Harmony.....an impossibility if there's always Self Importance

I have heard many times of family strifes and the basic reason of not reaching a compromise is the evil of self importance. The blindness of some individuals to one's wrong thoughts can really cause a lot of unhappiness to those around.  Why can't she just forget about her pricked ego and for the sake of future generations , just compromise and shake hands.  Some people are too self-centred.  They see themselves so big that they can't see others around them.
Even worse is that the same individual also goes round poisoning other people's mind.  If she is not giving in, she also makes sure there are others on her side too.  The sin gets bigger.  That is how Satan works if you allow it to play around with your thoughts.  From jealousy, it will eventually ballooned to murderous thoughts.

Let us all not be so prideful.  If there is a friend who is like that, try in a gentle way discourage her from behaving so.  It is not to be taken lightly.  See how it started in Cain.  Pray that we remember about that little sinful thought and avoid it, chase it away.....

My Stories: That Year in 1966

My Stories: That Year in 1966: In 1966, I was an eight year old studying in an all girls primary school ran by nuns.  The first year had been a year of discovery for me b...

That Year in 1966

     In 1966, I was an eight year old studying in an all girls primary school ran by nuns.  The first year had been a year of discovery for me because I had never attended preschool. I resolved to be braver in the second year and vowed to take vengeance on a few of the girls who had bullied me and my childhood friend, Ah Peng.
We were bullied because we had not been able to utter a single word of English and had to resort to saying 'yes' by nodding  and 'no' by shaking our heads to the left and right. This particular group of girls were fast to pick us as victims and we were often the butt of their jokes.

I was amazed at my own speed of learning because in the second year I came second in class.  Somehow I managed to learnt the languages well and I could remember all the multiplication tables required for my level.  It was my turn now to laugh at the bullies because they were often punished for not doing their homework, for losing their books  and worst of all, for not knowing any of the multiplication tables.  They came out as the last ones in academic performance.   Later, when we grew older , we became good friends and we understood our childishness then. 

Besides seeing my own progress in academic performance,moving from second last position to second place, I also saw that my family was getting better.  We had moved into a new and bigger house in a different neighbourhood.  However, the sad thing was I had to live further away from my best friend and my grandmother.  I was very lonely at first and I was not used to the unfamiliar neighbours. 

Every weekend I refused to get up early because there was nowhere to go anyway.  My mother was a stay at home mum and she would stay at home most of the time to make 'kuih' for us to eat in  her new kitchen.  She was learning to make the local Malay 'kuih' and they did not turn out well. They were either too soft and mushy or too hard, more aptly called 'rock kuih'.   Nobody in the house wanted to eat them and my father complained about wasting money.  Eventually, she gave up and she complained about us being different from 'so and so's' children who had good appetites and who never complained about foods. 

Two days before Chinese New Year that year, my father suggested that my mother try making beef balls.  Presumably he had tasted a few from somewhere and longed to eat some more.  He described the flavours he had tasted and asked if my mother was able to do it.  My mother thought it should be easy and instructed him to buy the meat for her to try out the recipe.  'It won't be difficult', she said.

That weekend my father bought a few katis of beef and my mother had it sliced thinly before mincing them.  My brothers and I helped to mince the meat using the chopper because it had been very tiring for my mother to do it alone.  There was too much for her to do it alone..  My brothers and I took turns.  At one time we were playing on the chopping board, treating it like a Chinese drum and making music like the rhythm they produced for the lion dance. My mother reprimanded us for playing with the sharp and dangerous tool.  'Mind your foot! '  She shouted , pointing at my brother as he minced the meat playfully with the huge glinting knife.

My second brother made a mess when he had dropped some meat on the floor and that made my mother very mad.  One thing about old people from China was that they hated to see food being wasted.  I remember having to pick every single grain of rice I dropped and my mother would make sure I did it faithfully.  I never understood  at that time why my mother had to be that particularly strict about it when we were no more in the situation that she was in China where they had not enough food to eat.  Now I realise that she was right in a way and that it was a virtue to be inculcated, seeing the state of youngsters nowadays who spend money without feeling any regrets.

I remember we took a long time mincing the meat for the beef balls.  At some stage, my mother would take a lump of it and shape it into a ball for deep frying.  My brothers would be the ones to try out the hot fried balls.  My mother had them to try a few times and they were very happy about it. However my mother was quite disappointed in her own efforts because the meat balls turned as tough as leather although the taste was quite good, not too salty and the spices had made them very delicious. Finally my father was the one to try and knowing that we had been at it the whole morning, he approved of the texture.  At that point , my mother decided it was time we stopped mincing the meat and she then proceeded to shape them into balls and fry them.  'Yippee', exclaimed my brothers, thinking that they would have more to eat.
'No more, the rest will be eaten on the eve of Chinese New Year!'
'But mum, at least let us try one or two of the better ones. We have eaten the leathery ones only.  That's not fair!'
On the eve of Chinese New Year, the meatballs were too leathery to be eaten, so my mother had them stewed in the pot until they became soft.  That was the only time and the last time my mother cooked that recipe.






I remember it was in the same year  my father bought a second hand Volkswagen saloon. It looked good to me because it was bigger than the Morris Minor he had earlier. Later, I detested it because it was difficult to get the engine started in the morning. My mother and I had to help my father push it until it gained enough throttle to move on its own. I was totally  embarrassed especially when the neighbours stood staring at us.  I thought I heard someone laughing at me, because I must have looked very funny in my pyjamas.

I had  been thinking a lot of my grandmother.  Eventhough  I was jealous of the attention she was giving to my baby cousin, I felt a sudden void even more when I was lonely.  I missed her bright and airy bedroom, the large and hard wooden bed, the uncluttered cupboard where she put the few sets of neatly folded silk samfu she possessed ,the smell of mothballs in it, her 'manly' handkerchiefs which were large enough for her to wipe her constantly perspiring face , the old milk tins that she had used to put all her personal items  like black hair clips, combs, medicated oil , to name a few, and the  smell of the Chinese cologne she used.   I liked to observe how my grandmother would get up early in the morning to boil some hot water to have a warm bath. I liked to see how she would comb her long but scanty hair and how adeptly she would fix it into a bun.  She was indeed an immaculate woman.



The same year, two months after we had moved into the new house, my grandmother died of a sudden heart attack.  The funeral service was held in my house and it was the first I had ever experienced. It was sad to see her go because I was just beginning to 'know' her. I wished she was around when I was a teenager, when I married and when I had children.




Three years later, my mother joined her.  That was the last straw.  I had two of my favourite people gone and I was devastated.  I started a regime of self reliance, be it emotionally, intellectually or spiritually.  I taught myself most of the things I knew about life, made many mistakes but I am grateful I am still in one good piece and still very sane.    

  

The Great Flood

The East Coast of Peninsula Malaysia has always been forced to almost a standstill during the monsoon season which spans from the month of  November to the month of March. 

During these months many economic activites along the coast have to be abandoned and the people will resort to other means of livelihood until the season is over.  Fishermen will mend their boats and nets whereas restaurants or other smaller outlets will remove their furniture or fixtures to prevent them from being blown off by the strong monsoon winds. There is totally no tourist who dare visit the beaches here during the heavy rains because of the montrosity of the floods.


When my father was working in the Maran jungle, he had heard about the floods and Maran was not spared.  Before the onset of the bad weather, my father had to make specific preparations.  First he had to make sure there would be zero activity if there was any untoward announcement from the meteorological station or any warning from the Forest Rangers.  He had anticipated stoppage of work in the jungle in November for an indefinite period until the next year but what he did not anticipate was that the scale of destruction of the said natural disaster..  


The second thing he had to do in the beginning of the year , long before they encountered the floods, was to build a high watch tower.  This was necessary because of the danger of forest fires.  Someone had to be stationed at the tower to watch out for rising smoke and to sound the alarm.  He had put Old Uncle Phang there, a friend of my grandfather whom he trusted for his no nonsensical attitude. I remember my father telling me about the strict fire safety precautions at the camp.


The building of the watch tower had my father extremely stressed.  The workers had  been deliberately not obeying orders.  My father had instructed higher pillars and a stronger foundation but they were trying to do otherwise.  They saw no reason why he had to build such a strong structure when after the contract they were going to abandon the place.  Finally after my father's insistence and under his close supervision, the structure was finished and it looked sturdy and grand.  My father heard some of them making fun of it but he still thought he was very right in doing his way.
The month of November was really depressing for my father.  He was calculating his losses.  Food supplies at the camp ran low and he had to ask my mother for some money to help out.  Some of the workers had families to feed and they needed to be paid promptly every week. This was the beggining of many bad things to happen.  It had been drizzling for days.  The workers had to build a fire to dry the clothes.  They had to be careful and always be on the alert.  My father's temper was bad and the workers were scolded really bad. It was no wonder they tried to put him down when they had the chance.  One evening a worker came rushing back to camp with bad news.  The forest ranger sent news that they had better leave camp for the rivers nearby were overdlowing the banks and the villages were already flooded.  The waters was rising but while they were busy moving the expensive equipment up the tower and some to higher places they did not notice the strength of the current. 
Suddenly the flood waters rose almost a foot in less than a minute.  Every one at camp left the ground and climbed up the watch tower.  They could see the Land Rover being carried away by the strong current.


The bicycles, motorbikes, pots, kuali, kettle, plates and cups were all gone but no human is put into danger.  The water was rising and rising , and this put every one up in the watch in much uneasiness.  They could see now only the roof of the workers' quarters and very soon, even the roof was submerged.  At that time they could feel vibrations on the watch tower and they had never felt death so close.   The workers asked my father if the watch tower could hold.on.  They did not want to die without biding their families goodbye. Some of the younger workers were almost crying.  'If you had built this watch tower the way you wanted, you would have long disappeared into the water and gone into the South China Sea!'
Didn't you realise why I had insisted on building a strong one? I don't know too, how bad the floods here are. The Forest Rangers told me that the water can rise as high as a house and if it is so, don't you think the force of the water will be very great? Damn it! Why were we told so late about the broken river banks?

Up to a certain point the water level never rose again.  Every one was relieved because after the maximum height, the water started receding instead.  Silent prayers  were said.  It took almost three full days for the water to subside to a safe level for people to be moving around again.  Rescuers came in motorboats and slowly the whole camp was vacated.  It took another two days before everybody were able to reach their homes. The brush with death story was on the lips of the villagers when the workers related about how their lives were saved by the watch tower.

• 

A Logger's Story

Monkey meat is thought to be an aphrodisiac and much favoured by many Chinese men especially those in Hong Kong and Southern China. A proof of its effectiveness was evidenced in the curing of whooping cough amongst some of the children belonging to my father's workers. It occurred to a few loggers who had followed my father to work in the Maran jungle that there was a huge population of a certain specie up in the trees that they were cutting down, so one morning a group of them decided to catch them using an ingenious plan they had devised.
My father had advised them against capturing the monkeys, but somewhat briefly , as he did not want them to think he was dead against their traditional favourite lest he might offend the whole group of Southerners. There was an uneasy feeling with regards to these animals that my father had felt that morning but he did not reveal it after considering the amount of eagerness these men had that fateful morning.

As one of the men were cutting down a huge tree laden with the chattering animals ,who might be calling out to their clans about the impending danger, the other men, about half a dozen of them, laid in wait for the tree to topple.  Finally when the notch was done and the giant tree was creaking in weakness, some of the men moved  towards the falling trunk.  Unfortunately one of them went too far ahead while trying to cast a net over the squealing animals that he was hit on the back by one of the smaller branches of the monstrous tree. That impact was fatal and it had broken his neck. His friend who was behind him saw what had happened and thinking that he had merely fallen without any unbecoming danger, he went forward to hold him up.  To his shock, he saw that his friend was limp as a cloth and his eyes that were still opened were lifeless.  He shouted to the rest but they were too busy with their catch to hear him.  It was only after some time when they caught a glimpse of his crying face that they realised something dreadful had happened.

  My father was informed and very quickly my father drove his Land Rover to the site.  A few men carried the lifeless body onto the truck and my father drove as quickly as he could to the nearest hospital.  Nothing could be done, the doctors said.  He had broken his spinal cord and he had died immediately.
After getting the death certificate, my father had to make a police report.  He felt responsible, at least it was how the police sounded.  It was a bad day; nobody felt like eating anything.  Damn those monkeys! Someone was heard cursing that, but those monkey catchers were still unwilling to let go of the captive animals that seemed to be gibbering curses in the makeshift cage.

My father announced that they broke camp for a few days and instructed some elderly ones to stay  behind to keep watch over things. He would not trust the younger ones for they would be too busy with gambling and drinking to know what was going on. My father and a few of the dead man's friends went back to their hometown to attend the funeral.  By that time the deceased had been brought home by the hospital ambulance.  At the funeral my father and the group of men he brought along with were scolded by the widow of the dead man.  After they had paid their respects, they all went home with a heavy heart. Can they be blamed for what was fateful?

A week had passed and the horrible incident was almost forgotten due to the labourious work in the jungle that was even harder to tolerate than the guilt of causing a friend's death.  One of the men volunteered to kill the three monkeys in captive to make a meal out of them.That evening the whole camp of men, young and old, were smacking their lips and enjoying the delicacy that one of the men had prepared.  It was monkey meat cooked with brandy!

The Elephants Came

After the night at the chilli farm, there was a hot topic being transpired among everybody in the family except myself. It was something to do with the night at the chilli farm and I did not understand what they were all talking about at first. What...what do you mean?  I asked, suspecting something must have happened while  I was sleeping like a log. What elephants? I pestered, but nobody wanted to heed my inquisitiveness. After many attempts and my doggedness in pursuing knowledge of the secret story, I managed eventually to 'dig it out' from my mother.
Incidentally, during that night, a group of elephants had come so close to the hut that we were put into extreme danger.  It was fortunate that nobody had raised any alarm, otherwise we would not have survived the night.  In a way, it was a lucky thing that I was asleep or else I would have cried or made too much noise. Those were wild elephants and they had come out of the jungle in search of food.  The banana trees must have been their target.  According to my father, it was a large herd of them because they had produced a lot of noise and rumblings.  It was indeed a narrow escape, because if they were in a rage, they might resort to tearing down the hut and stamping us to death.
I complained about not being informed.  My brother chided me for treating the whole matter lightly. Do you know we could have been killed? Do you know how fearful it was to have a herd of real wild elephants roaming freely just behind your house?