“The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seat belt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, ‘Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.’

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. ‘Finance’, ‘Liquidation’, ‘Assets’, ‘Investments’… Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it.

Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval. ….. ‘I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!’ Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.

‘I can’t DEAL with this anymore!’ she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat.. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter..

‘Sorry, Ma,’ she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. ‘I have a big client in America . There have been a lot of problems.’

The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big andimportant.

Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother’s wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerfuldigital tune, which broke the awkward silence.

‘Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.’ Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn’t name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for ‘networking’, Chinese ones being easily forgotten.

‘Oh no, I can’t see you for lunch today. I have to take theancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.’Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it wasreferring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother’s silence meant she did not comprehend.

‘Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!’ The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.

The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple’s roof.. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall.

Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit andstilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother’s side.

‘Ma, I’ll wait outside.. I have an important phone call to make,’ she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man.

Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says… She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success.

What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. Shegives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness.. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smoldering ashes.

She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son. Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had ticked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted.

Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. Awoman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood.

She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu, old fashioned… . She wanted her mother to be ‘modern’, a word so new there was no Chinese word for it. Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The Gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl’s roots and now she stood faceless with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.

Her daughter had forgotten her mother’s value. Her wants were so ephemeral, that of a modern woman. Power, wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less.When her daughter left the earth, everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter now that she had looked out of the temple gates. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger andworry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there – down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her owngods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life.

Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty souless shell at the altar..The old woman watched the joss stick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.

Modern woman nowadays, the old lady signed in resignation, as she bowed to the east bone final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder whey they cannot find it.Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter’s face.

An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sown the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not to fast as she had done before. ‘Ma,’ Bee Choo finally said. “I don’t know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the bighouse. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay us seven million for it. We decided we’d prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road .. Once we move into our apartment, we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves… ..”

The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. “We’d get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out – but once the maid is gone, there won’t be anyone to look after you. You will be awfullylonely at home and, besides that the apartment is rather small. There won’t be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There’s one near Hougang – it’s a Christian home and a very nice one.”

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. I”ve been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It’s beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! Hardly have time for you, you’d be happierthere.” “You’d be happier there, really..” her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.

This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offering to cling tightly to, she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag and her fingers trace the whiteseat.

Ma, her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother.. “Is everything okay?

What had to be done, had to be done. “Yes” she said firmly,louder than she intended, ‘if it will make you happy,’ she added more quietly.

‘It’s for you, Ma! You will be happier there. You can movethere tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.’ Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. ‘I knew everything would be fine.’ Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier… She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; money, status, career, love, power and now freedom without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down……

Yes she was free. Her phone butted urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. “Stock 10% increase.” Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her and while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen,the old woman in the backseat became invisible and she did not see her in tears.”

i am lucky because my friends have first aid knowledge. we have the luxury to afford not only rudimentary education but also additional life skills. on the other hand, some countries are struggling or even depriving their people from basic education. to ask, how would they know what to do if their friends or family members are down with infectious wound or any diseases. certain cultures or villages would definitely have traditional methods in curbing such problems. however, the western invasion (NGOs and UN-related organizations) in many rural areas have slowly eroded such practices and enforced western medical knowledge. hence, more and more people are reliant on western medications and equipments which are way too costly for the government or that there is rampant corruption. at the same time, more new diseases are surfacing which requires longer time for the new generations to source a traditional solution. in such instances, western team would once again emphasize on such shortcoming to rely on traditional based methods.

i am once again lucky because the injury is induced by myself. there are so many left dead due to the war fought ouside their house. they are more than innocent, so why did they die? in the past, soldiers fight soldiers in a war. modern warfare happens in urban centre where large number civilians stay. furthermore, more destructive and indiscriminate weapons are used which are unable to gaurantee the safety of innocent civilians. when left wounded, war zones provide an unfavourable situation in relieving the injuries. death rates accumulate, and i ask, what are we trying to achieve? just look at what shit america have done to iraq.

finally, how am i not lucky when i know i will recover once i brave through the pain in cleaning the wound? however, for them everyday is an unknown. even had they made it to the hospital, it is still uncertainties ahead. they had to brave the excruciating pain with the most raw equipments, sometimes without anesthesia. i would rather die. whereas they never give up, they are the heros in lives.

we are all humans, but why the inequality?

The demonstrations were sparked off when the government increased the fuel twice the amount, exacerbating the struggles of all Burmese. The monks decided to reject alms and marched the streets to pressure government to end poverty. Initial warnings such as tear gas put more people, especially students to join the march. As usual, repressive government used greater force to curb the demonstrations, monks were arrested and murdered.

Burma VJ is a documentary comprised of videos taking during the demonstrations and smuggled out with personal risks by the reporters. We thanked them for those who sacrificed their lives and those who are still working hard in providing the world with information. Exactly because of them, we are able to see an election happening in the coming month. The video below is a section of the documentary which I find most, well, mixed emotions.

Nonviolent strategies are not the perfect solutions but still one that would work better than any others. People will get arrest, will die, will suffer. However, if the demonstrators persist in their cause, it will only further expose the atrocities of the repressive regime. Continued pressure internally and externally would ultimate cripple the regime. Had the military forces decided to join the monks and students, the military junta might have been eliminated. Despite the charismatic democratic leader, Aung San Suu Kyi placed on extended house arrest and not able to participate in the coming election. I sincerely hope with new parties representing the people, that there would be a change in Burma. Else, the repressive regime would stay in place for another god knows how many years. Furthermore, if people decided to stand up for their cause, god knows how many the military would kill again.

May all beings living to the East
All the beings of the universe, be Free
Free from fear, free from all distress, free from poverty
May they have peace in their hearts

Free Burma.

child soldiers may not be news to you anymore, but y not since it is still on-going and not yet solved? in northern uganda, as early as the 1980s, children have been abducted and trained as soldiers to fight for Lord’s Resistance Army (a chirstian militia group) led by Joseph Kony.

children, as young as 10 years old are taught to kill, often beginning with their own families. others are killed and a child is let to live and then the child is commanded to kill in order to stay alive. if children do escape, they will never be the same again. screw the reason why they are fighting today, the thing is any children that NGOs have saved are subject to our assistance today.

I don’t know what those photographer would interpret this picture, but to me, he is telling me he needs to get out and leads a normal life. humans can be conditioned; just like how they were conditioned to kill, they can be conditioned to be a potential contribution to the society.

so let’s give a hand to these children through Invisible Children, visit their site for more infomation on the various methods you can help them. on the other hand, u can also contribute in their legacy fund scholarship project by clicking the icon on the left under SocialVibe . it is FREE, just some clickings to do and we can add on to the hours of education for the children. marketing nowadays are amazing, but of course, you need to provide some details which served no harm either. so help Invisible Children to help them.

peace.

without any information, i (and u as well) would assume these two men as criminals who just came out from the police station or court. or maybe just some hippies (i mean, look at the dreadlocks!). or maybe just some homeless, jobless men wandering on the streets. just nothing good, i assume.

well, now they looked really cute, aint they? one t-shirt says ‘the only solution is love’ with a lovey dove on the side and the other t-shirt shows a man dumping weapons into the bin. indeed, it is rather hippie (maybe its the dreadlocks?), like nobody would treat them seriously. but many things should be not be judged on the cover. the man on the right is Ciaron O’Reilly and the left is Jim Dowling, both are nonviolent activists in human rights and anti-war issues. and no, it is not ad-hoc; they devote their lives for such a cause.

that was Jim getting caught for blocking a major military access road to the Talisman Sabre 09 exercises being held at Shoalwater, central Queensland, Australia. getting caught and attending court is common, but the attitude should remained positive (like him). it is exactly such optimism that keeps the opponent off-guard. for example, he was in a blockade where activists locked their arms in a line, which the police threatened the use of force had they fail to disperse. however, the police didn’t use their batons and did the otherwise; they have to carry the activists away from the road (gently). that, is the power of nonviolence.

of course, this post is not to ask the readers to think about nonviolent protests but to be aware of it. nonviolence is a strategy to achieve positive ends with positive means. if u r (or going to be) a police, think when you are ordered to disperse civil resistance groups. if u r teacher, think whether you should encourage free speech and creativity in your students. if u r an adventure-seeker, think whether u should be sourcing for challenges in your life when there are existing challenges in the social structure in the world.

peace.

there is a fisherman who fished for leisure and as source of food for the family.
one day, a man saw the fisherman and say that he will never be like him.
man: i will never be happy to be fishing all my life
fisherman: o, so what would you like to do?
man: hmm, i will sell my fish in the market
fisherman: and?
man: and i will use the money to hire more people to help me fish
fisherman: and?
man: and i will use the profits to start a fishing export business
fisherman: and?
man: and i will expand my business to become a transnational company
fisherman: and?
man: and i will have a lot of money to buy a big yacht
fisherman: and?
man: and i can fish on the yacht

this photograph is not recent and the story behind it is not uncommon, but still for those who are clueless about it:

Photo by Kevin Carter. In March 1993 Carter made a trip to southern Sudan. The sound of soft, high-pitched whimpering near the village of Ayod attracted Carter to an emaciated Sudanese toddler. The girl had stopped to rest while struggling to a feeding center, whereupon a vulture had landed nearby. He said that he waited about 20 minutes, hoping that the vulture would spread its wings. It didn’t. Carter snapped the haunting photograph and chased the vulture away . However, he also came under heavy criticism for just photographing — and not helping — the little girl. When the photo was published, hundreds called to ask whether the little girl had survived. It was such a shame that the publishers could only say that the girl was able to escape from the vulture but her fate was unknown. Hence, should we honor Carter whose photo translate the situation in Sudan to the world or should we criticize him for not helping the little girl (i mean the camp was only less than 10km away). My first intuition was that he should help the little girl! How possible could he just sit there and wait for 20min for a wildlife show involving your own species? It takes less than 5 sec to just snap a picture and he could then help the little girl. He took his life not long after the photo was published. Still, I wouldn’t pity such a man who left behind his family in struggle of his own emotions.