. His calloused hands bore testimony of the tough life he led at sea while his lean body hinted that meals did not seem to be a priority in his life.
If only...
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CHAPTER 2
Memories of my first visit at Granddad's house are still fresh in my mind. The sun was blasting every quantum of energy to leave its mark on earth. The trees seemed to be reaching out to the skies to give the heavens a warm hug and to see for themselves who would be coming to the village.
On that breezy afternoon, even the lallang and rustling leaves seemed to be welcoming my return in the same manner like how schoolchildren would line the streets and wave their flags in a guard-of-honor to welcome a VIP. Strangely, it seemed as though the strong breeze seemed to be calling out my name and I imagined I was a dignitary returning to my hometown. What a grand reception indeed! It was well worth the very long walk from the bus stop.
A sudden movement jolted me back to reality. Mama was carrying me sideways on her hip and had tripped. Grumbling to herself, Mama proceeded to the backyard where even from a distance I could see the silhouette of Yeh-Yeh as he crouched in the garden with a spade in his hand, busily loosening the soil to plant his favorite vegetables.
The creak of the garden gate announced our arrival. Yeh-Yeh turned and upon seeing my wide toothless smile, he dropped his spade and cried out, "Kim, come to Yeh-Yeh!”
Mama put me down and said, "Quick! Go to Yeh-Yeh!"
I ran towards my Yeh-Yeh with open arms squealing, "Yeh-Yeh! Yeh-Yeh!"
As Yeh-Yeh bent to hug me, I felt his rough hands on my arms and his bony forearms when he swung me upwards to face the sky as he always did. He looked right at my eyes and held me close to him, cheek to cheek.
I felt his sticky sweat on my cheeks and could smell the salty sweat oozing from the pores of his neck under the scorching sun. It did not bother me one bit and I hugged Yeh-Yeh tightly, not wanting to let him go and wondering if the sweat could glue me to him forever. I wish it could. Then maybe, just maybe, Yeh-Yeh could inject some joy and loads of cheer into my childhood and buy me the lollipops and ice-ball that I loved so much.
"Ah Kimmy, you are getting bigger, heavier and also cuter!" he said with a smile on his face. "Have you been a naughty girl?"
I shook my head innocently and grandpapa roared when Mama said, "You know that answer to that question, Papa!"
Walking to the little attap house, Yeh-Yeh turned and asked, "Any news of Shaun?"
With tears in her eyes, mama kept quiet and looked at the ground.
"Well? Surely you have been asking the right people?" asked Yeh-Yeh again, this time softly with a tinge of frustration in his voice.
The silence seemed deafening and the fluttering butterflies by the bushes seemed to be listening to the conversation, as curious as I was for Papa's latest news.
"Hey Leng, don't worry, my girl. Kimmy can always stay here with us. You know Ma will take care of her while you are at work. Right now, it is more important that you keep your job and earn a living to save for Kimmy's future. It's no bother to us," said Yeh-Yeh gently and most lovingly.
Mama nodded as the teardrops joined in one main rivulet streaming down her pale face. Sleep had escaped her as long as I could remember for each time that I woke up, I could hear Mama sobbing quietly.
With a swish, Yeh-Yeh put his smelly straw hat on his sweaty bald head and said to us, "Let's grab a bite. Granny has prepared your favorite dish Kimmy!"
That was how my life as a kampung girl began.
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* Yeh-Yeh means Grandpapa in Mandarin
* kampung means village in Bahasa Malaysia
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CHAPTER 3
Growing up in abject poverty, my father decided to send me to Malaya to work in the tin mines. There was no other choice. The fields were barren, work was difficult to come by and with so many mouths to feed, the decision to leave was a plain and simple one.
It was the summer of 1923 when I said goodbye to my parents. With a cloth bag swung over my shoulder, I walked away from them and the pregnant wife I left behind. I knew not when I would see them again but I knew I had to work hard to send them money.
Together with other men from my village in Fujian, we made our way down Mount Wuyi. My heart broke as I thought of Mu Jen who would be delivering our baby in four more months. As we walked down the beautiful mountain, the rough journey over the vigorous rocks seemed ominous of tough times ahead. I cast my eyes on the limpid waters of the lakes and thought of the time I rowed the boat with Mu Jen and proposed to her.
Then, it seemed that the breeze, sunshine and wonderful landscape of my village would be where I would run with my children and grandchildren. But now?
The bus took us all to the railway station. The only scent of home I carried with me was the lock of hair Mu Jen gave me and also the small packet of Ooloong char that mama gave me.
"Wang Ho, this is the most precious possession that ma can give to you. When you feel too tired, put a bit of the char in hot water, let it brew and drink it when it is still warm. Always wear this jade locket around your neck for protection," tears brimming in her eyes as she put the chain with the jade locket round my neck.
"Ma...," I said, reaching out to her.
"Suan ler," was her soft reply as she pushed my hands away, turned her back and then walked into our hut leaving Mu Jen and I to say our fond farewells.
"Take care of yourself, Mu Jen. I will not be there with you when Xiao Er is born but you know my heart is always with you," I whispered as I held her close, my face resting on her hair. I inhaled it, registering the scent and wishing that I would forever remember how it felt with her in my arms.
The rocking motion of the train came to a sudden halt followed by the screeching brakes rudely awakened me. I had fallen asleep on the train, clutching my cloth bag tightly as it was all I had that reminded me of home. My chest felt so constricted with grief and so I turned to find a more comfortable position in the cabin. My eyes fell upon the metal chain hanging from the top of the window that was sheathed in a faded opaque white plastic reflected the noonday sun. As I stretched my head outside for a whiff of the fresh country air, my eyes fell upon the rolling hills that rose in emerald splendour before being swallowed up in the distance by the luxuriant plains.
A nudge at my side made me turn to look at my travelling companion. For a man so bereft of charm and good looks, his face filled with pox marks and unkempt hair, Shuen Chun was the only person from my village whom I knew in the group. Standing at five feet five, he never got married because anyone who looked at his face would turn away from the shock of seeing his bulging eyes that were slightly slanted at the corners. He yawned and I nearly died from a surfeit of halitosis. With a weak smile, I turned away, preferring to feast my eyes on the countryside scenery, with the hope that the scorching sun might zap some energy into my whole body that seemed to be weak with fear as to what the future held for me.
Five years. I promised Mu Jen and my parents that I would go back once I had saved enough money to buy a new piece of land for our farm. Would it be that simple? Would I be able to last that long?
Frankly, the past three days have been a nightmare for me. For far too long, I had been such an internet and blog addict. It was only when I was cut off from the rest of the world that I woke up to the stark reality of how much I depended on technology and suffered from severe withdrawal symptoms with no internet access.
As many of you know already, I live a very simple life and I rarely go out except to meet former students and trusted friends. In such a reclusive environment, I depend so much on the internet to feed my desire for knowledge in selected topics of interest (not so much local news which to me is far too depressing) and to keep in touch with my dear friends and relatives who live abroad. In the three days without the internet, my mobile bill will be a bomb for next month because of the many calls I had to make since I cannot e-mail or skype as usual.
That really set me thinking about the effect of technology on people's lives.
Ironically, in my business communication & presentation courses in college, this was one of my pet topics and I never really considered its emotional impact until now. The stress in trying to get through to 100 or 1300 88 9515 or 1300 888 123, to be put on hold, and then calling again because I got automatically cut off(in total I made 18 reports in 3 days) and then to call again only to relive the nightmare...and then waiting for the technicians to appear and then they don't and then to call again. Thank goodness they finally came today, bless the two helpful and patient gentlemen. You cannot imagine the uneasiness, frustration and internet deprivation feelings that drove me up the wall. Now, when I look at myself in the mirror, it almost seems as though my hair has turned curlier and frizzier ;-).
Of course, I cannot deny that technology has improved speed in communication, provided ease and convenience, lowered costs, overcome geographical boundaries and provided medical breakthroughs and helped to facilitate the development of different industry, but at the same time, we must realize how technology has displaced people in jobs and put pressure for many to respond quickly to emails (thereby increasing undue stress) or to delete mails without reading them (thereby increasing misunderstandings or miscommunication) if the mail box is too full of spam and junk mail.
I thought about what Antares wrote in his comment to my post on Another Agonising Day and it is true...while I live a very comfortable and simple life at home, with little stress, it is during the three internetless and phoneless days of my life that I was very productive at home - I accomplished many 'projects' that I gave myself :-). I know - I am very hyperactive - even as a kid - and I must always do something, learn something and I would not at all be surprised if I die one day with a book in my hand or my head on the pc keyboard.
My mind wandered to the days of my grandmother and parents. How on earth did they survive without the net? No wonder their culinary skills were superb. They did not have to google a phrase or word to discover why their cake did not rise or why the dish did not seem right and all they had were their two hands and experience. If it did not work, try it again and again until it did. Without the intrusive effects of technology and internet access, people used to visit each other more, or to use snail mail - thus the personal touch was longlasting and significant.
Undeniably, technological progress has caused me to be quite impatient. If there is anything I am not sure of, with the click of a mouse, I can get a reasonable answer or at least a lead to the answer. That speed of communication permeated my life in such a subtle way that I did not realize how impatient I had become. To exacerbate matters, it seems that the rest of society and industry seem to exalt this instant gratification philosophy with 3-in-One concoctions and instant noodles, instant popcorn etc. Fuses become shorter and tempers flare more easily - a common sight in restaurants and in commercial centers. So then, have we become better with all the progress that we enjoy? I think not. The quality of life may have improved in certain ways but not the way we live...not on the deeper level.
I work efficiently and quite quickly because time is precious to me. There is so much to do each day, so much to learn, to read, to write, to tell and really - my list is endless. From the moment I wake up each day, it is go go go go go until the moment I fall asleep. Mentally, my mind works very fast and I get so many ideas of what to do etc. that my hubby always says that he cannot keep up with me...and today, when I lamented about my withdrawal symptoms, he sighed and said wisely, "Patience is not one of your virtues." How true! Certainly, we live in an instant world now in terms of expectations and many other aspects of life.
A few months ago, I wrote a post about how mankind is regressing and during this time, I know that is even more true. I see it in so many aspects of life and even in my own. Composers needed no Mac book pro to compose their symphonies or concertos. Yes, I am very strange. Other women in my age group would be dreaming about the latest Rolex watch or LV handbag but madam here dreams of the granddaddy of computing - the 17-inch Mac book pro and the Google phone...even typing their brand names gives me this adrenalin rush...Sigh...when my hubby asked me what I wanted for my 25th anniversary present, I stupidly said - nothing - happiness, health and a lifetime of happiness with him and my kids - Why did I not ask for a google phone? But that is me. Self-sufficient and independent.
While clearing my cupboards yesterday, I came across a huge box of mementos from my former students and friends - it was filled with thank-you cards, aerogrammes, letters and other birthday cards, farewell cards, Teachers' Day cards. Overcome with much emotion at the memory of it all, I thought of what it is like today. We keep in touch via Facebook, send each other virtual gifts, visit each other's pets in Pet Society and use so many applications to keep in touch.
Where is the personal touch then?
That is largely the impact of technology.
I am not going to condemn technology because I depend so much on far too many gadgets for my own sanity :-). But one thing is for sure - I have to be very careful that technology does not rule my life. Interestingly, one of my blog readers who sympathized with my internetless plight emailed me and in his usual tongue-in-cheek style wrote:
Could this be a classed as a recognisable medical disability do you think? Should counselling be provided,to the afflicted,by the ISP? Should friends send the equivalent of a "get well soon" card........."Hope you are connected soon" card or something similar.Actually, he is really a wise man. Internet addiction has become quite serious. You cannot imagine the atmosphere in my home. I could not blog. My older boy could not check his exam results, could not play DOTA, could not chat with his girlfriend while my younger boy was in a state of panic as he could not surf the net for his research to do his school project (I had already told him, as I always do to everyone, not to leave things to the last minute), my hubby could not read the news in his favorite websites....Oh - it was quite awful indeed.
One day, when my kids have all grown up, I want to retreat from where I am...to live in my dream home....It could be a place like Santubong - overlooking the sea, a quiet place in the jungle where I do not hear traffic or music blaring from a neighbour's home or someone's home theatre system at full volume for the rest of the neighbourhood to know what they are watching.
I want a quiet place ...a simple rustic home...as long as there is electricity, food and water supply and most importantly internet connection, not forgetting my books - there, I will grow....Much as I lament the negative impact of technology on our lives and the way we communicate, I cannot deny that for me - I cannot live without technology or internet access. How about you?
One night a snake, looking for food, entered a carpenter's workshop. The carpenter, who was a rather untidy man, had left several of his tools lying on the floor. One of them was a saw.
As the snake went round and round the shop, he climbed over the saw, which gave him a little cut. At once, thinking that the saw was attacking him, he turned around and bit it so hard that his mouth started to bleed. This made him very angry.
He attacked again and again until the saw was covered with blood and seemed to be dead. Dying from his own wounds, the snake decided to give one last hard bite then turned away.
The next morning the carpenter was surprised to find a dead snake on his doorstep.
Moral: Someimes in trying to hurt others, we only hurt ourselves.
