Failure, and my part in teaching about it

I've felt like a failure many times. More times than when I feel like a winner. You see, it started when I was in school and one of the teachers, mrs. Fernandes, told me that my dance move was stupid. Well, that's how I remember it anyway. I insisted it wasn't and included it in the choreography anyway. She was the first bully I ever encountered. And I went home and cried secretly. Nobody had ever told me that i was stupid before, but this teacher did. 

The dance was done to hit song, 'Walk like an Egyptian' by Bananarama. It was infectious and I wore my mum's v-striped black and silver disco number, had a tennis sweatband over my brow, and was ready to dance my way to stardom in that hall full of sweaty teenagers for our annual school concert. I felt like I pwned her that night, dancing to my own steps, the very steps she had commented as stupid. 

I was born 7-days late, with too much hair on my head to the horror of the nurses! So, as a result, the Aquarian was subdued while the Piscean let loose. I've felt all my life that I was a winner. Only now, I fear that I've just been chasing an elusive dream. 

I'm a winner when it comes to understanding relationships. But a failure when it comes to sustaining one. So that has inevitably pushed me towards doing more research into failings. 

 

My journey begins...

Of offerings and tithes

I'm usually not preachy, am I? 

As a child, I attended the Wesley Methodist Church located on top of the hill at Methodist Boys School in Kuala Lumpur. I would hop into the grey Opel that belonged to my best friend and neighbour, Carol's father. At 7am on Sunday, we would drive from our link-house to the heart of KL. We'd first drop her mum, Aunty Patsy to the Catholic Church opposite Tong Shin hospital, then drive along Pudu bus station and make two lefts towards the national stadium area on top of the hill. I attended Sunday School and service, and later found my belonging in a band as one of the three "shoo-be-do-bah" back-up girls. My parents were not the church-going type (they now are!) and since completing Form 5, I've not returned to church. 

Only recently, I'm reminded of my foundations in Christ. I failed to give the Christ credit for being a strong part of my life during those early days. I also give thanks to Reverend Dutton and my neighbours, the Duttons in Bangsar. We had a great time growing up in Bangsar in the 1980s. You could say it was rather grand! We would play badminton in lane ways, I would ride my Shimano racer bike to piano lessons and back, and I'd walk swiftly (as we were afraid of hantu Kum Kum, an urban legend about a vampire lady who would seek out vestal virgins and sick the blood from their necks, leaving to bleed to death at bus stops) with my best friend and neighbour, Carol to the night markets every Saturday. It was a 20-minute walk that seemed like forever. Perhaps our legs were shorter then. We would go and be social at the night market, "bumping" of so serendipitously into school teachers and friends from school. 

"Oh ... Hello! You also here ah? 

I see... We just arrived. See you on Monday!"

Cakes, buns, a bag of Assam Boi and a drink in hand, we would gayly traipse back home with our treasures. I remember one time, we walked and walked and it seemed like forever. We walked past the Mobil petrol station. Then suddenly, we thought we saw the branches of the tree above us moving. It was KumKum! She was out to get us this time! And so Carol and I ran as fast as we could. We ran past one street sign, and ran across another street sign so fast it disappeared, then finally arrived at our street. The other end of a horseshoe road. Then we ran up the street! No. 197, no. 185, no. 173, no. 161, no. 159 and finally to no. 145 at Carol's house, then no.139 at my house. We were spared this time. How lucky! I swore I had never run so fast before. Oh except possibly during sports day when I ran against the seniors in the 200m sprint.

Our childhood was full of adventure and obedience... to some degree.

On this note, I shall leave you with this article I found on the Internet. I don't know the author, neither do I dare say it's 100% correct. But reading it reminds me of Sunday School and its one of those days today. Reminiscent of my church Sundays, I'm happy to share this piece on "Breaking the curse of Poverty". Please copy and paste the following address into yr address bar:

http://www.destinedtowin.org/pdf/BREAKING%2520THE

%2520CURSE%2520OF%2520POVERTY.pdf

Thanks.

Tash Aw and his Five Star Billionaires

https://www.timeout.com/kuala-lumpur/things-to-do/101-things-to-do-in-kl

I attended the 5th year anniversary of Time Out Kuala Lumpur recently, held at one of the swishest roof top bars in the city. We were entertained by comedian Dr. Jason Leong of the Condom song fame, quirky newcomer Dzamira Dzafri and jazz/soul/reggae award-winning songstress Bihzhu. I left the evening slightly intoxicated thanks to beer blanc sponsors, Kronenberg and happy with myself. Plus, clutching my door gifts - the latest copy of Time Out KL and a strip of TOKL chocolates! Sweet!

Bedtime reading that night was its cover story on 101 things to do in KL and the inescapable Interview with Tash Aw by Emma Chong (at last check in 2020, this link is no longer available), award-winning author of 'The Harmony Silk Factory', 'Map of the Invisible World' and his third novel, 'Five Star Billionaire'. Read another interview on Tash Aw in NPR here.

In the interview, I'm struck by this one paragraph:

Do you think having chosen not to live in Malaysia has any impact on your identity as a Malaysian? There are a lot of Malaysians who would question your right to criticise, having made your home elsewhere.
 
Of course, and I can understand their frustration but I don’t see how not being here takes away the right. I don’t have to experience unfairness on a day to day basis in order to see the way it works. You can witness unfairness from a long way away. And I have all my family here, so I can feel it secondhand, which is often more powerful.

Sometimes I’m here for a couple of months at a time, and then stuff that is, to be frank, quite fucked up begins to seem normal. Because you have to function on a day to day level, and the only way to function is not to take on board the kind of stuff that is really, really just not normal. It’s only when you go away that you think: Actually, my country is just not normal. There’s stuff that’s really weird and should be fixed. And so that vantage point allows me to see things more clearly, and in many ways validates more strongly the need to have those things said. I don’t really understand why I shouldn’t have the right to say those things. Having said that, I do understand the frustration because the counter argument would be that I’m not here to suffer those things so why do I need to say these things?

I tossed and turned all night that night and woke the next morning, jaw clenched, still thinking of what Tash had said. We sometimes are so much shit and live with so much shit around us that it just becomes normal. It's only when you go away and view things from a distance that you can feel unfairness even stronger.

I feel so strongly about this unfairness. But I feel I can make that difference. At the time when I made a conscious choice to return to Malaysia after living in Sydney for a decade, I believed I could make a difference. I was one of the early kickstarters of a new wave of open mic and spoken word gigs, allowing freedom of expression at 'underground' events. For years this activity was just an activity that was passion-fueled with hardly any contribution to the bottom line except for a couple of Martinis for a night's work. In fact, we paid for a lot of the costs with our own time and money. And so did the musicians. Today, the entertainment scene in KL city is so vibrant. Almost every food and beverage outlet now seeks entertainers. Pub musicians, singer songwriters, original bands, cover bands, even beatboxers, stand-up comedians and spoken word performers are all in demand!

The result of a very weird, unfair country that needs fixing. A lot of fixing.

Meanwhile, I'll just get a little more tipsy and dream big dreams of hope, truth and change.

And leave you with this song, Atom Bomb by Dzamira Dzafri:

Deaths and holidays

There have been two deaths this holiday season. One, a good friend who's just turned 42 while the other is the mother of my cousin's husband. Both deaths were caused by cancer. Swiftly, the disease took hold of its host and they departed this earth way before their time. I feel sad, utterly sad that there was nothing else their loved ones could do but wait. I feel sad for the men they left behind. One, a father whilst the other, a husband of 60 years. It's hard to let go. But for the deceased to achieve peace of mind, we must let them go peacefully.