Edison Chen

Just when the sex video scandal from our former Health Minister has subsided, Edison Chen has to entertain us with his taste for pornography.

Who would have thought that behind this lovable face lies a sinister mind. The film industry loves him or he would not have a string of movies behind him. Many has criticized his singing ability and yet he had cut a list of albums in a short time of 7 years.

What has gone wrong to turn him into a misguided individual with a threatening personality? Only Edison knows it himself. He could have gained so much if he has chosen to lead a normal life. But he has to spoil it all to indulge in a hobby that brought humiliation, shame, distress, betrayal and pain to the ladies around him. The only redemption is to ask God for forgiveness for no one can grant him that.

It is no point for the ladies to cry, to try terminating their own lives or to sue Edison for what he has done. He too regretted it. When they decided to cross his threshold they were aware what he was going to do to them. When he directed his camera at them, they knew the game would be disastrous.

The ladies knew Edison delighted in bed-hopping but they threw cautions to the wind to be with him. The only frustration they can get out of this situation is to unite and give Edison a good wallop. A wallop that reduced him to preserved persimmon.

For Edison, to fall is so easy. To get up the pain is too excruciating to bear. He has to be strong to weather the storm. I really feel so sorry for him.

The Missing Iron Grille

To contact or meet Edwin is extremely impossible. He is quite busy meeting clients, I was told. When Mike phoned up to fix an appointment, I was of course delighted.

The moment I approached the house I noticed the iron grille covering the manhole outside the house has gone missing. Obviously, some one has stolen it. A metal collector carting it away? A neighbour, perhaps, ‘borrowing’ to replace their missing grille? Whoever they are, they did not have the forethought that their selfish act might cause severe or fatal injuries to anyone who unsuspectingly might fall into the drain below.

It was passed midnight when Mike returned from Kota Kinabalu. It was pitch dark. As he got down from his taxi he had pushed his trolley bag ahead of him. It fell into the manhole. Had he walked the short distance towards the gate, pulling his bag behind him, he would have fallen into the drain instead. The drain has a depth of approximately 6 ft.

It gave me goose flesh to think what injuries he would have sustained if he had fallen into the manhole. Will I be responsible for the accident? Will I be liable for the medical fees?

My welder could only find time to replace a new grille the following week as he had a heavy schedule to cover. He wanted me to take measurements before he could weld a replacement. All the manholes in the neighbourhood are sized the same. So I borrowed the opposite neigbour’s to save him from making two trips.

I was worried for the delivery guys, mail man, the water & electricity meter readers. What if they come visiting? A temporary cover is required to prevent another fall. Sawing planks, nailing them together is no easy task for me.

Including a set of extra padlock ears for the front door grille, Mr Yap charged me RM450.00. I tipped him another RM20.00 for the rear grille which is a last minute request. For that I had to repeatly shower him praises for his nice handywork and his willingness to come all the way from Kepong. He was happy, Mike was safe and my purse was thinner. I could use it to watch Sam Hui’s concert at Genting Highlands!

If I ever find the thief I want to weld him to my front gate. Wishful thinking. The neighbours couldn’t careless to reveal him.

Scrap Metal Collectors

Months back a kid fell into an uncovered manhole at a resort. The authorities blamed the resort and held them responsible for the accident. Shouldn’t the person who has deliberately removed the iron grille and left the dangerous hole uncovered be accountable for the accident?

With scrap metal in great demand, no wonder many have carved up a new career as metal collectors. These metal collectors wandered around housing estates in their lorries with an assistant. Not everyone is qualified to be a metal collector. They are a special breed of people scavenging a living from victimizing unlucky house owners. They possess extraordinary skills. Sharp eyes and nose that can spot ‘anything metal’ from far and with the instinct to sense whether house owners or neighbours are around. To be their assistant, you have to be brave. If a sleeping dog wakes up suddently, you have to outrun it! If it takes a sample of your fresh for tasting, make sure you are inoculated against rabies. If you want to cart away their sports rims, you must practice hurdling before venturing into their house compounds. Jumping over gates is no problem then. Now a new breed of them has emerged. These are small timers working alone, bicycling around. Who are they? Mostly Bangladeshis.

These metal collectors work independently, selling their hot collectibles to licensed agents who then export them overseas. Now that metal thefts are spiralingly out of control, our government has decided to appoint a “government subsidiary company who will be the only agent authorised to buy scrap metal from the sellers”.

Whatever job you take on there is always a stop to refilling your rice bowl. We in Malaysia like to play monopoly.

Katie

Katie was a beauty, with tawny and black stripes on her body, her belly a snow white, her fur soft to the touch. She licked herself everyday to keep her fur clean of dirt. Her bright green eyes piercing steadily at us, radiating an aura of adherence, territorial and aggressiveness. She was gentle in her ways and steadfast in her principles

Katie was adopted into our family when the mice wanted to rule our household creating an uncontrollable chaos. Cat food was not available to us back then, so her meal consisted of dried fish and plain rice.

She might not be of pedigree breed like those Persians but her grace surpassed them all. Possessing a profound initiative to learn, she’d sit patiently on my desk observing my typing. Once I stopped, it was her turn at the typewriter. You could say Katie was only being playful but she never was. Maybe she was alone and had no playmates to share her funs and games with. She never run around chasing after falling leaves or amusing herself at the shrubs. She carried herself regally, observing life maturely and living it free of dominance.

Katie and I did not share that kind of bond she had with my brother. I do not remember hugging her nor did she like snuggling up to me. Whenever I tried ruffling her fur she snarled back. Let us admit, our birthdates do not match.

During the night, she’d creep up and settled comfortably at my brother’s feet. At 7am without fail, her meowing echoed throughout the house. It was time for her feed. If you ignored her calls, she’d climb on your bed, place her face closed to yours and screamed her throat dry until you satisfied her request. After her feed, she resumed her sleep and you’d be fully awake.

When it was time for her to meet her boyfriends, Katie’d disappear for days. When they came a calling, she never invite them for the night. If you thought you wanted to video tape their liaison, forget about it. She was prim and proper, and never for once let out that her estrogen had overflowed.

Even during her presence the rats still clowned around. You could hear them conferencing and scrambling across the ceiling. She never gave them a chase and they never dare to descend from the ceiling top. Just a meow from Katie and the rats would whisper with each other and tiptoed on their little feet. This was how Katie organized the rat community, like an army general. If a rat was unfortunate to get caught, she’d pawed it, let it made its escape, pawed it back, tossed it like a ball until it was exhausted and slowly breathed its last breath. Then she walked away and left us to bury the dead, without a bite.

Rats were not a delicacy for her, she did not share our penchant for rat meat, even the newly born rats which we believe possessed a medicinal purpose for treating internal injuries. She sniffed, wagged her tail, meowed and then turned away. A very stuffy cat.

When she noticed her claws are long and bothered her movements, Katie manicured them by scrabbling on the doorposts. Her scratches were so deep, they defaced the grains of the wood. Just do not raise your voice at her, she would growl back at you.

She could be very revengeful at times. No other cats, dogs or fowls ever dared to come near our house when she was around except for our neighbor’s pet dog, Rocky. Rocky was a well behaved and well mannered half Alsatian. He guarded both his owners and our house. He tried to win Katie over by hovering near her. She refused to extend her friendship by displaying her sharp teeth, her paws raised to claw him. Rocky tolerated her unfriendliness by withdrawing and keeping silent each time. Whenever I left some food for Rocky she would meow her disapproval. On one occasion when Rocky was gobbling down the food I offered him, I stretched out my leg to block her flight. Rocky managed to make a hasty escape. She boomeranged, clawed and took a nasty bite on my ankle. She hated both of us.

I was away when Katie met her death. It was a cruel and terrible death. Being aggressive she had fought with my aunt’s “mad” dog over territorial rights. He came over to our compound and Katie was not pleased about it. She gave chase and he being wild, refused to listen to my aunt’s pleads to leave. He advanced on her. Small in comparison, Katie was no match for him. He bit her neck and swung her from left to right. Her throat was wrenched and dangled from her neck. She died in great pain, in a pool of blood.

Katie left behind a daughter, Milly. Katie was dainty whilst Milly was a complete opposite, playful, impartial to her surroundings and very dependent for help. Katie was a good mother. She taught Milly how to live a cat’s life which Milly was totally helpless and ignorant. When her mother passed away, Milly disappeared for days and came back completely changed. She was mellow, quiet, desolate and so lost. She’d rest her paws and chin on the threshold of our front door, stared with sightless eyes outside, meowed occasionally, waiting for her mother to come home. Her mother never came back and she had a difficult time adjusting to a new life.

That was the end of Katie and memories of her live till today

Dirty Washrooms

It was unfortunate I had to visit the washroom at the General Clinic in the University Hospital recently. A patient had a bad bowel movement that morning. As the flush system was in poor working condition, the foul smell from the toilet permeated into the waiting room. Unable to tolerate it I informed the nurse at the counter. Her reply was that she dared not instruct the cleaner to clean the toilet for she would get angry and scold her. We had to suffer the smell till the cleaner made her next round.

We never fail to state our views about the condition of our public toilets in our newspapers, during our conversation with friends or keeping mum and brewing in our bellies. Whatever it is we do in our little ways contribute to the hygiene and tidiness of this amenity that is given to us.

Taking into consideration that the flush system was working fine, I do encounter visitors leaving their “droppings” in the toilet bowl. Although the first flush was unable to clear their “droppings”, I am perfectly sure they could use a little patience and a little effort to clean up their own mess before exiting their cubicle.

Sometimes we are not good at aiming, that was how toilet papers were found littering the floor of the stalls or near the dustbin. Another was the shoe marks left on the rims of toilet bowls. The visitor must have preferred to squat rather than sit or if the rim is dirty then she could have lined it with toilet paper before sitting to solve her problem.

The subject of washrooms are fun to record down. I had sweet and amusing memories of them while in China. And stories of them can stretch the length of a cloth.

Trading Places

What will you do if you woke up one morning to discover you are no longer yourself. Not your sanity but your identity.

The name you used to call yourself with does not belong to you anymore. Someone else has the right over it. Legally, you are a no one.

To go a little bit further, your biological parents, siblings, spouse, children, they can’t call you their own. So is your job, your EPF account, your bank accounts, your properties, and whatever you ever own on this earth. Very scary isn’t it. This lost of personal identification do happen, believe me.

Your birth certificate, your identity card and your passport may have stated you were that person whom you were before, but not now. A slight mistake made on your identity card by a staff from the National Registration Department may put you in big trouble. Just swap the face and thumbprints, and that’s it.

This is nightmarish but hope it is only an April Fool’s joke.

Choosing the right angel

Being bored is dangerous. You tend to do things you should not even think of when you are busily occupied.

Here I am one night running out of topics to surf. I was aimlessly browsing when I thought, why not check on the various religions in existence. That led me to the door of a satanic website. A click on the enter box would give me an insight into the realm of the supernatural. I was curious and I was tempted. Once inside could I ever leave this “Hotel California”?

With my decision made up, I was about to exit its front page when an eerie force invaded the atmosphere of my room. This uneasy feeling of not being alone was so strong, it injected an unexplained fear into me. It stood silently behind me. Patiently and yet menacingly. Gathering up my courage I looked over my shoulder. There was nothing behind me. It just refused to reveal itself. It was better that way anyway. But still I was crippled with fright. The intensity of fear reduced me to a point of emotional turmoil.

Closing my eyes, I bowed my head. Grasping my bible I began to pray. The power of prayer was so miraculous. It subdued my fear. Peace embraced me. I am not alone anymore.

Wherever we are, there is always someone behind us. Either it is our guardian angel or a demon, it is our wisdom to choose the right one.