Desensitization

Have you ever taken a cold shower on a cold day?

It was not intentional. You were not aware that the heater had broken down. You had massaged all the shampoo into your hair, and soaped yourself from your head to toe. Then you turned on the shower and the water came pouring down in torrents.

You stuck your hand out to intercept the downpour. The water ran through your fingers, sending a chilling sensation to your spine. You waited for the hot water to come on, but the falling stream remains too cold for comfort. You held your hand in front of the nozzle and anticipated for a change of temperature. Somehow after a while, your mind was tricked into thinking that the water had become warmer when it was your palm that became desensitized to the cold.

You dip toes into the shower, followed by your thighs. It was tolerable. Then you took a step closer, and the icy waters landed on your torso, making a run down your chest and your tummy before passing down your legs. You felt your body trembling, your muscles shivering under your skin. Then you struck up more courage, and moved your head under the shower. Your brain just froze for the next few seconds.

In your mind, you told yourself to get it over and done as quick as you can. Gathering much will power, you turned the flow to the maximum. Vigorously, you rubbed the soap off your skin.

Just when your skin started to feel clean and clear, you noticed a change in the temperature. Gradually, the water became warmer, and warmer. Then you saw some fog forming on the mirror beside you. Steam rose to the ceiling and out of the cubicle. It was getting hot.

By then, you did not need the heater anymore. Your body had already accustomed itself to the cold water, your skin had desensitized to the adversive stimulus. And the warmth - it no longer mattered.

Song of Hope

Then you sing me songs of hope
And I danced and every line becomes a ray of light


Song Of Hope by SOULNIDUS

On a sidenote, soundcloud has a thriving community of independent singer-songwriters. If you agree that mainstream music has been strewn with much thrashy pop and distasteful lyrics, then do check out this alternative channel.

Woe of a mortal

(Since this is open to public scrutiny, I must make a disclaimer before I begin. I am unworthy to speak of the topic, neither am I an expert. Do pardon me for any misinterpretation on my part; differing opinions are welcomed. If you find this offensive, or feel that I've said something wrong, then please correct me by making a comment below so that we can all learn.)

You are sitting at a hawker centre with only have a few dollars in your wallet. A rugged old man approaches you and asks you for some money. He looks like he does not have a home to go to, or anything to eat for the day. You feel sympathy (or perhaps empathy if you had been in similar situation) and decide that you can part with some money for his sake. He walks away with a few dollars. After your meal, you walk past the void deck and sees the old man sitting at a corner with a few cigarette sticks (or a can of beer) in his hands.

Taking into account the likelihood that he had spent your money on vices, you may feel that you have been cheated, or you may experience a little bit of anger, or regret. Or perhaps you would just sigh and let it pass. The range of reactions are non-exhaustive, I am only able to think of those which I have personally experienced. But something which I read some time back helped me to come to terms with the frustrations of my work, and with life in general.

Mahatma Gandhi once wrote in an article, Ethical Religion, that a man is a master of his own morality, but not its results. A man who has committed an immoral act is deemed as guilty, even if his behaviour has no adverse impact on others. Likewise a man who has acted morally is still guiltless, even if few have followed him. So if a man offers his help to his neighbour because he perceives his neighbour is need, only to find out later that the neighbour had lied about his circumstances, is this man guiltless? Or would he be guilty if he had not offer help in the first place? But what if this man did not help because he were certain that the neighbour was lying? Or what if this man only helped because he is of a certain social status and did not want to lose his social standing? It seems that most laws, have clauses and exceptions, is it possible for us to cover all grounds when we only have a short span of time to decide the cause of action?

Or consider this situation: A woman sees that her neighbour's clothes on the clothesline had been blown away by the wind, she runs downstairs to pick it up. Unfortunately, on her way back, her neighbour sees her with the clothes and accuses her of attempting to steal. If the next time it happens, would it be more right for the woman to do the same as she did the last time, or to inform the neighbour and leave it to the neighbour to decide if her help is needed, or for her to ignore it altogether? Can we decide what is more right without full understanding of an her intentions?

Unlike arithmetic where the answers are definite, it seems that the answers to life's questions are often ambiguous. If you have experienced the futility of an action which you did in the hope of being helpful, I hope you won't be discouraged or disappointed. We often cannot control the outcome of our actions, but we can at least control our actions. So perhaps the best defence is to do whatever that is deemed as right based on the understanding of each scenario.

I shall end with the article by Gandhi, if you are a keen reader. I hope the article will have useful insights for you; and I hope there will always be mutual tolerance, and an agreement to disagree at times.

High

Woke up to this old favourite from the Lighthouse Family:



Always keep it flying high in the sky of love.

Finding roots

Once upon a time, there was a tiny little seed, hidden inside the fruit of a very huge tree. While all the fruits on that tree were wholesome and healthy, the fruit that this seed dwelled in was small, dull-colored and deformed. Despite its imperfections, the fruit was still able to serve its purpose well. It nourished the seed with nutrients, and protected the seed from animals and bad weather.

Months after the formation of the seed was completed, the tree decided that it was time for its fruits to leave. So with the help of a gentle breeze, the tree swayed its hands and wriggled its fingers, sending all the fruits to descend from its branches. The moment the fruits fell onto the ground, the fullest, juiciest-looking ones were carried off by the passing animals. Squirrels, birds, cats and wild boars came to enjoy the harvest. However, none of them would take the deformed and ugly fruit. So the fruit sat on the bed of the forest, and waited. For days and nights, it waited.

After a long long time, when the colors had faded and the pulp dried up, the fruit finally caught the sight of a passer-by. A hunter was on his way home with a bag of game for his family when he tripped over the fruit. Looking down on the floor, he saw the shrivelled fruit in his path. Thinking that it might be a pity if the seed of the fruit was to go to waste, he said to himself, “Why not bring it back to plant it so that my children may play under it when they are older?” So he put the fruit into his bag and went back home, where his wife and offspring were expecting him. While his wife was in the kitchen to prepare the dinner, the hunter went into the garden. He extracted the seed from the fruit, and placed it deep in the soil. He also took some of the animal waste to put around it as nutrients. Contented with his day, he returned to his house to enjoy the company of his loved ones.

The seed was happy that it has found a place to plant its roots. Whenever the animals came to lay their waste on the soil, the seed ate heartily from the remnants. Whenever the sky cried and sent its tears down to the ground, the seed drank to its heart’s content. So quietly and peacefully, the first year passed and the seed blossomed into a young sapling.

In the second year, leaves began to sprout from the sapling. So whenever the sun came out, the leaves would be busy making food for the sapling. Whenever the wind passed by for a visit, the leaves would rustle and dance in joy. When it was night time, they closed up and fell into sleep. And so the second year went by, followed by the third year.

By the fourth year, the sapling had already grown into a small tree, eight feet tall. The leaves were thick, and the branches were few but strong. By then, the children in the house had also grown taller and bigger. There were two boys, and two girls, from the age of four to nine. In the day, the eldest boy would follow their father to hunt for food, while the other three children stayed at home with the mother. They were all very active, and spent much of their time playing in the garden. And to its greatest delight, the small tree became the children’s favourite spot.

In the afternoon when the sun was high up in the sky, the children would hide under the cooling shade of the tree. When the boys wanted to get away from the girls, they would climb to the top of the tree. As the girls were not as athletic as the boys, they could only watch the boys from below, much to their dismay. However, the girls enjoyed doodling which the boys did not, so they often stole chalk from the house to doodle on the tree trunk. Sometimes they would write their birthday wishes or ambitions, sometimes they would do arithmetic, and sometimes they would draw pictures of their family or their home. Each time after a downpour, the rain would wash away the writings and drawings, so the girls were able to start all over again. The presence of the children made the tree very happy. It thought to itself, “I have found a home and made myself useful”. So firmly and faithfully, it stood in its spot in the garden.

In happiness, the fifth year flew by. Followed by the sixth year, seventh year and the eighth year. With each passing year, the children grew, and began to enter adolescence. Unfortunately, as the children matured, the tree also started to see less and less of them.

By the twelfth year, they had stopped being children, but teenagers who were no longer interested in playing under the tree. All the tree saw of them, were their passing shadows as they moved in and out of the house. Unlike the children, the tree could not talk. Neither could it walk with its roots already entrenched in the soil. So it could only remain still, as each afternoon became very quiet, and each day crawled by very slowly. Thinking that it had outlived its use, the tree felt very downcasted and dejected. The only friends who visited were the occasional breeze and drizzle. Over time, the tree was filled with loneliness.

One morning, when the tree was at its lowest point, a bird stopped by and started picking at its twigs and plucking its leaves. It was terribly painful for the tree. To add on to the discomfort, the bird would not stop chirping, and this disrupted the peace that the tree had. Then the bird sat down on the branch and refused to barge from its position for the next few days. The tree felt even more forlorn and discouraged. “Even the birds have come to bully me!” it cried in despair.

On the third morning, at the break of dawn, the tree woke up an incessant chirping that was louder than before. Irritated that its sleep was disrupted, the tree looked down at its branches. Lo and behold, on the branch was a small nest, and in the nest was the bird, surrounded by five tiny ones! The tiny ones had very fine feathers, and they looked very tender and vulnerable. And the mother bird was busy attending to each one of them, carrassing them and feeding them with food that she has collected. Together as a family, the choir of birds sang in joy.

This was a very, very pleasant surprise for the tree, who had never experienced something like this before. By now, the branches of the tree were firm and well-shaded enough for birds to set up its nest. Furthermore, the tree was well-situated in the garden, where there was plenty of food for the young. Indeed, it was a blessing for the tree. Realising that it had now moved on to the next stage of its life, the tree was filled with happiness and excitement. “You and your little ones are most welcomed to live here,” it said to the mother bird. “I will shelter them from the sun and storms until they are able to take flight on their own.”

It had been a long search, but the tiny seed had finally found its place and purpose, one that it could keep for the rest of its days. With every year added on to its age, the tree only grew bigger and stronger, making it a more comfortable place for each generation of birds. So firmly, it stood at its spot, and faithfully, it provided and protected. There was never a lonely day again, and you can very well say that it was a merrily ever after.

The black hole

When my father passed away when I was sixteen, I fell into a huge black hole.

By then, we had already spent half my life apart, and the parent-child relationship had diluted to an unfeeling, material one. Whenever I met him, it was always about money, a collection of extra allowance for me. Apart from that, there were also occasional gifts, things I would not receive from my mum. Most kids at our schools were well-to-do and well-endowed with many expensive items, a clear evidence against our apparent meritocratic education system. We were living on the line. That was why I always got excited whenever it was time to meet him.

Our meet-ups were scarce, a handful of times in a year or two. It usually took place over a lunch, at a Chinese or Western restaurant, because that was just about what he would eat. Conversations were superficial, though I can no longer recall what we used to talk about. It was more like a quick meal, followed by a pick up of cash. The air was always cold, and he probably felt it more than I did.

The evening when the news came to me one evening, I was overcomed with shock. He was in the hospital for a while, but had chosen not to inform us. I was angry to have been kept out of the loop. It was later on that I found out the reason. You might be able to guess it. I am too ashamed to confess it.

The period that followed was an awful black hole. I did not have to make an effort to carve it out of my memory, it was just an absence of any, a complete gap. When I tried to return to school that following week, I found out that the teacher had announced the news to the whole class. I detected an unusual level of concern in people, a sort of sympathy that made things worse. I tried to hide at home, but the lack of engagement sent me straight into an engulfing state of hollowness. Time crawled by as I spent many afternoons staring at the ceiling in a daze. It was a mental paralysis, an emotional blackout. I tried to sleep the day away, but the floodgates wouldn't close and the dams were broken. I tried to deny, to forget, to externalise, to rationalise, but each comfort was momentary. It didn't help that it was a taboo to talk about anything related to the event. I had just lost something important but I couldn't tell or show anyone. It was a silent, lonely grief. I went to school and did my exams with my mind and body, and locked everything else in a safe.

This was the inaugural black hole, the beginning of many black holes in my life over the next eight years, many of them with no identifiable cause. But even if there were a cause, there is a no cure for loss, no lost corner in Norfolk that we can retrieve what we had left behind, or what had left us.

The Atonement II

Dear S,

How have you been? We haven't spoken in years, and I would be surprised if you still frequent this place. And probably embarrassed too if you read this. But this has been overdue for too long, so please lend me some time.

Life officially began in secondary school for me, how it started in our blue uniforms and berets. I have lost count of the afternoons we spent in the scorching sun, marching for hours after hours. And then there were also those quiet saturday afternoons when we would go to the swing in the neighbourhood where our school was, and talk about practically anything under the sun. Not forgetting the training camps during the holidays, the ones that I was terribly terrified of, because I felt that the seniors were just waiting to give me a hard time. (But in retrospect, it was certainly my fault, because I was so irritating, childish and arrogant that I would want to scold myself too! Haha) This is strange, I can't believe how long ago it has been. I can't believe how close these distant memories still feel. I can't believe how many memories I've swept under the carpet all these while. Now that I take a peep under the carpet, the nostalgia is heavy enough to drown me. Adolescence was a sweet lingering scent, innocence a warm protective coat, and youth a light pair of shoes. Now that I have lost them, I miss them so much. I have lost so many years in between, so many years.

I still remember the day when things took a complete turn. The fateful day when I asked you what was wrong, and you handed me a letter that was tightly sealed. You had written a note to me, in hope that I would understand your pains. But I not only did not empathise or ease your pain, I multiplied it in return. What makes me worse, was that I did it knowingly. I was aware of it, aware of the times you were crying, aware that you could have turned spiteful but did not. You might be wondering why I'm unwrapping the unpleasant parts of the past. I must confess unto you, that after so many years, and some repetition later, I finally have a taste of my own poison.

I don't think you would have difficulty understanding what I'm talking about. Please listen to me one more time, this time. All these years, I have always thought that we have to be cruel to be kind. I always feel the kindness will come through later. But now that I'm at the receiving end, I am thinking maybe sometimes, being cruel, is still cruel. What comes around goes around. I must have been evil too many times.

Dear friend, I'm sorry this apology and acknowledgement is a decade late. I know it is too late, because there is nothing I can say to make up for those months of pain you went through. I'm really sorry for what I did, how I reacted. Now that I know the pain myself, I'm truly grievously sorry. I felt betrayed that time. I wished things hadn't changed. But I come to understand that it was not your fault. I cannot blame you. I know how difficult it is to control our feelings, and how hard it is to resist the forces of attraction or pretend there is when there is none. But I shouldn't have shut the door. I could have helped you walk through it by treating you more kindly. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Previously, I was happy that you moved and found a new place. But my happiness had evil roots, because I was happy not purely for your sake, but my own as well. I was relieved it took away my guilt, my responsibility. But now, I truly hope that you are happy for your own sake, I hope that He has been kind and has given you what you should have, and what it should really be. I hope you are happy too. Please be happy.

Thank you for thinking of me still. I owe you a proper thank you for your fantastic hand-made birthday card this year, which I received late because I was overseas. Since we can't turn back time, we should all move forward, and I hope your road ahead is well-lit.

Wishing you joy and bliss, whenever and wherever you are.

Warmest Regards,
A good friend once upon a time

A quick escapade

It must have been one of the most treacherous walk I had in broad daylight. Walking down the highlands along the road shoulder with huge trucks zipping by was no laughing joke. As I held on dearly to my belongings as I held on to my life, I recalled the brief conversation with the young man at the coffee shop.

"You know where is the tea plantation?" I approached the waiter after a hearty breakfast at a roti canai stall in the small town.

"Yeah, it's over there." He raised his hand and pointed to the right.

"How do I get there?" I asked.

"Well... You can take a bus. Two ringgit. Five minutes. Now, already have bus." He replied helpfully in bits of broken english.

Reluctant to take a bus after a filling meal, I wanted to explore an alternative, "I see... How about walking? How long?"

"Walking..." He paused and looked intently into the distance, "I think thirty minutes."

So with his words, I set off in the direction he pointed.

The start of the walk was easy - a pleasant downhill stroll in the wake of an early morning. The weather was cool, the skies were clear and the sun was gentle on the skin. The path was well shaded by the canopy of trees that lined the road, the scent of fresh air was uplifting. Unfortunately, it was not long before the relaxing hike turned into a heart thumping journey.

About one kilometres into my walk, the roads began to meander, as the gradient got steeper. At the same time, the path also became narrower and darker. Huge heavy vehicles were whizzing past me, their drivers honking fiercely for me to get away from the road. Several times, I froze on the road at the approaching traffic, afraid that the drivers might miss the sight and run over me. At deserted parts of the road, I started to recall the stories that the innkeeper had told me the day before - incidents of how some orang asli had previously jumped out of the forest and attacked lone unsuspecting female tourists. My anxiety peaked, my imagination ran amok. The gripping fear for my own safety returned to me like an old nemesis. In my mind, I mumbled prayers after prayers.

I had no idea when my journey was going to end. I did not have a watch, and I was too afraid to take out my phone to check the time. I was sure it had been more than thirty minutes, maybe an hour. I had little water with me. My throat was dry and the sun was getting high. My heart was palpitating but my hands were cold and clammy. I began to sweat under my cardigan. It seemed like a never-ending crawl, until I finally caught sight of a signboard that said '100 metres ahead".

When I touched down at my destination, I would say that I was handsomely rewarded with a picturesque view.


If you have been around long enough, you would know how much I love greenery!

Seeing undulations of tea leaves covering hundreds of acres was definitely a highlight of my short getaway (or you can call it a runaway). Well, regardless of how many times I have seen this, I will always, always be overwhelmed with the same magnitude of admiration and reverence.

For there is truly nothing more beautiful than God's creations, nothing more captivating than the wonders of nature. As I took my rest at a teahouse overlooking the scenery, I gave thanks for the beauty before my eyes, the people in my life, and the grace of the one who has made it all possible.

So I look to my Eskimo friend

An extremely moving, compelling rendition of the song:



With special thanks to thetealeaf, who is like an eskimo friend to me.