The problem that atheists have.

Is the incredible diversity of religion.

This is particularly true when an atheist is trying to justify his or her own beliefs, I think. Its near impossible to pin point a group of unifying principles that can be used to describe all religions. Heck, its even hard enough identifying the core beliefs of all the different sects within one religion. And then we have those who claim "but what I believe isn't a religion, its just a way of life. You have your facts wrong". The funny thing is, their way of life has been officially classified as a religion by pretty much every government in the world, and they don't seem to be disputing the matter.

Anyways, the diversity that we see ultimately leads to one conclusion. Discussions about theology between an atheist and a theist end up with the theist saying, "Oh, you got it all wrong. Thats not what we believe at all". And the atheist points at another theist and says "But thats what he said". The reply to that is normally, "Well, he got it wrong too."

I remember going to a temple and asking one of the more respected people there about Buddhism. We eventually came to the subject of reincarnation and the cause and effect sutra. As a child, I read the sutra ( largely because it was full of pictures) and took it to be the truth. It was simple and made a lot of sense. Later on, I saw that it cannot possibly be that simple, and started asking questions. They were never really answered, but now, at that temple, I'm told that the sutra is rubbish. Apparently, its just one monk's opinion of what would happen.

Then there was this one time in the SPR when a Christian got into a small argument with a Buddhist. I distinctly remember the Christian hurling accusations at the Buddhist and the Buddhist indignantly saying that there was a misunderstanding. "Thats not what Buddhists believe or do". I couldn't help wondering what a Buddhist actually believes. And the funny thing is, as I look back now, I don't think either person knew what they were talking about.

I dare say that the Buddhists are the most fragmented of the lot, especially since they are allowed to not believe certain things if it doesn't make sense to them. (at least thats what i was told). But other religions have the same problem as well. Less so with Islam in Malaysia, since any interpretation that deviates from the official one is immediately surpressed. Most of the discussions I've had with Christians leads to them telling me that I have things all wrong. I'm not sure how these Christians manage to avoid telling each other that the other party has it wrong. Maybe its some unofficial code of conduct or something. I dunno.

I suppose atheists will only have this problem if they get into a discussion with the theists. Maybe atheists should just do what Dawkins does to creationists. Snub them. But knowing atheists, they will sit down and listen, just in case something interesting comes up for them to consider.

Visiting Christians, Take 3

Yeap. They came again, in their shirts, nice pants and skirts and tried to sell God to me.

/smile

Initially it was just this lady and her son. They talked to me for a while and I ended up giving them some advice on how to preach. That was fun, especially when I talked about other religious perspectives and how they really need to know what other people think and believe before they can try to prove that they are right. It really is amazing how few people have actually given alternative explanations a chance. Eventually the big gun came. He's one of those people who has rehearsed the answers to most common questions and can point to relevant passages in the Bible within 10 seconds. This is what I learned from him.

Jehovah's witnesses don't believe that sinners burn in hell. They just believe that sinners don't go to heaven. If you don't accept Christ, then you cease to exist after death.

Wow. Thats a pretty good deal isn't it? No punishment? So I can do whatever I want, and in the end, all that happens is that I cease to exist? Thats a bloody reward if you ask me. I mean, you could make the argument that I will never understand just how blissful paradise is, but I can tell you that I wouldn't want an eternity in paradise if it was anything like its portrayed in their pamphlets. Sure, it looks very nice, but I can't help feeling that I'd be bored out of my skull within a week. And anyone who knows me can tell you that ceasing to exist is probably the best thing that could happen to me after death. So to get what I want, I need to be evil? That puts me in a bit of a fix, really.

Anyways, I really don't understand why they keep going back to their book for proof. Doing that just gives the impression that they found a conclusion and then later started gathering evidence to support that conclusion. Of course the Bible is going to validate what you say. Everything you believe in came from there anyway. Its like trying to prove that philosopher A was right, and then pulling out a book that he wrote and proudly proclaiming "Here is your proof".

If you expect me to read some vague passage about how humans need guidance, and then nod solemnly at the wisdom of those words, then you're quite mistaken. Its quite self evident that humans need guidance, and everyone has a different perspective on what that guidance should be. The Christians believe that it be belief in a bunch of principles that a martyr gave us 2000 years ago. The Muslims seem to have a bunch of strict rules from the Quran that are to be followed (or not, depending on your interpretation). The Buddhist believe that we should disconnect ourselves as much as possible from worldly desires. All different forms of guidance, all somewhat valid. Anyone who has given other religions a fair chance would have noticed this, and would have proper answers to the questions that will come out of comparisons.

Picking fights.

This post is something that has been simmering for a long time, I just never actually understood the simmering well enough to recognize it for what it is.

Learning to pick the correct fights is a skill that I have always misinterpreted. I thought of it as choosing to fight when you can win, battles that you have a statistical chance of coming out on tops. It took me some time to realize that its far more important to choose my battles for the right reasons.

Maybe its in my nature to be somewhat combative. I've been at odds with my natural aggression before, sometimes blaming it for the way my life turned out. The 'if only' arguments are far too familiar. But its a bloodlust. It rises without me realizing it, taking over part of my conscience. I live for this kind of thing. I thrive on it. It gives me a high like nothing can. Left to be unleashed without any limiter, I picked fights that I didn't really give much thought to. In retrospect, I probably wouldn't have done it.

I could be very vague with this blog post. But not this time. I think this time I will use specific examples.

The examples that shine the brightest all happened in the SPB. Don't ask me why. It could be because I was a writer unleashed at that time, or because there were people there that eventually helped me to make more sense of fighting.

I think the fight that I never really wanted to pick was with SPARC. True, I do somewhat hold their ideals in contempt, but my intention was never to go to war. I do not regret writing that article, and the ideas that I expressed in that article are still opinions that I keep. But as I looked at the reasons I wrote the article, I realized that it wasn't really to promote any change or to inform. It was to show how much the organizers' objectives were indefensible on an intellectual level. It was meant to humiliate. The intentions were not noble at all, and I took moral high ground. It became somewhat apparent when I went to meet with the organizers with Sangheetha. I realized then that there was something wrong, and I froze. In doing that, I left my editor in chief without backup against a pack of defensive, snarling, offended SPARC members. I never said this before, but I'm sorry. I wrote that article, and it should have been me defending it.

There were other occasions as well, especially when it came to sticking it to authority. I seized every chance to take a swipe at STAD, whether it was warranted or not. My thinking was simple. I came up with the conclusion that STAD had no idea what the students are capable of and that their one and only objective was control. To a large extent, that is true. But when I found myself throwing punches even when there was no reason to, that same creeping feeling that something was wrong came back. Sometimes, they really are trying to be helpful. They aren't always deserving of hatred.

Perhaps it was ego that stopped me from rethinking all of this earlier. Maybe it was fear of the repercussions.

But the biggest conflict that this had led me into is the splinter in the SPB. In that case, it looked increasingly like there were two sides, and it was obvious which side I was going to have to pick. It was then that I went into fight mode. My single minded objective was to destroy the enemy, till the point that the reason for the war was lost to me. The same funny feeling came back, and showed a little when I found myself admitting that I would do nothing but keep the organization running as it was. I think that publishership became something I had to deal with in the event I won the war. The objective was to win, nothing else. The ideals I was fighting for got lost in translation. I'm not saying that those ideals weren't worth fighting for. I just needed to give them a little more thought.

I think I have learnt that now. Above all else, the reasons I fight should be kept in mind. Only then will I be able to trust myself to do the right thing.

Thank you.

For proving me wrong.

For restoring a good measure of my faith.

For the appreciation.

My conclusions were close to being drawn, and validation about how screwed up things are seemed inevitable, but you came along and did what I never expected you to do. It wasn't all good news, but the disappointment was overshadowed by the pleasant surprise that I was actually hearing what you were saying.

To be honest, I didn't think you cared enough. I had already lumped you into the same category as all the others, ready to write you off. I'm glad I didn't. You made me see that there are those out there who still believe that there is a right thing to do.

To a certain extent, you have made it possible for me to look at that zone in life that you occupy and smile.

There are good people left there. =)

Women effective communicators?

Are they? Its a widely accepted fact that men and women communicate differently. Any dumbass with half a brain will be able to notice that. I acknowledge that fact, but its the opinion that women are better at communicating that I cannot agree with. I recently came across a theory about the difference in methods, and how it came about.

Women don't like putting anything across bluntly as a general rule, and apparently, that has roots in the whole hunter gatherer ancestry that we all are supposed to have. Women are traditionally the one that organizes the household, and her role is to minimize conflict. As such, she communicates indirectly, in an attempt to avoid such conflict. Its a trait that we call 'tact' in modern society. They say one thing, but mean another. Never state something for what it is. This difference in styles is the legacy of our ancestors, much like the example of why gullibility is good for the human race. (see earlier post)

Because women are the ones that developed this kind of communication, they are also the ones that are better at deciphering it. And so, since women can pick up more subtle cues in a conversation, it means that they are better communicators. Or at least that is how the argument that I have heard goes.

But like so many other traits that humans have, some are becoming increasingly outdated. I admit that tact is still very important, but there are situations in which double speak is more of a nuisance. Like in a boardroom meeting. Or in the army. Or a couple making a decision that could change their lives forever. The problem is not that double speak exists, its that it cannot be turned off. Double speak is a trade off. You sacrifice some accuracy to reduce the threat that you generate while speaking. When a bunch of directors sit down and try to decide on something, there is no room for error. Misinterpretation is deadly. If double speaking is instinctive and done without realization, then screw ups are inevitable.

Admittedly, good female communicators know when they can use double speak and when they can't. Along the same lines, good male communicators know how to pick up unsaid cues.

Its a very simplistic way of seeing the whole situation, but when such a situation arises, I tend to look at the bigger picture. For the greater good of everyone, would we rather have more direct information exchanges, or diplomatically safe exchanges? For me, its an easy conclusion. Whenever possible, state your idea for what it is. Don't beat around the bush. And stop looking at blunt comments as a direct attack at you. The world is changing. And your genetic code isn't changing fast enough to keep pace. Realizing this is the first step.

My blog, my performance.

As much as I believe that a blog is about individual identity and expression, I have to admit that I tailor my post to suit reader interests a bit. That is why I get annoyed at long winded and pointless posts that have no entertainment value. If you are going to rant about how much your life sucks, at least make it interesting. (No, I'm not aiming this in anyone in particular. Its a blanket piss on the whole blog sphere.)

Thats why I hardly ever write about my life in my blog. And even when I do, I put it in fiction, so if you are not in the mood to read a whine about the horrors of my world, then at least you have a story to amuse you.

And it also leads to my blog being updated relatively slowly. Because there is not much blog worth material out there. At least not obviously blog worthy. I could probably take the experience of eating banana leaf rice and write something readable, but that requires a fair bit of effort. I don't like writing that much.

There are lots of things that I want to write here, things that I'm thinking, and are somewhat important to me. The banshee in Starcraft 2. My loyalties to the clubs in the European football leagues. Magic the Gathering nationals. Debating. Friends.

But I don't. Unless it rocked my world to the point where I became speechless, anything that is interest based almost never finds its way to my blog. To an extent, my blog is like one of my debating speeches. First, I ask myself, does what I am saying actually matter. Does anyone care? If I read it, would I be amused, or annoyed to no end? Might I become pensive or will I roll my eyes?

It might not sound important, but it is. Balloons said at the debate camp, when you are making a speech, you are taking up people's time. Are you giving these people a reasonable return to the investment of time they just made when they visited your blog and read your writing?

Call me crazy, but I really do think that if you publish anything at all, it must be worth reading to a majority of your audience. You have a responsibility to ensure that. Following the speech time example I gave just now, how many times have you wished a slow and painful death upon a Malaysian politician who goes up the stage during an event and speaks for half an hour about absolutely nothing? Its the same with blogging.

For the love of God, don't litter the internet with sentences that you pulled out of your ass when you were bored. It actually hurts people to read it.

Indoctrination of children?

More on parenting. I was actually quite taken by Dawkin's argument that there should be no religious indoctrination by parents. I'm not going to elaborate more, largely because I think that anyone who reads this blog is intelligent enough to extrapolate the implications of such a philosophy in this country. I don't like the idea of jail. But what got me thinking wasn't so much the religious imprinting that parents leave on their children. I started wondering about the other values that parents leave on their children.

Two very prominent examples exist for me, one potentially defensible, the other just some biased rant.

The first is racial bigotry. I think this is the most dangerous form of imprinting currently being practiced by Malaysians. I cringe every time a group of Chinese sit down and get talking about politics and eventually start agreeing with each other how lazy all Malays are. Or when the Malays start talking about how the Chinese are always plotting against them, and how the pork eating infidels deserve to die. Or when the Indians are generalized as a bunch of drunkards. I have a very strong suspicion that most of the venom spewed out by the younger generation is just an updated version of the evil that they heard over the coffee table during their parents' gatherings. In the face of such racism, I'm not sure if we ever can truly consider Malaysia to be a truly racially integrated society. The ideas of racial supremacy is likely to be perpetuated through the generations.

The second is self destructive behaviour that cannot be justified. I'm going to use a personal example. I think you might be able to find your own experiences using the same idea.

My mum had an aunt that was incredibly house proud. Her standards were insanely high, and there really isn't any reason for such levels of devotion to cleanliness. The question of what can be considered acceptable levels of cleanliness is in itself debatable and I'm not going to go into that too much. I personally think that if a place doesn't make people sick, then its clean enough. If you want it to be any cleaner, thats your prerogative. It cannot be made into some universal standard of acceptable cleanliness.

But my mum was made to live to such standards. Admittedly, my mum would be considered sloppy by the Aunt's standards. The pressures of a working life does force some compromise. But by my standards, its still a bit nutty.

It might seem like a petty gripe. I have a lot of petty gripes, and most are not blog worthy. But this one isn't petty. My mum is almost religiously devoted to keeping those standards, and its scary. Nothing else matters, not her quality of life, not her health. Even when she is dead tired, the scheduled cleaning must go on. Occasional deviations from the usual cleaning to do something fun is unheard of. The minimum standard takes top priority, and whenever I challenge her to explain why it should be so important, I get brushed away.

There is no explanation. Its cultural indoctrination, and till now, I slightly resent that aunt for imprinting my mum with such a mindset.

I'm not saying that parents shouldn't teach their children their values. Its just that sometimes doing that can be dangerous.

And yes, parents are not perfect. No, we shouldn't have to bow to their every whim in the name of filial piety. Respect must be accorded to them, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and when filial piety gives them the power to dictate all terms without having to be held accountable, there is way too much room for abuse of power, be it a conscious decision or not. (The last paragraph is pretty much unrelated to the bulk of the post. It is meant for you people who think that parents should not have to answer to their children, no matter what they do. You know who you are.)

Nagging.

Why talk about nagging? I was thinking, since I'm already on the subject of parenting..... why the hell not?

Of all the parenting techniques, I'm probably the most biased against this form of punishment. Probably because I got it the most. I still get it a lot, actually. And it annoys the hell out of me.

I feel the need to distinguish nagging from a genuine explanation and a telling off. The differences between nagging and a yelling are quite obvious. Yelling always comes with a large dose of anger, characterized by raised voices and obvious signs of displeasure. I think that the use of yelling is very much like corporal punishment, it intimidates and uses fear to achieve its aim. Yelling probably leads to corporal punishment anyways.

The line between nagging and a genuine desire to explain a wrongdoing, however, is much thinner. This is particularly annoying because a lot of people (mothers especially) justify their nagging by claiming that they have the best interests of the victim at heart. I suspect that they confuse the two because they are both oral in nature. Here is the difference.

Nagging always comes with a condescending tone. It is mostly applied in situations where the perpetrator thinks that the offense committed is common sense, and should never have happened in the first place. This is particularly glaring when there is a difference in opinion on what is considered normal. In an attempt to normalize the behavior of the offender, nagging is used.

Nagging is also completely immune to all forms of logical reason, which is, I think, the primary distinguishing feature that it has. I think that all forms of nagging probably started as an attempt to explain "the proper way of doing things" but became nagging when it was ignored. It doesn't matter if the original reason that the explanation of "the proper way of doing things" was ignored is the fact that "the proper way of doing things" contained no logic in the first place. In a relationship of equals, rebuttals using reason must be taken into consideration. In a situation where one party has the power to initiate nagging, it doesn't. When someone intends to explain his or her opinion about why something has been done wrong, there is always an avenue for self defense. The explaining party is always open to rebuttals, and always ready to be proven wrong. People who nag think in absolutes. And they are always absolutely right. The have complete control of the argument, and hold veto power over everything. That is exactly where the condescending tone comes from. From the fact that they can tell you something that you are likely to contend, and there is nothing you can do to defend yourself.

Painted this way, nagging sounds like a weapon. It is. Make no mistake about it, the absence of a physical element does not make nagging any less a form of punishment as caning. It has the power of building up frustration and in the face of untouchable authority, the frustrations can boil over and probably cause self harm.

Its quite funny to see how naggers think that they are harmless. I personally think that one of the main rules of parenting is accountability. The parent has to be as accountable as the child, and any form of punishment must have its own reasons. Reasons that are rooted in logic. The apparent lack of elements that traditionally constitute a form of punishment doesn't make a nagger any less liable to explain him/herself when an explanation is called for. And nagging is almost universally done without a second thought. At least parents think twice and weigh the gravity of the offense before using the cane. No such checks are done with nagging.

Why we should listen unquestioningly.

This probably doesn't make any sense.

I was reading the God Delusion today, and reached a point where Dawkins explains the reason human civilization needs religion. It somehow got me thinking about my post on parenting.

Dawkins thinks that our need for religion is a byproduct of nature naturally selecting humans that listen without questioning. There are merits to the concept of unwavering faith in authority. People who listen to their elders who tell them not to play in crocodile infested waters ultimately live long enough to breed. So, a lot of us probably have the faith gene in us already. Because our ancestors did.

So my reasoning is, the child should have unwavering faith in his or her parents. At least until the point where the child can make decisions that do not leave him dead in 5 minutes. (see playing on train tracks example)

So if that faith isn't there, we need an alternative. We could sit the child down and explain the dangers of playing on a train track. After which the child will probably laugh and keep playing because he is just incapable of comprehending death.

Or we could use fear of punishment to stop the child. At least until the child is of age and can be reasoned with. The only other real alternative I can think of is to keep the child away from danger, which would mean wrapping him in a woolly blanket and watching him 24/7.

You might say that death on the train tracks is an easy situation to avoid. Well, there are a lot of situations that are much closer to home. The roadside, knives in the kitchen, glass ornaments, heck, even running about the house at high speed could lead to potentially lethal accidents.

What is a parent supposed to do? Sit down and watch it happen?

Parents.

I met my cousins from Canada for the first time. And they prompted me to write this post that has been brewing for quite some time.

How do you discipline a kid? It might be oversimplistic analysis, but I think there are two schools of thought when it comes to getting a child to toe the line. One end is the nice guy negotiator, while the other just wants to beat the hell out of the kid. Parents normally choose to place themselves somewhere on that scale.

My uncle is very much on the nice guy side of things. He tells his children not to do certain things, and then repeats himself ten times after that, largely because his children don't listen to him. My patience when dealing with those two kids wore dangerously thin after about 20 minutes, so I found myself wondering how he managed to deal with them for 10 years.

I believe in corporal punishment, because thats how I was raised, and so were a good number of my friends. I think it works, just as long as the parents know their limits. When I was younger, I used to think that the caning was just a way for the parents to get some measure of revenge on their kids, in the guise of teaching them a lesson. I still think that, actually. But now I feel that the parents deserve to do that. It might sound incredibly irresponsible on the part of the parents, but parents are humans too. They need to let off too. Which lead me to my next idea of equality.

The shortest and simplest way of teaching a lesson is to punish. The best way is to let them make the mistake and then let them learn, but sometimes, that isn't really an option. Like the lesson of not playing on the railway tracks. Telling them nicely not to do it doesn't really have the same effect as giving them a good stiff smack when they are caught doing it. Ultimately, parenting is a task, and people find ways of making their task easier. Caning is just one such shortcut. And I don't really blame the parents for taking such shortcuts. Life sucks, and thats one way of making things just a little bit easier.

Its the same with grown up politics as well. When someone messes up a job for the fifth time in a row, he gets punished. Pay cut or less allowance. If its bad enough, its the sack. Obviously, sacking your kids really isn't an option. But some form of punishment really should be in order when they cross the line. If the punishment comes with a good explanation, or if the explanation is self evident, then I think the kids will see the light. Punishing children just as you would other people is one measure of equality that they will respect.

Edit:

I'm not saying that I am all for beating children when they make mistakes. I have huge problems with child abuse, and I do admit the line between punishment and abuse is dangerously thin. If a proponent of anti-corporal punishment laws does throw that at me, I admit, I'd be without a retort. As flimsy as it sounds, a mechanism in which a jury can decide if a child was loved or abused is the best way, I think.

What would I do with my child? Answering that now is pointless, because I am nowhere near parenthood (nor am I ready) but I do have opinions on what other people can do. (if they don't write me off for not knowing what I'm talking about because I don't have kids) There are a lot of things that I can try before actual physical contact. I could try yelling and making it perfectly clear that I am not happy. Should the bond between parent and child be strong enough, the thought of making the parent upset should be enough to discourage the repeat. Removal of previlages is another option.

I'm probably a little violent by nature (eg : looking for a shooting range to release stress) but I'd like to think that I have the restraint to deal with the urge to beat the head of a child into the ground.

But then again, this post isn't about what I would do. Its for me to tell any parent out there who loves their children, but beat them anyway, to know that I feel for them. I get it.

Take a stand.

This is a strange post for me to be making since I sometimes avoid taking stands, but I'm doing it anyway. Feel free to call me a hypocrite.

I really get annoyed when I read articles that ramble on and on and never actually try to do anything. Every respectable publication I have read has articles that are written with a purpose in mind. There is a point to the piece, and depending on the skill of the writer, they will either make their point, or not. Ultimately, they are trying to do something, maybe tell a joke or a story, if it was one of those light hearted columns.

But I do come across articles that are a collection of facts, and nothing more. It really pissed me off because I feel cheated at the end of the article. I end up scratching my head and asking myself why I read the damned thing in the first place. I dunno why the authors do that. Are they inherently ignorant about the pointlessness of the article or are they intentionally trying to agitate people? Or are they just trying to show that they are aware of the issues, just like every one else out there. Or it could be that they have an opinion, but just to fucking pussy to state what it is. If you are so bloody scared, then keep your opinions to yourself or tell it to someone who won't cross-examine you. Don't put your readers through the the very painful experience of reading something that is designed to achieve nothing.

Lets fighting love.

Michael walked slowly, enjoying the balmy air in his face. He was in a world of his own, his place of refuge for the past few months. The familiar pop-rock tunes that played from his i-pod made his separation from the rest of the world even more complete. It was just him, the road, and his thoughts.

He decided to take his usual path home, past the shophouses and into the alley. It was the shortest way back home, and easily the most secluded. “Wanting to be alone isn’t such a bad thing,” he told himself.

Nodding his head slightly to the tune of the electric guitar, he turned into the dark path, hands in his pockets as he walked. He noticed a couple walking in the same alley, and wondered for a while. The backlane isn’t the most romantic of places and fairly dangerous at night. A bit unusual for them to be walking there. He then noticed that the silhouette of the girl was strangely familiar. Squinting hard, he started to make out the features of the girl.

It was her. Just the sight of her opened the floodgates and released a torrent of emotion. Admiration, revulsion, hatred, affection, sadness, jealousy inundated him at once. She was already with someone new. How was that possible? His logical faculties were trying very hard to remind him that he lived in a free country, and she could go out with anyone that she bloody well pleases, but he wasn’t listening. He was being irrationally possessive and was quite unapologetic about it. They were walking with their backs facing him, so they didn’t see him. He was about to turn around and take another route when he saw a movement in the shadows. He froze.

Suddenly, a lithe figure in a ninja suit scampered out and headed straight for the couple. Before he could shout a warning, the ninja was already upon them, blade drawn and ready to strike. The hilt of the sword connected sharply with the boy’s head, knocking him out. He fell heavily onto the ground, collapsing into a heap of motionless muscle mass. She screamed and started backing away, but the ninja was far too fast. Sticking his leg out, he tripped her as she started breaking into a run.

She turned around and lay on her back, hands propping her upper body up. It was at that point that Michael got over the shock of the attack and responded. Giving the most blood-curling war cry he could manage, he charged the suited ninja down. Something told him that was a bad idea, but he didn’t really care at that point. He had to save her.

Mildly surprised, the ninja turned to face him. Michael kept running, his shoulder lowered in anticipation of the eventual impact. His attack never connected. Deftly sidestepping the attack, the ninja raised his palm and smacked Michael across the forehead. His momentum working against him, Michael flipped backwards, landing on his back with a sickening crunch.

The ninja raised his fist and was about to knock Michael out when he froze. The clenched fist slowly opened and the tense battle posture he was keeping relaxed considerably. “What the fuck?” the ninja asked.

Something had confused the ninja, and Michael had no idea what it was. The self-assured confidence that the ninja had before this was all but gone, the slump in his shoulder making that fact quite evident. The ninja took a step back and took his mask off. Illumination was scarce in the alley, but Michael could make out the face of his adversary.

The ninja looked just like him. Their faces were completely identical, and Michael had no twins. Even their voices were the same. In the face of such a revelation, “what the fuck” suddenly seemed like a complete understatement. The two of them stared at one another, trying to make some sense out of the situation. Silence.

The scraping of gravel against shoes snapped the two of them out of their trance. She was on her feet again, stumbling ahead in an effort to leave the madness behind. If she was hoping that the confusion would allow her to escape, she had been quite mistaken. Drawing a throwing star from the hidden fold of his sleeves, he threw the weapon at his fleeing target. The projectile spun viciously in the air and sunk its teeth into her calves. Screaming in pain, she collapsed to the ground.

“Will you stop hurting her?” Michael screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The ninja turned to face him. “You are me and I am you. If that were true, you know as well as I do that she deserves much worse than what she is getting right now,” the ninja replied.

“What? You are going to torture and kill her? Is that it? You think that will solve anything at all?”

“Well, yes actually. Judging from the frequency of the screw ups, I’d say that I am going to save a lot of people a lot of trouble in the future if I kill her.”

“Right. The vigilante guardian of morality. Who the hell told you that you had the authority to be the one meting out punishment?”

“A simple principle of consistency. An act of malice, be it intentional or not is punished by law. The careless driver never intended to run his victim over, but he is still charged with manslaughter. Emotional abuse is punished, even when the victim is unwittingly abused. But it never applies for the crimes that she has committed. People like her get away scot free all the time. If ignorance was a valid excuse, then I might have reconsidered, but in this case it certainly isn’t. She knows, but because she doesn’t want to deal with it, she pretends like nothing ever happened. That cannot be ignored or forgiven. Its selfish to the core, and for some reason, no one ever sees this act of evil for what it is. ”

Michael had heard all of this before. It had played over and over again in his head and he didn’t want to think about it anymore. It always gave him a headache. He buried his face into his hands.

“Now if you will excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to,” said the ninja.

“I won’t let you do it.”

“You can try to stop me, but I assure you, it wouldn’t really change anything.”

Screaming like a maniac, Michael flung himself at the ninja. This time, the ninja wasn’t in the mood for games. He was resigned to the fact that collateral damage was inevitable. Sighing a long sigh, he raised his weapon and slashed. The sword bit into Michael, shearing muscle and bone alike. The blow was struck to kill, and it achieved its purpose. The two halves on Michael’s body slumped into a bloody pool of severed organs.

“I never knew that I was that stupid,” the ninja said to himself.

Turning to face the girl, he started walking. She had curled herself into a ball, whimpering and sobbing. The ninja shook his head.

“You probably think you don’t deserve this, but you do. It has to be done. You are too dangerous to set loose upon civilized society, or any society for that matter.”

She buried her face into her knees, wailing for mercy. She never saw the katana as it came screaming down onto her.

Football and Malaysia.

I was initially tempted to write something about Pottermania, but figured that its probably not going to be anything more than a cynical swipe at the wizard. (and 'll end up pissing off more than a good portion of the HP fans out there) So I decided to weigh in instead on something that Malaysians are still smarting about. Our dismal performance at the Asian Cup.

The usual uproar ensued after the Uzbek defeat and to be honest, I'm quite tired of hearing those theories. Everytime we fare badly (which is very often), article after article will be written about what needs to be changed. Yet nothing ever changes.

The decline of Malaysian football is really just a representation of Malaysian sports in general. We have never won an Olympic gold medal. And its quite painfully obvious that the Malaysians who do succeed make it in spite of the system that they have been through. Think Nicol David and Karamjit Singh. Nicol had her parents to drive her against the current of general discouragement from the Malaysian system while Karamjit eventually retired because he couldn't get sponsors despite being a world champion.

Our problems lie in school. Every single one of my friends have an identical physical education experience. PJ time arrives and the boys change, grab a ball and go have a kick about. The girls change (some don't bother) and sit under a tree and chat the half hour away. Ask any one of them about anything beyond a casual muck about on the field and you get a firm no. Studies first.

The problem is that no one even asks the question in the first place. PJK teachers are normally majors is something else and are given PJK to fill their quotas. They couldn't care less about the sporting reputation of the school. They have no ability or interest in training the students in any sport they may have interest in.

Some schools have one, maybe two teachers who take physical education seriously. But these teachers normally give up hope after a while, in the face of parental protest when they approach potential athletes about representing the school. Sports is painfully low on our lists of priorities.

School administration makes things even worse. All that matters to ambitious headmasters is the number of A students they can produce. Its the fastest way to get into the Ministry. So when the Biology teacher asks to take the PJK periods for a few extra classes, there is never any resistance. Physical education is expendable. As is art and craft, but thats another issue altogether.

We suck, and everytime that fact becomes apparent, the finger pointing starts. Maybe its time to start taking an honest look at ourselves and see the answers that are staring us in the face. If we are not willing to pay the price for sporting excellence, then we should stop bitching when we come up short.

We can't blatantly ignore sports development and then expect wonders to happen. Token support doesn't count. Proudly proclaiming that our senior squads will get lots of money when they succeed will only get us so far.

The future of motoring.

Oil prices are high, driving is going to become expensive really soon. Thats what we can safely assume from what has been happening lately. I was just flipping through the Top Gear Malaysia magazine when I saw an article about the Tesla. I heard about it some time ago, and they had managed to build a decent car that runs on electricity. I stopped following the developments, and suddenly I find out that they are going to launch a 30,000 pound sterling family sedan by 2009. And this car is supposed to be able to rival every other car out there on more than the novelty factor.

That in itself is quite an achievement, but when I looked at the stats that the Tesla roadster (the only Tesla available on the market right now) has been posting, I was quite stunned. 0-60 mph in less than 5 seconds, and if you factor in mileage based on the electricity that you derive from burning fossil fuels, you get well over 100miles per gallon. Thats at least double the Toyota Prius. And here's the kicker. A range of 250 miles. In urban driving situations, thats plenty.

But I figuired that the electric car will be less appealing to long distance drivers. After all, charging takes time, and I don't think people want to spend a few hours refeuling. I suddenly remembered something that the real Tesla (as in the inventor) tried to do, and recently has become reality. Wireless power transmission. It might not make it into reality in my lifetime, but I can imagine cars being charged while they are being driven. Imagine that. Infinite range for your car. Of course that would mean having remote charging stations built all along the roads, constantly emmiting energy to the cars that pay for it. Sounds like fantasy, but one can dream.

Plus, Lotus has helped develop what it claims to be a car that can go 350 miles without recharging, and it takes 10 minutes to go from flat to fully charged. Bloody impressive.

People are still debating the fuel that is going to take petrol's place. Some think that hydrogen fuel cells will work. Some like ethanol. My money is firmly on electric cars.

Stubborn.

The monotonous bleeping of medical equipment was the only thing that broke the silence in the room. He lay in his bed, feeling somewhat agitated. He was still in confinement and he didn’t know why. The doctors had very specific orders. Don’t get out of bed.

It all didn’t make any sense to him. He felt fine. There really wasn’t any reason not to move about, and he was bored. A person can only sleep and watch TV for so long. And the longer he spent in bed, the more he thought about the circumstances that brought him to where he was.

Most people didn’t believe it when they were told about what had happened. He was always so careful, and he took so few risks. When he finally did venture out of his little sphere of protection, he paid the price he always feared that he would have to pay.

He half expected himself to regret the decision and cocoon himself again. If you spend your whole life being cautious and the very thing that instinct tells you not to do bites you in the head, then you do have a right to become cynical and unforgiving.

Surprisingly, he didn’t. He didn’t feel sorry, and actually believed himself when he said that the entire ordeal was worth it. But whatever positive thoughts he could glean didn’t make him any less annoyed at being stuck in bed. He checked himself over again. He had done that about a million times already, and he could never see the wound that the doctors said would burst open if he got out of bed. As much as he had faith in modern medicine, he was starting to think that the doctor didn’t really know what he was doing. He had read his fair share of literature on human anatomy, and the doctor’s orders didn’t make any sense to him.

“Fuck it,” he said aloud. He pulled off the sheets that covered him and shuffled to the edge of the bed. It was at that point that he heard the doctor’s deep voice in his head. It was clinical and emotionless as always. “I’ve told you more than once. You are not ready. I spent a lot of time patching you up. I’d hate to go back to square one again.”

“I can’t stay any longer, doc. I’m healed already. I’ll be fine.”

He could almost hear the doctor roll his eyes. “Everybody is a doctor nowadays. To do this is a risk, and to warn you is my job. I have already done that. I wish you good luck.” The voice faded away.

He took a deep breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Nothing happened. So far so good. Sliding across the bed sheet, he moved ever so slowly towards the floor. His toes touched the floor. Still nothing happened.

Gaining confidence, he applied his weight onto his foot, fully expecting his legs to be able to support his weight. They did, but he certainly didn’t count on his closed wound across the stomach splitting open.

The pain was back. If he wasn’t already gutted, the pain would have gutted him. He couldn’t quite think of an analogy that would accurately describe the white hot burning on his abdomen. Slowly, he curled himself up into a ball, screaming an agony as the severed muscles contracted. He wanted to die at that point.

Just as he was about to pass out, the door slid open and the doctor entered with the rest of his medical team. The doctor looked at him for two seconds, shook his head and sighed his disapproving sigh. “Bloody idiot. I told him. No one ever listens.”

At the doctor’s signal, the medical team hoisted him back onto the bed and started working on fix him.

Teh SRC

And so the MMU administration saw it fit to charge us more for the library and parking. People got pissed off. The SRC decided to do something about it. The called a president's council and came to the agreement that everyone is pissed off. So they are now signing a petition to get the charges removed or reduced.

This is a story about my confrontation with them. I went to the Voices booth today and I was just sitting around when some SRC dude stood up on the table and started calling ofr people's attention. There was a petition form on the table and a huge white cloth behind them full of signatures. They wanted more support. I walked up to one of them and asked them if they had an official explanation from the library for the increase. They said that the explanation was coming on Monday. So I asked them why they were demanding a reduction when they didn't even know why there is an increase in the first place. They said that they were just doing what the people wanted them to do.

I found it really interesting that none of them considered the concept of credibility. If you get a big petition and submit it without actually stating a reason for the protest besides greed, what do you expect the admin to do? Take you seriously? Money is scarce. Actual grounds for protest will appear if the library does not have a legitimate reason to raise the prices. When it is clearly established that they don't, then you have the ammunition to take the fight to them. Having 1000 signatures on a piece of paper only proves that the move is not popular, it doesn't prove that the move is unjustified.

I tried explaining it to them and they said that I don't understand their position. They need to act because people want them to. Mob mentality. Genius. They said that most people don't think like me. Most people don't think so much. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me that.....

I'm surprised that they even think that it will work at all. They have no legitimate grounds for argument and its not really that difficult to brush them off. Which makes me wonder if they are doing this just to show that they are doing something or if they really want to make a change.

Literary narcism

narcism

1.inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.

I do have a strange tendency to write posts that are very similar in nature to the posts of the past, and this is one of them. You won't find the old post on this blog. That was deleted some time ago, along with the rest of the blog.

Anyways, this post is about me. Me, the literary narcisist. Yes, I love my own writing, a little too much for comfort. I have this very disturbing tendency to go back to the stuff that I have written and reread them every so often. Not everything I write is considered worthy of a second reading, but the pieces I put effort into seem to draw me back again and again. Its like when you set out to building something and then bask in the glory of its completion.

In the past, I thought that it was just me trying to understand myself. I thought that I read my own work because they would help me figure out the motives behind my actions. I'm not so sure now. After reading again, I don't feel pensive and thoughtful. I just feel an immense sense of satisfaction.

I don't spend much time on front of the mirror, and I laugh quietly at those people who do. Which is why I feel that this is distressing enough to write about. Am I turning into something that I would hold in contempt if I were honest with myself?

Would I feel the same way if I weren't born in a country where people have a below average command of english and my writing would bore the pants off everyone who reads it? If english didn't define me in school, would I be in the same situation?

When I do read my own work, I always seemed surprised. At the end, I sometimes ask myself, "Wow. you wrote that?". I impress myself, and the very thought of that scares me.

Is it a bad thing? To me it is. Self obsessed people draw nothing but contempt from me, and if this problem were real, I'd be very uncomfortable with myself. In fact, I already am, and its bloody annoying.

Starcraft.

This is fiction based on the Starcraft world. I realize that I'm interpreting the relationship between two of the most iconic characters in the series, and there are probably some inconsistencies. Forgive me if I pissed you off with this story.

Raynor was quite hesitant in his steps, not knowing what to expect from walking through the dark corridors. Lights were flickering and automated doors were malfunctioning all over the place, closing half way, getting jammed, and then reopening again. The repetitive mechanical grinding of the gears would normally have been annoying, but now Raynor hardly noticed it. He clutched his weapon hard, his palms sweaty inside his combat suit. Never in his life had he ever set foot in a command centre that had been infested before. It looked on the inside exactly as it did on the outside, a seamless transition between metal and carapace noticeable all over the structure. The only difference was that the outside walls did not have the corpses of the command centre crew splattered all over them.

Given a choice, Raynor wouldn’t have gone in at all. Only a mad man would walk into a command centre after a Queen was done with it. But the condition that he suffered was a form of madness, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself. Poets and psychologists alike had likened his state of mind to insanity. The psychologists tended to prefer more clinical assessments of the situation, while the poets reveled in the unpredictability of it all. Ultimately, neither succeeded in completing the task they set out to do.

Raynor panned the light on his combat suit around, scanning the area for threats. The internal security systems on the command centre had been shredded by the Queen, and Raynor wondered if she had installed her own system of spines and needles in place of the machine gun and missile turrets. Apparently, she hadn’t.

Then he saw it. A silhouette of refracted light was standing there, quite motionless. He didn’t wait. A steady stream of gauss rifle bullets streamed out of his weapon. The silhouette wavered for a while, some parts showing the Zerg carapace that lay beneath but a moment later, it dove to the side and disappeared again.

“Not bad, Raynor. I didn’t expect you to be able to see me at all.”

Raynor spun about wildly, desperately following the sound of the voice, trying to find the source. “Well, its you after all. I don’t really need to see you to know that you are around.”

“Aww. That’s so sweet.” The voice was right behind him. Before he could turn, three blades slammed against his back. The impact of the blow knocked him forward, sending him sprawling across the metal floor. A typical marine would have been halved across the waist from that blow, but Raynor’s armour was tougher than usual. Being commander gave you that kind of privilege. His armour might have saved him this time, but Raynor knew that he couldn’t take too many hits. He didn’t have much time. He flipped open the console on his wrist, and pressed the blinking button within. A high pitched wail started screaming out of his wrist getting more piercing with each passing second. Just as the sound was about to leave the human audio frequency, a small shockwave burst from Raynor’s wrist. The electromagnetic pulse swept across the entire floor, blacking out the flickering lights that were not claimed by the Zerg infestation.

Picking himself up, Raynor looked around. His own lights were EMP shielded, so they still worked. She was standing in the middle of the room, a smug smile across her face. “EMP. Very smart, Raynor. Doesn’t change anything though.”

Kerrigan flexed her blades, waving them like a bird of prey stretching her muscles. “It’s a shame that I’m going to have to kill you. I’ve always liked you. There is something quite charming about you mercenary types.”

“Then don’t kill me. Come back with me. The medics on board the St. Claire will sort the infestation out.”

She laughed. It sounded exactly the same as her laugh when she was human. “You’re quite the romantic aren’t you, Raynor. Its done, love. I’m the Queen of Blades now, and I have a whole race worshipping me. If I had known the kind of power that awaited me, I would have given myself up to the Zerg long ago.”

“I don’t believe that. There is still some humanity left in you. I know that.”

Kerrigan rolled her eyes. “I buried the last of my humanity a long time ago Raynor. Being human sucks. Heck, even the sex is better with the Zerg.”

Raynor raised his evebrows, and then furrowed them, trying to imagine Kerrigan mating with any of the Zerg strains.

Kerrigan laughed again. “If you’re wondering, none of the Zerg that you kill have penises. I have my fun with the cerebrates. They might not be able to physically touch me, but when they get into my head, they sure know how to hit the spot.”

Raynor wanted to throw up at that point. But he kept talking. The diversion was working.

Suddenly, he flung a small canister at Kerrigan. It landed at her feet, and before she could respond, it exploded. Her plates of Zerg armour cracked, leaving her exposed to the blast. The force of the blast smashed her frame upwards towards the roof of the command centre. She came crashing back to the ground, bloodied and injured.

Raynor took his chance. In half a moment, he had covered the distance between himself and Kerrigan. He pressed his rifle on her temples and smiled. “Its too bad I have to kill you. I loved you, I think I still do. But what has to be done will be done.” He was about to pull the trigger but she suddenly disappeared. Her cloaking was working again.

Raynor fired anyway, but only hit the floor. She had rolled out of the way.

“Dammit.” Raynor cursed. He retreated, and stood with his back facing the wall. His lights swung wildly from left to right, desperately trying to find Kerrigan. He would never succeed.

He suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his abdomen. He looked down and saw his blood flowing freely, coating the invisible blade that was now buried into this stomach. The blade pulled free, only to come again from the top, piercing his shoulder plate and digging into his flesh. It sheared muscle and bone and finally reached his lungs. Raynor knew then that he was finished.

“You have been watching too many movies, Raynor. You should have killed me when you had the chance. You love drama too much for your own good. I’m sure the pause would have made the memory of killing me so much cooler, but cool only applies in Hollywood love.”

Kerrigan came back into view. Her face was two feet away from his, and for the first time since she was taken by the Zerg, Raynor could look into her eyes. He thought he saw a tear forming, but then he saw her smile. The cynical sneer would be the last thing that he saw before her blades smashed past his helmet glass and stabbed him in the eye.

An article on media censorship and racial relations

This article was sent to me by a friend. I realize that posting it here really is preaching to the choir, but its still a pretty good read.

http://malaysia-today.net/blog2006/reports.php?itemid=5390

Explanation.

Okay. Whatever I ranted about yesterday had been forming for some time now, and perhaps that wasn't the best representation of my thoughts. What I meant to talk about was the mismatch between human indulgence and saving the environment.

The typical human being leaves a pretty big footprint on the planet, and that is making the environment suffer. That fact is a given. But people are now identifying areas where we can cut down on our usage of resources and tax nature a little less. The Star seems to be trying pretty hard with their coverage of celebrity environmental efforts and that 'make a pledge' campaign they have been running. First of all, if you are going to make a pledge to help, make it count. If all you are going to do is promise not to smoke on Sundays, then don't bother. Save that SMS money to pay your future oncologist. Or if you decided to wash your jogging shoes less often. Congratulations. You just announced to the world that you are using one bucket of water less every two weeks. And pledging not to do something that even a retard would know is wrong is not much of a pledge. Promising to switch off the lights when you leave the room and to turn off the tap when you are done in the shower is lame. Quoting Chris Rock, its like being proud that you never went to jail. You're not supposed to. The whole pledge thing is a pretty cool idea seeing that people can pick up ideas from there, but spare us the insignificant glory seekers.

Back to the point. People are willing to do something for the environment, but there comes a point where they draw the line. I suspect this mismatch is going to be a bit of a problem in the future. Point in case. Jeremy Clarkson thinks that global warming is bullshit because he likes cars. If people were less critical about the effects of gas guzzlers like his Gallardo have on the environment, he wouldn't even have an opinion on global warming. Clarkson never claimed to be concerned about the environment. He is quite unapologetic about his love for fast cars with bad mileage, and while that isn't really something to be proud of, at least he isn't hypocritical. What I truly have a problem with is people who preach environmentalism and does little things to prove their commitment, but goes home and has dinner on a dinner table made out of Amazonian hardwood. Now, what Clarkson can do now is look at how the people who are accusing him of clubbing baby seals and point out the stuff that they are doing to damage the environment. Chances are, he'd find a bundle of them to pick on. Maybe they are golfers, or maybe they fly first class all the time.

Vegans love using the environment as a way to make people go vegetarian. They will point out that their lifestyle is so much better because their carbon footprint is smaller. Right.

I'm all for saving the environment, and I do think that little gestures that will accumulate and make a difference. Just stop taking moral high ground every time you do it and stop picking on little lifestyle changes that some people aren't ready to make. They might be doing something else that you're not that makes them even greener than you are.

Wanna go green? Stop gardening.

This is not a post born out of genuine concern for the environment. This is written because I'm annoyed by this needless chore called gardening. Yes, I'm a town boy. I don't like nature. I like earthworms best when I put them in a petri dish and observe them in a lab. I hate camping and jungle trekking. So sue me.

But seriously, the one thing that a lot of people tend to forget when they make recommendations for being more environmentally friendly is the fact that those perfectly manicured gardens that they keep is a menace to the environment. Yes, as hard as it is to believe, they are. To keep those fragile little plants alive, they are watered daily. Talk about wasting water. Forget about washing your shoes less often or taking shorter baths. Get rid of those bloody potted plants and you would have saved us a whole lot of water. Its particularly bad of you have a lawn, and have sprinklers to keep them alive. If you can plant a tree big enough to sustain itself on rainwater, then by all means, keep it. If not, dump it I say. Then you wouldn't have to have people like me weed or re-pot the damned thing. And don't get me started on the fertilizers and pesticides you need to keep those precious little flowers in bloom.

And while you're at it, you might as well get rid of another major annoyance. Golf courses. Gardens are bad, but golf courses are like cyanide to mother nature. So any rich prick who claims to be green (normally happens after they start some big corporate green campaign), but has a bunch of golf clubs along with a wardrobe full of checkered pants can suck my balls. Seriously, the amount of space that you take up just so you can have a nice way to seal your business deals is ridiculous. (And, yes, you guessed it. I hate golf)

Am I barking up the wrong tree? Maybe. I don't know how much water is used in an average household to water the plants and lawn. Maybe its quite insignificant. But its certainly one of the things that I'm perfectly willing to see being sacrificed to save the environment.

Bad and good news.

I just had a post about how the justice system of any democracy is so easily misinterpreted for whatever the rich and powerful feel like doing. Paris Hilton recently proved my point. She somehow convinced the sheriff in her jail that she had a medical condition and needed to go home. So instead of finishing her jail term, she was placed under house arrest for 40 of the 45 days she needed to be in jail. Evading a jail sentence eh? The sheriff in question is going to be held in contempt of the courts for allowing her to do that. But I suspect that for him its worth it. God only knows how much she paid him to let her go. The rest of the world is understandably outraged at this. What can we do? Best we can hope for is that the judge overseeing the case now will insist that she finishes her full sentence. In jail.

On a less depressing note, we now have a working model of wireless power transmission. Tesla's vision has finally come true. We have had charging pads where users just need to place their device on a pad to charge it without plugging it in. But this time, its power transmission over 2 meters. With an efficiency of 40 percent. Very exiting stuff, I must say.

Both articles are available on BBC. Check them out for more details.

The exorcism.

John pressed the buzzer in front of him and cracked his knuckles. He never really liked making house calls, but they paid well, and he needed the money. As much as he tried to control his spending, the cash never really seems to stay in his wallet for very long. Some indulgence will come along, and he would lose all his will to save. And now he was in debt again, for the umpteenth time in his life. All he wanted to do was get the job over with so that he could pay the bloody loan sharks.

He checked inside his coat, making sure that he had all the standard equipment. When he got the call, it sounded like a simple open and shut case. He would walk in, perform his usual hocus pocus and walk away a thousand dollars richer. Not bad for an hours effort. He just wished more of these cases existed.

John didn’t have particularly strong moral principles. He would have cheated his way out of trouble every time if it weren’t for the fact that he was constantly watched over. The irony of the situation was that most people would consider the forces that act as his conscience to be pagan gods that only cared for themselves. Most people considered his practices to be witchcraft and accused him of being an idol worshipper. He didn’t care. They didn’t know what he did, and they couldn’t even begin to understand the rules that he played by.

The door opened. “Ah, Mr. John, you’re here at last.” John raised his eyebrows. This kid hardly looked like someone who needed an exorcism. He was a picture of health, smiling at John as he held the door open. Normally, his clients would greet him with blood-shot eyes and sweat running down their face. They couldn’t walk properly, and sometimes couldn’t even talk properly. John hated those cases. They took him too long to figure out which method to use. “Something is wrong,” John told himself. He couldn’t possibly have the wrong house. The kid had identified him correctly. A trap, maybe? No. The demons he banished didn’t have a grudge against him. He was just doing his job, and they understood that. It was a kind of professional respect, if you will. Never mind his discomfort. He had a job to do.

John stepped into the house and set his briefcase down. “What seems to be the problem here, sir?” he asked.

“You’re an exorcist. What else would I have called you for?”.

“Well, you don’t look like you need my services. It really doesn’t look like anything is wrong at all”

“I don’t look it, but I feel it. I am being haunted.” His client clutched his chest, slightly to the left where his heart was.

“Okay. Can you tell me more about the nature of your visitations?” asked John.

“It normally comes at night, when I’m in bed. My mind tends to drift off into different directions, but I always see her face.”

“Her face? The demon is female then. Is she attractive?”

“Oh, yes. Very. I sometimes think that I’m in love with her”

John scratched his chin and pondered for a moment. A succubus? In this part of the world? There wasn’t quite enough of believers for them to exist in Asia. The sultry demonic seductress just wasn’t well known enough to exist around here.

What most people normally got wrong was the order in which these supernatural things happen. Conventional wisdom was that we believe in them because they exist, when in actual fact, they exist because we believe. People underestimated the power of their own minds. If no one ever though of the demons, they wouldn’t be around at all, but because people felt so strongly about their existence, they subconsciously willed the demons into being. Succubuses were part of Western folklore, and normally only materialized in the Western world. It didn’t make sense that one of them would be haunting his client.

“Let me take a look,” said John. He walked up to his client and placed his hand on the client’s forehead. Closing his eyes, he tried to feel for pulses of supernatural energy that would help him identify the demon in question. But he felt nothing. Frowning, he pushed even harder, straining hard to pick up some clue. Still nothing.

This didn’t make sense. Even the most elusive of demons couldn’t escape detection from him. Could he have met his match?

Then it dawned onto him. Smiling, he took his hand off his client’s forehead. “There is nothing I can do to help you, sir. Your problems have nothing to do with the supernatural or the netherworld. You don’t need an exorcist. You need a shrink.”

“What? What do you mean I need a shrink? I’m not crazy. I’m possessed.”

“Yes. You are quite possessed. But your kind of possession is quite common. In fact, you’re the first person I know who has called an exorcist to deal with the problem. Most people just kill or harm themselves.”

“I don’t follow,” said the client.

John sighed. “That demon that is haunting you. Is she familiar looking?”

“Yes”

“She is very attractive to you and you are in love with her? Is that correct?”

“Pretty much so. What are you getting at?”

“I suspect you know already. You don’t really want this demon to disappear now, do you? You can try to shoo it away all you want, but until you really find that you do not want her around, she is going to be there. Forever haunting you.”

“There is nothing I can do then? I’m doomed to sleepless nights for the rest of my life?”

“Not really. From experience, these hauntings don’t last forever. It takes a while, but it goes away eventually. Just don’t kill yourself. Its pathetic when that happens. I’m not an expert in the field, so I’ll keep my advice to this and only this. Good day to you sir.”

John walked out of the house, half amused at the whole scenario and half annoyed that he couldn’t charge the sorry sod for his counseling.

Longest post ever.

This is one of those posts that seemed to have point to it when I first start out, but soon start to lose momentum. I decided to finish and publish it anyway. Be nice when commenting.

A science is any discipline in which the fool of this generation can go beyond the point reached by the genius of the last generation. – Max Gluckman.

I saw this quote in my thermodynamics textbook, and it vaguely reminded me of something that I read about in Jurassic Park about eight years ago. In essence, it was about how dangerous science could be in the wrong hands. To illustrate that point, Ian Malcolm used the analogy of the martial arts. Both are disciplines, but in the martial arts, you don’t become a black belt without first going through the yellow, green, blue and so on. His contention was that masters of those disciplines got through a long learning process that goes beyond understanding the art of combat. When a master has perfected the art of killing with his bare hands, he has the discipline not to.

But scientists didn’t have to do the same. A new researcher now just has to pick off from where the old retired professor left off. And according to Malcolm, those researchers are not very likely to exercise caution when doing their research. To him, it was like putting an AK-47 in a monkey’s hands and then crudely gesturing to it to pull the trigger. At least that is the link that was made.

I was 13 at that time, and I bought it. I was surrounded by news of pollution and the destruction of planet earth by humans, and blaming science for all of that made a whole lot of sense. It is an overly simplistic way of looking at the situation, I know. But it made sense at that time.

I continued to believe that humans were to be blamed for the destruction of the earth, and that we would ultimately wipe ourselves off this planet.

I believed that, if humans had a purpose, it was the same as the meteor’s. To wipe the slate clean so that the next stage of life may take its place on earth. Life had been reset on Earth a number of times, after all.

That was what I thought of science. Unknowing to the consequences, we have developed technology that we cannot use responsibly. But that’s not the reason for this post. I write this because of the increasing specialization that takes place, not only in science, but everywhere else. Specialization is one of the marks of civilized society, but I really do think that it is taking its toll now.

I was reading the Dilbert blog recently and he was talking about global warming. He said that he was reluctant to write about the matter, seeing that he knew jack shit about it. So he started doing research. And the amount of information that he had to sift through was mind-boggling. Both sides had a story to tell, and both sides chose to tell it in a way that would serve them best (which is obvious). That means using half truths and then telling them as if they meant something. Both sides would use every piece of leverage they could find even if it meant bending the truth. In the end, it makes reading about the subject a pain in the ass. Which is a bit of a problem, since it affects every one of us, and is likely to affect us in this lifetime. There is a lot of money at stake here, and nobody wants to lose out.

If everyone in the world was bothered to research the issue, then this wouldn’t be that big a problem. But the problem now is that a lot of people don’t know that they need to. In the end, if the public were to have to make a decision about global warming, it’s the side with the better PR that is going to win the public vote.

Then there is the courts of law and policy making in governments. Both will have to make decisions about issues that are fundamentally rooted in science, but do not have the knowledge to do so. In the end, they end up relying on expert witnesses and their testimonies, but that might not be enough to get the correct message across. Simplifying scientific ideas into layman’s terms has a dangerous effect of being easily misunderstood and taken out of context. It is my opinion that a president or a jury cannot possibly make an informed decision without first studying the subject extensively. Which in the current world is almost impossible to do, seeing that we have so many disputes to settle, so many decisions to make and so few people who can make them. Expert testimony is all too easily bought or obtained through some shady means. Its just a question of whether or not the stakes are high enough for the respective players to play hard ball.

This ultimately leads to the concept that our legal and administrative systems have their inherent weaknesses. I know that this makes me sound incredibly gullible and naïve, but I had, and probably still have a lot of faith in the laws of the land. I actually believed that the police force would protect me as long as I didn’t break the law. I actually thought that our laws were water tight and would take an effort of monumental proportions to abuse. Apparently, it really isn’t that difficult, no matter which legal system you look at.

This post looks terribly disjointed, but in my head, its all linked. The thought of people misinterpreting science for their own agenda sickens me, but the writing is on the wall. It is really easy to do, given the will and enough resources. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Except bend their own will and resource to combat it when they don’t agree. It ends up becoming a war of attrition in a battle to gain influence. I don’t like the idea that justice sides the one with a lot of money, but apparently, that’s how it works. So excuse me while I get used to this new cynical view of law.

Sued for firing the unproductive.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6682827.stm

Yep, the Americans did it again. Bringing others to court because of your problems seems to be something that is incredibly easy to do in the states isn't it?

I really don't get it. He surfed for porn when he should have been working. Thats a loss of productivity for the company right there. They should have every right to terminate him, especially since he had already been warned not to continue.

Thats before we even consider the fact that he is a Vietnam war veteran that gets over his war trauma by surfing for porn. Apparently, we are supposed to treat his sex addiction just like drug addiction. His argument is that we sympathize with drug addicts but not sex addicts. IBM is supposedly discriminating against sex addicts.

At the end of the article, BBC asked if companies need to be more sympathetic of addicts. Well, thats a very subjective thing isn't it? If there is a genuine desire to quit, then I suppose the company does have a moral obligation to help out. The stigma with addiction is similar to the one attached to AIDS. Addicts are normally blamed for getting addicted in the first place, the same way people think the AIDS victims are getting what they deserve.

But in this case, we don't know if this man advised IBM of his supposed disorder when they first gave him a warning. If he did, then he might have a case. If he didn't then he's just after a quick $5 million and he can go fuck himself.

I feel strange.

I do. I'm never the kind of person who does stuff. By default, I'd do nothing. I'm a sucker for routine and I hate change more than most people do. In short, I'm not a particularly happening kind of person. Which would give some explanation to the reason I'm in the faculty I'm in.

Because of who I am, my schedules are really easy to keep track of. I never need an organizer, because I'd have nothing to write in it. And that would make the organizer that I have a big waste of paper. Or plastic and metal. Or whatever it is that the organizer is made of. But now, I seem to be losing track more often than not. I make plans that clash with other plans, when in the past, I'd say yes to something I wanted to do without hesitation because it was so damned unlikely that it would interfere with anything.

I wouldn't be writing about this if it felt right. And the fact that it doesn't bothers me. Every way I look at it, it looks like something positive. But it doesn't feel right. Maybe its me warning myself that I might be forcing myself to be something I am not. Or it could just be that stubborn streak that refuses to admit that it is wrong.

Is it really a bad thing? I don't know. I'd like to think that it isn't. And by the looks of all the other practitioners, it is quite the opposite of bad.

Oh well. I still have a lot of that lameness bug in me when it comes to any actual work. Now that is one thing I'd be glad to be rid of.

I suck. Yay exams are ovah!

LOL PWNT. (Wilz wuz here)

The follow-up

Apology eh? Not good enough. I just had to write a follow up letter to the editor. Hopefully he doesn't ignore it.

The apology has been made and for those who were outraged by the sexist remarks made by the two MPs in parliament, it might seem like a victory. But is it really? Have things really been set right?

Sadly, no. There are so many things wrong with the apology. First, it took them seven days to make the apology, only to retract it. When the official apology finally came after day nine, half the apology was about alleged opposition provocation. One can't help but to wonder if the MPs really are sorry for saying what they did. If it really was a slip of tongue caused by opposition provocation, then the apology would have come on the very next day. It doesn't a person nine days to figure out that he or she has been blinded by rage and done something wrong. Unless that person actually believes that no wrong has been committed. Watching the whole saga, one cannot help but to get the impression that the apology was somewhat forced and done grudgingly.

The problems don't stop there. The MP from Kinabatangan has a history of making such remarks. This isn't the first time that he has stirred controversy. It is becoming apparent that there is no changing this mindset that such people have. It is bad enough to have sexist MPs in our parliament, but to have MPs who flaunt their sexist views openly and then expect to get away with it is unacceptable in any democracy.

Datuk Sharizat might think that the two MPs have been punished enough due to the media attention that this issue has generated. To me it looks like they got away with it. It is an unequivocal defeat for those who believe in and fight for women's rights.

A call to arms.

This is the mail I sent to the Star, published on Sunday. It was heavily edited, but still published. If you are half as pissed off as I am about this, and can put a coherent sentence together, then write in as well. Even if it doesn't change anything, it helps good Malaysians out there know that they are not alone in their outrage.


To say that I was disappointed with the light slap on the wrist that the backbenchers in parliament got for the sexist remark would be an understatement of monumental proportions. Reading that article disgusted me and made me ashamed of being Malaysian. Many unbelievable things have been said in Parliament, but this one takes the cake for sheer lack of class and dignity. The thought that such people should represent my interests sends shivers down my spine. The fact that the statement was made at all should be bad enough, but to have the complaint dismissed based on technicality makes the whole situation seem like an attempt to sweep the problem under the rug.

The remarks by Datuk Seri Nazri then made it clear that some of our Parliamentarians are clueless about proper conduct. Play of words? An insult is an insult. If the 'play of words' was racist instead of sexist, it would have caused a huge uproar. Why does an insult that is sexist more acceptable than a racist one?

Letting this transgression go is going to set a very dangerous precedence for ignoring gender equality issues in this country. If a wakil rakyat can get away with insulting women that way, then everyone can.

Here we go again.

I don't know how prevalent this view is, but some parents actually want the NS programme to be compulsory only for boys. Right....

I really don't understand this presistent view that girls cannot deal with physical strain. Sure, they can't lift as much, and can't run as fast or far, but that doesn't mean that they cannot attend national service. Malaysian national service has never been about the army. Graduates from the camps are neither capable or expected to serve in the armed forces. Which means that the precious daughters of these parents will never be thrown into a jungle Steyr AUGs strapped onto them facing enemy fire.

Some might argue that a lot of them were brought up in protected environments and are ill-prepared for the rigours of NS. Well, lots of boys are pampered at birth too.

If this idea makes it to implementation, I would see it as an insult to women. It is an insult that a lot of women are willing to take to make their lives just a little easier. (fine, in this case, a lot easier). But I have said before, taking this insult would mean that you cannot demand equality anymore. Doing so would make you a hypocrite. If women can be allowed the right to demand their rights, then so too do men. If she has a right to ask for equal pay in the workplace, then pincipally, he has a right to demand that she goes through the same kind of shit that society expects him to go through. Unless it can be proven that women are really incapable of doing the kinds of things that they so conveniently avoid doing, they should be expected to contribute as well.

God dammit

My brain won't stop processing. I'm dead tired, but my head keeps popping thought after thought. Just a few hours ago, I felt the most alive that I have been in a really long time. Maybe the high hasn't died down, or maybe its the thought of Chelsea not winning the bloody premier league title. But I can't sleep. And thats weird for me. That hasn't happened in a long, long time.

I just feel like screaming now. I can't even think properly. I'm not sure if I'm making any sense now. But I'm still thinking. God dammit. I think I feel another identity crisis coming along, and I'm not looking forward to it. Bloody hell. I hate making up my mind. I hate making decisions with any form of finality to it. But I hate being in limbo even more.

Piss.

God damn it.

Its a freakin miracle.

I dunno how it happened, but it did. 4 hours of drilling, screwing and bolt tightening led to the creation of a functional garage door for the Micro-P project that we have to do.

Why is it amazing? Well, because we hardly used the bloody ruler. Which is fucked up when you think about it. Everything was done by visual estimation. And it actually turned out alright.

I was so certain that something was going to go horribly and unrepairably wrong, but it didn't. Whatever little problems we faced, we dealt with fairly easily.

And the bloody contraption was built the very same way I write my essays. I have a general idea about what I want to say, but I never actually plan the whole thing out. I improvise along the way. Except that planning everything on paper is standard procedure for an engineering design process. Obviously, we can't plan for everything, but a certain amount of forethought is normally given. What we did was to come up with a new idea whenever we saw a problem. A problem that would have been avoidable if we had just given it a bit more thought.

Anyway, the thing works fine, so I'm happy. The gears actually meshed, and thats a real relief.

Little green book.

Heh. I found it. I thought I had lost it forever and for a while, I felt a bit annoyed at myself. But then again, I'm not the type who dwells in nostalgia. So I shrugged the loss off. My reliance on sheer neuron power for such tasks will probably take a toll in the future, especially when I'm required to reproduce parts of my life and I have no artifacts to jog the memory or to prove anything I say. But thats a worry for when I'm 60.

Anyways, I found the book. When I first started writing it, I told myself that I'd probably look back at the stuff I wrote and laugh. I was right. Partially. If that book had remained lost for a longer time, and then showed itself, say 5 years from now, my assumption would probably be true. But I guess looking at it now could only result in me smiling a crooked smile and feigning indifference, even if I have no audience. Fooling one's self is a complicated process, and if I can't even fool those around me, then there is no point even trying.

Burning the book is an interesting option, though one that I would probably regret at some point. Plus, its Earth day. No point in any unnecessary burning.

So it remains on the shelf. There is a half-hearted attempt at preventing trespassing, in the form of a written warning on the inside of the cover. That warning is pretty pointless now. The stuff in there will probably make anyone puke after reading 3 lines anyway.

Feminists, may I introduce you to your worst nightmare.

Post deleted due to its potentially contraversial nature. If you really are interested, please contact the blogmaster.

How male or female are you?

Pretty stupid question eh? Male is male, female is female. Even in the mind. Gender differences in the brain are pretty well documented, and while not always true, provide a pretty good basis on which we can make assumptions. But then guys can have female brains, and girls can have male ones. (Oh, I've seen them. Makes very good thought fodder).

So, I was mucking about on BBC when I saw this test to tell you just how male or female you are. I normally don't do these tests, and even if I did do them, I'd be too embarrassed to admit that I did them. But this is BBC. It had to be somewhat credible.

The test itself took something like 20 mins to complete. And I learned that I have a very much male oriented brain. Slightly above average spatial ability, full marks for rotating 3D objects in space, but hopeless with finding words (a bit of a surprise there) and utterly useless when it comes to empathy (fit right into the stereotype).

But the one big surprise was the eye emotion matching test. I scored 9 out of 10. Thats a good deal further away from the average female (who is supposed to be good at this). I can tell what a person is feeling just by reading the eyes.

Seeing these results makes me think that I have the faculties to show empathy. I just don't do it. All this while, I thought I was just mentally handicapped in that area. I wasn't particularly ashamed about being cold and uninvolved. It was just who I was. Sometimes I got to thinking about whether or not caring for others is part of humanity but with examples of perfectly respectable people being just as cold (my own paternal grandmother and Kimi Raikkonen to name two), that problem didn't bother me all that much. I've sometimes wondered if having the principal of one of the most successful private schools in the country as a role model has turned me into what I am. It probably has, but to what extent, I don't know.

As things stand, life seems to be screaming to me that whatever I am right now just will not do. Its telling me "Sure, you'll survive, but you're not going to be happy with mere survival now are you?". Its a raging debate, one that status quo is having a fairly comfortable time with. The only problem now is, there is no end to this, and it doesn't look like the reformists are letting the case go that easily.

Nothing to write about.

Seriously, I can't really find anything that I would be bothered to put on this blog anymore. Heck, I can't even remember the blog post I made. Not to say that nothing happened during my one month hiatus, just nothing worth reporting.

I suppose now that I actually find myself before a computer with the option to post open to me, I'll mention a few things. First up, stress. Assignments galore, and ones that matter too. Not the usual engineering 'here, do this question' token assignments that I normally get. Actual meaty assignments that cannot be copied and must be worked on. Still on the topic of stress, mid-terms. They suck, and getting one a week is annoying. The barrage has stopped, thankfully. (Which is why I am typing this in the first place.)

Now, F1 in Melaka. And Command and Conquer 3. Fun. Nuff said.

Actually, this is like proof that I don't need to write. Writing is not my release. Never really has been. Talking is more of my thing actually, and I think I tend to talk even when no one really cares about what I am saying. I recently had this strange idea about the differences between the 'emo' people and the 'calm' people. Its badly undeveloped and probably already well researched by proper scientists. Then I had this idea about reclassifying marriages since there are so many kinds and so many purposes that go with marriage. (While we are at it, might as well create a distinction in the English language between the many kinds of love that people feel). I guess in the past, those things might have been considered blog material worthy. Not anymore.

Loss of identity, life changing experiences. I suppose those are the only things that will actually make time to blog about. Which brings me to the question of whether or not its loss of identity that caused this indifference to writing. Or am I just indifferent, period?

Relief

Geez.. How I could have completely forgotten that the lab sessions on Wednesday start at 9am is beyond me. But I did. And I thought that I had 10am class on that day. So as I looked at the timetable, I felt like killing myself. Especially since the lecturer who is coordinating the subject has reminded us that we have to make formal application for lab session transfers. I was late, so no such reprive. I could only hope that the other lecturer tasked to teach the subject would be the supervisor today. I think I might have mentioned him in this blog before. L!m is his name.

As luck would have it, he was the lecturer in charge today. Still, I wasn't expecting an easy time. I went up to him, said I was sorry. Before I could go on, he said to replace on Friday. He hardly even blinked. No show of disappoval or displeasure. He just asked me to come another day. Its really quite hard to express the kind of relief I felt when I heard him say that. I really didn' want to get barred from this subject.

So, here is to Dr. Lim. A truly practical man whose priorites lie in getting the job done and not in the bloody anal world of protocols and procedures.

Call me a bitch.

Interestingly enough, this article appeared not long after I saw the book "Are men really necessary". Written by Kate Figes, the article takes a look at how strong, independent women who are not afraid of giving their opinions are considered bitches.

I liked the article, and I think that she is mostly right. As much progress as we have made, women are still expected to be the docile types. I honestly do not think that its the brashness or the opinions that make men (and women alike) label these loud women bitches. Its only when they feel threatened that it happens. Women can say anything and have nothing negative happen to them, as long as they are wrong. But the moment they are right, they start to threaten people who are already very comfortable in their positions, and that will quite easily spark name calling. Its not being sexist. Its survival instinct.

Its not to say that calling talented women bitches can be justified in anyway. I would echo the author's call to continue being outspoken in a heartbeat. Too often, are people who speak their mind considered 'nasty' or 'not nice'. I should know. What I do find interesting is that the author makes a distinction between a good bitch and a bad one. The bad bitch is the manipulative, self serving individuals that tear others down so that they can feel good. The good one speaks her mind and stands up for herself. I don't, however see any link between the two kinds of bitches. Both are described with the same word, but are mutually exclusive. The author says that women have no guidance to change from a weak and bad bitch into a strong and good one. I disagree. There is no transition. A woman can be both, and can be neither. Both those types of characters inspired some kind of anger. It really is no surprise that both are called the same thing. The word bitch is used out of hate, much like the word fuck. And the word fuck is now used to describe so many things, its confusing. But most people who use the word are not referring to sex, although technically, thats what fuck points at.

And then there is the bit that says 'real women are loud, brave and outspoken'. Bullshit. Real women are no more loud, brave and outspoken than real men are muscular, chivalrous and well hung. Being loud is something that some people are. Some people are just less eager to express opinions. That doesn't make them any less masculine or feminine than other people.