Stupid..

A grieving father has been awarded $11 million in damages against a fundamentalist church that pickets military funerals because they believe that the war in Iraq is punishment for American tolerance for gays. Good for him. But it really does beg the question, where do these people come from anyway?

These are two of the signs that they use when picketing. 'Thank God for dead soldiers" and "God hates fags". Thank God for dead soldiers? No bloody wonder the father got pissed off. And one of the church leaders has claimed that they will continue to picket. Apparently, a $11 million fine is 'an act of futility'. Wow. If that was the case, the judge should have hit them with $111 million.

I wonder who told them that the casualties in Iraq was punishment for accepting gays. Did one of them get a visitation from God one night? Or some messenger of God for that matter. Or did they pull it out of their interpretation of the Bible? To be honest, I'm getting pretty sick of reading about people like this intruding on other people's lives because they think its their holy duty to do so. That father sued because he felt that they had ruined his son's funeral and intruded upon a solemn ceremony. If I were in his position, I'd kick their asses too, even if I were anti-gay. There are places and times where you don't preach and spew your religious convictions.

I wish they would stop caring so much and leave all of us heretic sinners to burn in hell after we tell them to eff off for the fifth time.

I mean, thats what I would do when giving advice to someone. If they don't want the advice, it really is their problem now isn't it? Admittedly, repeating it over and over might get them to accept your message as true, but nine times out of ten, you're just being annoying. And when you go past their breaking point, things get ugly. Wouldn't we all be so much better off if you just roll your eyes and tell yourself that you will get the last laugh when you watch us all burn in hell while you sit on your pretty little cloud strumming your harp? Or if you really can't bear seeing someone walk the wrong path, keep telling yourself that you have tried and move on. No one is going to blame you for failing in your task to bring salvation. I think even God will forgive you.

Women and musicians..

Its conventional wisdom that knowing how to play music makes a guy popular with the ladies. In fact, when a guy who has never really shown any inclination to play music starts to learn, the first assumption will be that he is trying to raise his networth somewhat. Might not be a fair assessment, but that just goes to show how much this image has been ingrained into culture.

But why? There has to be a reason that girls find guitarists or pianists or violinists attractive. I think it has something to do with natural selection.

An article in the Economist once observed that humans find mates that are liberal with their resources attractive. In the modern context, its material wealth for men, and the willingness to care for others for women. Apparently, generous men and unusually compassionate women are found to be more attractive by the opposite sex. Women want a man who is willing and capable of taking care of them in the traditional role of breadwinner (thus the eye for material wealth) . Men want a woman who will take care of the family in the role of housekeeper (thus the need for a woman who is charitable with her energy). The bottom line is, the more likely a person is able to spare resources, the more attractive they become.

I think that the ability to play music is a show of an abundance of resource. Music isn't an easy skill to master, and requires a lot of practice and dedication. Looking at it from a survival perspective, music is useless. Music is a luxury, not a necessity. Only a person who has his necessities more than covered for extended periods of time will be able to come up with a decent tune. So that automatically means that they have their bases covered. Which would mean that if you manage to nail him you got all your bases covered too.

This theory has its problems. If it were true, then all forms of art would share the same status as music, but they don't. A painter doesn't get panties thrown at him, a musician does. I concede that they are other factors that have to be taken into consideration. The scale of appeal of the different forms of art, the audiences that they cater to. Painters may not be able to make girls squeal, but they can make ladies swoon (see Titanic). The underlying principles are the same.

All this talk of love might seem like I'm generalizing women into neat little categories. Some might get a bit pissed, because they say I'm stereotyping. Others might wonder why there is a focus on women. Well, to answer all that, first off, I'm a guy. Of course I'm more interested in women. Second, male reactions are boring. The simple equation boobie = erection pretty much sums it up. Women are much more complex, much more fun to form ideas about.

And no, I don't see the entire female population as a bunch of experimental lab rats to be put into a glass case and observed. It is possible to study human attraction, speak very clinically about it and still be put under its influence. Helen Fisher confessed to have had her fair share, and knowing about it and having an academic curiosity never dampened the magic for her. So there..

The army and I

I was going to blog a third part to my 'love' observations, and had the idea nicely line up in my head. But I decided against it, mostly because I think that I need to take a step away from ranting and visceral fiction.

So, a bit of relatively light material today.

This post struck me as I was watching 'We are Marshall'. Actually, two things stuck me in that show. One of it was the reason that American football is the most popular sport in that country. The other was the way that the movie made me feel.

I felt the exact same way watching Band of Brothers. For some reason, and movie the properly depicts esprit de corps is to me the equivalent of the notebook to most girls. It can drive me to tears.

For that reason, I really think that if I wasn't born here and if I didn't have so much contempt for the values that this country stands for, watching something like that could very well have made me a soldier. It might sound a little gay, especially since a lot of that has to do with male compatriots bonding, and dying for each other. But it isn't. I just don't know what part of me puts my tear ducts into gear when I see a captain or a coach stand before his men and rally them. And just trying to put yourself in their position, and feeling the very same drive that surges through the team. The belief that the impossible can be done. Its all terribly corny. Which is why I think the comparisons to notebook type movies works very well.

Fighting for the fallen, making their sacrifices count, battling on to make the unit proud of itself. All those things probably elicit eyerolls form a lot of people. But I'm not ashamed to say that I feel for them. Of course, knowing that most of it is based on a true story helps. This really happened, in some way or another. Not everyone is an asshole.

Retreat? - Part 2

Time seemed to stand still as Captain Garret watched Costello limp away from the camp. His gun was still aimed at the deserter, his finger ready to pull the trigger at any time. But he couldn't. Costello's words rang in his ears, the truth behind them freezing him on the spot. Indecision racked him as the silhouette of Costello grew smaller and smaller. Sweat trickled down his forehead. Finally, he dragged his arm upwards and emptied his entire magazine onto the air, screaming in frustration.

He kept pulling the trigger, even after he ran out of bullets. The firing mechanism clicked uselessly against the empty chamber, but he kept pulling, and he kept screaming. He screamed until his lungs gave out and collapsed into a wheezing pile on the ground. The sergeant who initially shot Costello in the leg came running to his aid, but the Captain brushed off the helpful hand. He was kneeling on the ground, coughing and sputtering.

The sergeant kept a respectful distance form the Captain, but hung around out of concern. It wasn't long before Garret recovered and slumped into a sitting position. Murray started to say something but Garret raised his hand and shook his index finger. I know what you are going to say. I don't need to hear it.

Captain Garret just sat there, staring at the ground, trying to get his thoughts back in order. In fact, he was so engrossed with his contemplations that he never noticed that Murray wasn't standing close to him anymore. Nor did he notice the bright lights that were dancing around him. Nor the screaming that was coming from the camp. Wait. Screaming?

Garret looked up and saw Murray suspended in midair, a huge thorn being pressed into his skull. The fact that he was already dead didn't make any of it more comforting to watch. His mouth was gaping, as if screaming. Blood streamed out of his ears.

All around the camp, his other men were suffering different, but ultimately gruesome fates. Garret could see MacKenzie being mauled by what looked like a phantom image of a wolf. The shimmering beast would have looked magnificent if it wasn't for the mask of blood that it now wore. It wasn't eating. It was destroying its victim in a show of mindless violence, claws and teeth tearing mercilessly into flesh.

Another ghostly figure flew about rapidly, fusing itself with his soldiers and causing them to explode into a shower of blood. It was incredibly efficient, sending bits of muscle and bone flying in every direction seconds after it merged with its victim. And shortly after that, it would float again, looking for someone else to murder.

Garret couldn't believe it. He was a practical man, and seeing such supernatural forces at work left him reeling. As he watched the bloodshed, he searched for an explanation. There was no way that it was the Germans. If they really did have control over such potent power the war would have been over long ago. All he could think of at that point was sorcery. Some pagan, druidic force seemed to be at work here, seeing how all the agents of death seemed to have taken shapes derived from nature.

It was then that it hit him. The phrase 'we were never meant to take that hill' took on a whole new meaning now. Somewhere, scrawled across the pages of things that are meant to be, it must be written that the hill cannot be taken by them. The hill didn't want to be taken, and it was fighting back. As potent as the howitzers were, there was no way the German army could match such power. The hill had spoken, and he had to go. Leave or die a horrible death, the message was clear. For a moment, he thought of reasoning with the hill, finding some way to win its allegiance. But he soon realized that the Germans had known the hill for much longer than he did. There was no question about who the hill would side in a conflict.

He sighed, resigned to defeat. His harbinger of death had arrived, and strangely enough, it was an angel. It had black feathers, black hair, and it wore black robes. But its skin was pale as the moon. It landed two feet away from Garret, sword raised. He looked up, and could have sworn he saw a tear forming in the angel's eye. But he would never get a second look.

There is nothing quite as decisive as an angel bent on destruction.

Retreat?

Captain Garret didn't like what he saw, and he like what he smelled even less. His outpost, or what was left of it lay in ruins, the smell of charred flesh still strong in the air. The German attack that they had anticipated all this while finally came, and although they managed to beat the krauts back, it came with a price. Half his company lay dead, their corpses scattered across the battlefield. There were shouts for the medic all over the place as the wounded sought help. Garret shook his head.

He had direct orders from headquarters to take Thurigen Hill with whatever means necessary. As he pored over the maps during the mission planning, he couldn't help but to notice that the orders made no sense at all. The hill was tactically useless to them. They couldn't use it as a staging point because it was too far away from the other German outposts. It held no resources, nothing salvageable, and was very heavily guarded. Plus, the enemy was on high ground, armed with 2 howitzers. By themselves, the artillery would be scary enough. Put them on a hill, and they became the army equivalent of Psycho. Guaranteed to make you shit your pants. It was a fool's errand.

But orders were orders. He had a responsibility to carry them out. He had heard rumours that the hill was particularly significant to General Lee, something about loving the hills more than anything in the world. It sounded like bullshit to Garret. He knew General Lee personally, and found him to be a perfectly reasonable man. It didn't make any sense that he would order such a mission out of a whim. There had to be something to that hill.

The krauts defending the hill probably loved the hill just as much judging from the resistance they put up. They were fighting tooth and nail, when an infantry ran out of bullets, he had seen one of them charge down the battlefield, bayonet leading the way. It all seemed very strange to him.

As time progressed and the siege dragged on, it became increasingly apparent that the hill would not be taken. Not without a significantly larger force, at least. And the army had made it quite clear that no reinforcements could be spared. Morale in his company was at an all time low. He had seen happier soldiers in a fox hole in the middle of no man's land.

Suddenly, a single shot rang out. As Garret ran towards the sound, he began to hear shouting. He got closer, and saw one of his staff sergeants shouting at one of his unit's soldiers. He had his rifle raised, ready to shoot at any moment, and it was aimed at one of his own men. The soldier was rolling on the ground, screaming in pain as he clutched his bleeding leg. "Murray! What the hell do you think you are doing?" Garret was shouting at his sergeant as he approached, hoping to avert a crisis.

"Costello here was about to desert, sir. So I shot him. Got him in the leg"

By now, Garret had positioned himself between the two men. He turned to the writhing man on the ground. "Is that true, soldier?"

Costello turned away, and curled himself up even tighter. The pain in his leg had apparently gotten a lot worse after hearing the question. Garret walked up to the soldier. "Is that true?" he shouted.

The captain reached the man, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. Garret kicked the man in the face, and asked again, his voice getting increasingly louder. He ground his boot into the man's head. "You stupid mother fucker."

Garret pulled his revolver out of the hostler and aimed it at Costello's head. He was about to pull the trigger when Costello turned and raised himself into a kneeling position. He grabbed the gun barrel firmly and placed it between his temples. "Go ahead. Shoot me. I'm dead anyway, whether I run or not. Just fucking end all this."

Garret paused, taken aback by the sudden boldness of his subordinate. Costello looked him in the eye and asked, "What? Suddenly you got no stones to shoot me?"

There was a long pause. Garret stood there, his gun still pointed at Costello's head. "I mean, what the fuck do you expect us to do, huh? Charge up the hill again tomorrow morning? They got five pill boxes up there. Five fucking pillboxes with machine guns in there. Its a god damned suicide mission. This hill cannot be taken, and you can tell General Lee to go fuck himself."

Garret replied, "You will not speak about your superiors in such a manner, soldier."

"You know what captain? I don't give a fuck anymore. This mission is stupid. I mean, sure the place is really pretty and all, but is it really worth fighting for? Our outpost just got shelled, and we lost half the company. Half the motherfucking company. I'm not sure how much more of this shit we can take, man."

"Hey, who the hell are you to question the General's orders huh? Who do you think you are?"

The reply was sharp. "I'm the guy who's putting his ass on the line, thats who. If the General loves this fucking place so much, he can take my gun and charge the hill himself. But I sure as hell ain't gonna do it for him. You know this, Cap. For the army, this place is useless. The General is just fucking with us. I'm leaving."

Costello got up and turned around. Garret just stood there and let him leave, torn between his duty to capture the beautiful hill and common sense to cut his losses and run.

Banning Love.

The last time I talked about this, I was in the passenger seat being driven back to campus by my brother. I brought the topic up and we got into a fairly heated argument. He ended up saying, "This is why I don't debate. You guys always talk about thing that don't matter at all." I didn't bother pointing out that I wasn't debating, but putting forward an idea for discussion. I didn't really believe in what I was talking about, I just wanted other people to consider it and see what they can come up with. But after that response from him, I dropped it and moved on.

Reading Helen Fisher made me revisit. It was her idea (seen on her TED video) that sparked this particularly controversial idea and I wasn't surprised to see it in her book. I have to point out that she never said anything about banning love. She just came up with the research that I'm piggy backing. So, why ban love?

It stems from the finding that romantic love really is an addiction. FMRI scans of the brain indicate that the parts of the brain that light up when a love struck person looks at a picture of the sweetheart are the same as the ones that light up when cocaine addicts get their fix. Cocaine. That the stuff that not even Holland has legalized. The cocktail of chemicals that runs in your blood when you fall in love are just as dangerous as blow. We already have proof of this in the news. Crimes of passion happen all the time. And as Dr. Fisher observed, the withdrawal symptoms showed by cocaine addicts are hauntingly similar to the signs of heartbreak. Loss of appetite, inability to focus, the constant craving. They are all there.

We ban cocaine not because it gets us high. We ban it because its addictive. We ban it because it does everything that love does to us, admittedly with less destructive consequences. But on principle, love deserves banning just as much as cocaine. So on that basis, now that we understand it better and exposed some of its inner workings, it should stand trail the same way every other drug did. On principle, we need to look at it and decide if it really is doing enough harm to warrant it being removed. To ignore the effects of love just because we have never known life without it is being a tad hypocritical.

Some might argue that love is essential to reproduction and it evolved in us for a reason. I have said before that our physical evolution is taking place at a much slower rate than our changes in cultural ideas. I think that the same idea works her as well. When we were driven by primordial urges, and listened solely to instinct, love was essential to the continuation of the human race. But it isn't now, and the legacy of our past could very well be a burden.

Then of course comes the question of whether it can be done or not. Can we stop people from falling in love? For now, no. But our understanding of human brain and how it connects to all the aspects of life that makes us human is expanding rapidly. At some point, someone will find a way to put a roadblock on one of the processes that are involved in falling in love. As it is, we can turn promiscuous rats into doting fathers with one injection. And we can turn the most faithful species into uber playboys with the opposing drug. I think its no longer a question of if, but a question of when.

Okay, premise set. There is a problem, and there might be a solution. Should we do it? In my opinion, no. Most people will agree with me at this point I suspect, but for different reasons. I cannot accept 'We cannot ban love because we just can't do something like that. I mean do you have any idea what you are doing? We're talking about love here!' as a valid argument against the banning of love, although I'm sorely tempted to. I'm sure that kind of an emotional appeal would work nowadays, because the idea really is quite unthinkable. But humans change their minds really fast. Things that were unthinkable 50 years ago are quite commonplace now. Banning slavery was an insanity not too long ago. Now people who enslave are prosecuted and thrown into jail. A society in the future that sits down and has a serious discussion about the relevance of love to humanity is not really that far fetched an idea if you ask me.

But I am not too fond of the idea of messing with something like human reproduction. Of course the option of voluntarily blocking off love for yourself will always be open, but to treat it like cocaine could be dangerous. Science has screwed up before, and while that may not be a good excuse to stop applying the findings of science, this is too big a risk to take. Only absolute certainty is acceptable, and there can be no absolute certainty.

Why we love.

Okay. Everyone of you who snorted when you read the title of the post, slap yourselves now. Done? Lets move on...

I bought and read the book Why we love written by Helen Fisher, one of the leading anthropologists in the world. To be honest, the book was a little dry, and unless you have a keen interest, you probably shouldn't read it. But an evolutionary insight to arguably one of the most celebrated aspects of our culture is always exciting (to me, at least).

So, why do we love? It took Dr. Fisher one whole book to explain it, and I really don't think I can satisfactorily summarize the book in one post. But I can tell you some interesting stuff. Men will always think about sex, and women will always be money grubbers. Both these traits have been the butt of jokes, but they remain true. And they are there for a reason. Thousands of years of evolution have forced men and women into different roles, and to maximize their chance of survival, we have developed those traits. I think the reason for those traits being there are quite self evident, so I won't patronize you by telling you what they are. All of us know this. There is a difference between what I used to believe and what I believe in now.

Before this, I thought those traits were tendencies. Now, I know that they are hardwired somewhere in our genes. It means that whatever we do, short of genetic engineering ourselves, there is no running away from these stereotypes.

She says that women are programmed to look for successful mates. Mates that can support them, and provide for them, even when they don't need providing for. This is where Helen Fisher's ideas stop, and where mine come in. How many times have you read articles written by young successful women lamenting about how hard it is to find a good man. They always say that the good ones are always either taken or gay. Well, of course they are, especially if your definition of good is 'earns more than you'. Think about it for a while. You earn $400,000 a year, live in a million dollar apartment, and drive a BMW. Okay, those figures are a tad exaggerated, but the idea is there. How many guys around your age do you think are as successful as you are? Maybe its better to look at it in percentages. Assume you are the in the top 10% of young professional women when it comes to income per annum. To simplify things, lets also assume that all men and women are equal and that only the top 10% of men will be able to match your earning power. You are genetically predispositioned to exclude the other 90% from your potential husbands. That is a hell of a lot of men. Is it all that surprising that you have such a hard time now?

The higher a woman climbs, the harder it is for her to find someone that she will consider good enough for her. They are programmed to look up, not down. People say to leaders, 'It is lonely at the top'. That is all the more true for women, in a totally different context.

We can look at this and tell ourselves that true love will overcome all these obstacles. We can think about fate, and all the other romantic ideals that poets and the like have spawned over the centuries. But ask yourselves honestly, when you think about a highly successful woman in a relationship with a man that can never hope to match her achievements, what do you think of? Do you get this strange sensation that something isn't right? Thats your genetic programming talking. There is no fighting it, true love or not.

So what can be done? I don't know. The options I can see all involve compromise. A lot of women have quit their positions to become mothers. Sure, the excuse that they want to take care of the kids is perfectly believable, but think of the fallout if the woman continues and earns more than the husband. Men are programmed to be heroes as much as women are programmed to look for rich hubbies. (the stupider males pull off deadly stunts) To deny them the right to be the hero of the family would be a cruel blow. This has nothing to do with male ego. This cannot be controlled, and much as we would like to think that it is.

Or the women can choose to lower their standards and choose men from outside the income bracket that their genes have predetermined. The above problem will rise again, and the happiness of both the man and the woman are at stake. But it is possible to override these primordial needs. It requires a hell of a lot of will, a deep understanding of what you are doing and a thick skin in the face of snide remarks that will inevitably come.

Sometimes, I do pity you superwomen. Your talent could very well be a double edged sword.

TEEN Choice award

Thats right. Hugh Laurie is Fox TV's teen choice for best actor. Quite and achievement, really considering he had the likes of Jared Padalecki (the dude from Supernatural), Milo Ventimiglia (the pussy power stealing dude in Heroes) and Wentworth Miller (bald, genius civil engineer from Prison break). Its weird just seeing his name up there.

The article that informed me of this postulated that House's rebellious nature has something to do with the win. Teens relate to him. I guess I do too.

I always wondered why I liked the show so much. Was it because of all the clever lines? Was it House's atheistism and cutting remarks towards the religious? Or is it really because he is such a rebel?

I think its a combination. I am a bit of a rebel, my disregard for authority having caused other people grief at some point or another. But I have always differentiated my rebellion form the typical teen's rebellion, partly because my personal growth seems to have happened in reverse. I'm mostly now trying to grow down (if that terms actually exists), but that idea has been visited many times before.

We can't dismiss the role of the script either when it comes to deciding what makes me watch the show. I love watching Top Gear, but Fifth Gear bores me to sleep. Both shows are about cars, so we can quite safely say that it isn't a passion for motoring that keeps me watching the show. I love it when Jeremy, Richard or James takes on an American car, because then I can expect the usual witty but incredibly scathing reviews. For some reason, singing the praises for a car isn't quite as funny as insulting the crap out of it. And their lines stay with me. Apparently, the most memorable part of my Oh My God rant was the burning my nipples off bit. Well that line came straight out of Jeremy's mouth.

Whatever it is, David Shore has done me a great service. And for his portrayal of House, Hugh deserves every award he gets.

Raikonnen, hats off to you.

Well, you did it. I didn't think it was possible, but you are now the world champion. The Iceman finally gets the credit he deserves.

Sure, you needed rookie Hamilton to self destruct in the last two races. But it doesn't mean you don't deserve the title. You won more races than Alonso or Hamilton. That in itself should be enough justification for your winning.

And you winning means that perpetual whiner doesn't. For doing that, you are a hero to many. Some didn't care if Sebastian Vettel won the world championship. We just didn't want to see Alonso win it for the third time in the row. Thanks for stopping him.

And thank you, whoever it may concern for the last 3 races of the season. It put the race back into racing, and for once, motorsport became exciting. I have never had this much fun following Formula 1 before, even if I didn't watch the races, but read about them in the news reports.

Homosexuality in the news.

Dumbledore is gay. So says the person that created him. That's all cool. Gay rights campaigner Peter Tatchell welcomed the news about Dumbledore and said: "It's good that children's literature includes the reality of gay people, since we exist in every society." Complete agreement as well. Harry Potter wields enough influence to help change this generation's minds about homosexuality. But check this out. A spokesman for gay rights group Stonewall added: "It's great that JK has said this. It shows that there's no limit to what gay and lesbian people can do, even being a wizard headmaster." It show that there is not limit? Are you so blinded by your desire for equality and acceptance that such an obvious logical gap can escape you? Dumbledore is fictional. Him being headmaster of Hogwarts proves nothing. Because Hogwarts doesn't exist. Sure, gay people are just as capable of achievement as straight people are. But having a character in popular fiction being gay just shows that the author isn't homophobic. We can't use him as proof that gays aren't inferior because this person is the figment of one woman's imagination.

Also somewhat interesting is the rumour that our astronaut is gay. I can already hear all the women groaning about how all the good looking guys are gay. But the absolutely amazing part is that he is a Muslim. And now a national hero. I found myself wondering what would happen if someone went ahead and scandalized this thing. Then the Jabatan Agama Islam will have to ostracize him. But will be reluctant to do so because he is a national hero. And Malaysian Muslimness will come into question. The role model of developing Muslim countries will have to explain why they put the honour of the country in the hands of a gay person. And why they made a hero out of a homosexual. The thought of those bearded polygamists squirming under the spotlight shone by their 'pious' counterparts is almost funny. But that would mean our astronaut having to go through a bloody nightmare, and I wouldn't wish that on even my worst enemies. (Okay, maybe I would, but the good doctor isn't my enemy.)

Gah!

Linkin Park. Live in Singapore.

I did the mental calculations. I would have to skip 2 days of class. In the coming semester, not a problem. I checked it out online.

Ticketing started early September. I didn't know about it.

Now all that are left are the SGD 128 and above tickets.

Sigh. I have got to start listening to the bloody radio a bit more.

Sahara

The scorching heat plays nasty tricks on you. And the longer you remain exposed, the nastier the tricks become. Hallucinations and fantasies of things that are not really there take hold of you, and at that point, it becomes a battle to retain your sanity. Its a test of will - can he keep trudging along on the shifting dunes with no sense of direction? Or will he collapse into a sobbing heap and let the wiggly waves of heat sap the last vestiges of life from him?

He is a fighter. Or at least he thinks he is. Sometimes he doubts himself, but he'd like to think that if the occasion called for it, he would pull through. It was just a question of putting him in a challenging enough situation to call upon the will that will theoretically sustain him. And that situation was now. Alone with not a friendly soul in sight, surrounded by shifting dunes and the occasional prickly cacti. He wasn't giving up just yet.

He had just reached the top of a dune when he heard a distant sound. There was a cloud of dust being raised in the horizon. He brightened up a little. Salvation!

Moving as quickly as he could, he headed towards the direction of the cloud. He lost sight of it as he tumbled down the dune, but the persistent creaking got louder and louder, telling him that he was indeed drawing closer. Soon it was within shouting distance, and he started screaming at the object. It came a little bit closer, and he could make out the shape. A horse-pulled caravan came to view, and he moved to intercept.

Strangely enough, there wasn't a driver in sight. It was a phantom horse caravan, just like the carts in Sherlock Holmes and the Red Death. His gut instinct told him to be wary, but the thirst was overwhelming. He had to try.

When it was close enough, he threw himself at the caravan, almost missing it. Somehow, his outstretched fingers managed to grab hold of the steps leading into the inside, and he clung on for dear life. His flesh grating against the unyielding desert sands burned like sulfur on an open wound, but he kept his vice-like grip. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't going to let fate have the last laugh.

The door to the caravan opened. He looked upwards and saw the silhouette of a woman dressed in a long dress. She was tall, and looked stunningly beautiful. Even while fighting to block out the pain, he wondered if she looked beautiful because he hadn't seen a woman in a very long time, or if she was genuinely attractive.

He reached out, his eyes pleading. He pursed his parched lips, mouthing a silent "Save me." because his voice had been long lost to the desert. She looked down on him with her soft eyes. He tried again. "Please let me in." She was indecisive, not really knowing what to do. Looking back into the caravan, she talked to someone on the inside. Then she turned back to him and looked at him again, a pained expression of sorrow in her face. She bent down close to him, and said in a quavering voice "I'm sorry, but I can't".

She closed the door behind her as she went back inside.

State of mind.

Trying not to think too much is a trying experience. Telling yourself not to read too much into any action is a lot harder for some people than it is for others. But you see the blinking blob reveal a good night wish. Instinct takes over and a thousand worst case scenarios pop up. Depression starts to creep in.

But you promised yourself that you would take it easy. A deep breath later, things become a bit clearer. They look up a bit. At least the wish was there. Even if it could mean something unthinkably depressing. It could have not come at all, and you would be none the wiser. Things could be a lot worse.

Close your eyes. Failure isn't the end of the world. You know this, you just need to start believing it. Maybe if you write about it?

But that would mean people might know. Your code isn't perfect, you know that.

So what?

Write away. This is who you are. Stop being afraid of being him.

Just put it down, and go to sleep. Thats my boy.

Untitled.

Anonymous: "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand, chocolate in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming: "Woo hoo, what a ride!"

Now, reading that really smacked me in the face. All my earlier posts about doing stuff and being spontaneous summarized rather brutally in one paragraph. Never mind the fact that I have no idea what Chardonnay is. Probably something alcoholic.

But the fact remains that I think I'm likely to be one of those 9 to 5ers clocking in early every day and getting home, plonking myself down on the couch for a while, and then going to bed early because I'm tired. That very thought depresses me. Knowing that you are headed that way and not really knowing what to do to stop it is the thing that bothers me most.

I know its a long shot, but Auntie, you could very well be my way out. Teach me the art of living, so that I may have my mid-life crisis without regretting how I spent my youth. I'm not even sure if one can learn such a thing, but if you are willing to talk about it, I'm all ears.

Oh. My. God.

Have you ever not like anyone?

Yes?

Then have you ever gone ahead and read stuff that the person has written?

And find it so annoying that you'd rather burn your nipples off with a blow torch than read it again.

You know that those self glorifying words are delusions. The temptation to point them out, backed up with examples can be overwhelming.

You read every line and ask yourself what kind of idiot would believe such crap. Then you realize that there are lot of people out there who would gladly kick your head in and rip your scrotum off to defend this very annoying person, and then you just get depressed.

Yeap. Life is unfair, and the bad guy wins too much of the time. But thats life right? All you can do is pray that one day, some greater power will wipe the smug smile off that person's face, and you can have your little victory dance. In private, of course. Because you are better than that.

Angkasawan.

Fine. I'll admit it. I do have a grudging respect for the Malaysian astronaut. Is having a Malaysian in space something to be proud of? I suppose. Is this event being milked for every ounce of political leverage that could possibly come out of it? Yes it is. Why am I surprised? I honestly don't know.

Najib said that we can now stand a few inches taller. Badawi was equally nauseating. I was trying to put a finger on why I was feeling so aggrieved over the whole thing and trying to identify if all my cynicism for our administrators was causing this. What I came up with is this.

National pride can be attributed to many things. Lets look at the biggest one. That this is a big step forward for Malaysia. Is it? No. The reason Yuri Gagarin was a success was because of the effort that it took to get him there? The same goes for Niel Armstrong. Did Malaysia have anything to do with our Malaysian going to space? Apart from buying the Sukois from the Russians and getting a free ride, no. We could go into all the support that we gave our astronaut, but I'm not going to count anything that we can't quite prove had an actual impact. The trip is a milestone for our young doctor who had to go through the whole training program. He pulled through, and thats an achievement for him, not us.

Which led me to thinking about a similar idea when we are talking national pride. Sports. Athletes overcoming great obstacles brings great pride to a country, and its still largely an individual effort. Yet the whole country gets to take pride. Why should an astronaut be any different? Why can't we be proud that a Malaysian managed to be declared fit to board and serve on a rocket, and share in the pride? Well, because there are a lot of people that can do it. Our astronaut pulled through, and I'm happy for him. But it doesn't mean that there aren't thousands of other Malaysians who would have done a great job as well. Finding a Malaysian who can be an astronaut isn't quite as hard as finding one who can run faster than everyone else in the world. Very different situations.

It was then that it hit me. I now know why I felt half lame about having a countryman in space. Its because all our declarations of glory are likely to fade away into nothingness because we don't have the will or the interest to build on it. It just feels like we have bitten off more than we can chew. To say that we are now on par with the other nations is so much of a stretch that I won't be surprised if we have plastic deformation. (sorry, material science joke). We don't have a space program. We are no where near the point where we can build anything that can escape orbit. It makes absolutely no economic sense for us to pursue a space program, and unless we do that, sending our astronauts to space will have a distinctly hollow feel to it. Any country can do that.

Could the Thais have bought a bunch of fighter jets and picked one of its military officers to go on a free ride to space. Sure, they could. Could the Argentineans have done it? Yeap.

Sure, having a man in space is special. But the fact that you are part of an elite club because everyone else just can't really be bothered to join is just a bit deflating.

Still, Malaysia Boleh right?

The triangle

The only illumination in that room came form the fireplace, the tiny flame dancing about to the tune of the firewood fuel. The chambers were finely furnished, as one would expect from a space occupied by a princess. She sat on her velvet chair, leafing through the book that sat on her lap.

A sudden creak of a window opening startled her. She looked up, and saw a black silhouette slide in through the opening, then turn around to close the window. His movements were precise and self assured, but his eyes betrayed his predicament. He was racked by nervousness, constantly calming himself, and checking that he doesn't mess up.

She rose from her chair and broke into a half run in his direction. He took his own steps toward her, arms open in anticipation. He could see her face more clearly now, the strain in her eyes becoming evident as he drew closer. It was then that he started feeling guilty all over again, having put her through such a trial. His constant reminders to himself that what he did was necessary didn't seem to matter anymore.

They hugged, as they always have before this. He didn't dare go any further with her, not wanting to risk pushing her away completely by giving in to instinct. She looked up at him as she broke the embrace. "I got your letter. Its all very confusing for me to say the least."

He nodded in comprehension. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that, not on the very eve of your examinations."

She kept silent. "I just can't help but to feel that fate is working against us. If only we could have met earlier."

He knew that was coming. "You know I don't believe in fate. All that matters is what you want," he replied.

"But I made him a promise. I can't back down after I have given him my word now can I?"

"I don't understand what the two of you had, or what you agreed upon. And I'm not sure I want to. But I know that we sometimes have to make difficult decisions. All is fair in love and war, remember? I don't think that you breaking that promise makes you evil or morally corrupt in any way. These things happen all the time. I know its selfish of me to do this, but I hope you understand. I have to do this."

He continued "Its all very sudden, and I know you need time. But whatever you choose to do, I will respect the decision. As long as you would have me as a friend, I shall be one. All I ask is to be given a chance."

Having said that, he turned around and left, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

Shed a tear.

Violence is deplorable. Yes, I know it is, and I'm not going to deny that.

I suppose I have been quite critical of my lack of response to the images that appear in the media depicting the suffering of innocent people at the hands of others. I questioned my humanity at one point, asking myself why I didn't feel as others felt. Perhaps I have been desensitized to violence because I have seen so many pictures of it. Or perhaps I have never suffered as the victims have, and so I'll never be able to relate. But when I look at the final results, my impact on the suffering is the same as the impact that others make. Others who write to the newspapers slamming the perpetrators and demanding justice. (Who is listening, I wonder) Others who look at a picture of a starving child, absentmindedly shake their heads, mutter a 'tsk,tsk' and go back to eating their double cheeseburger. Zero impact. I'm not saying that we shouldn't feel pity. I'm saying that pity that involves a sudden surge of revulsion that is quickly forgotten amidst the luxuries that surround you is quite pointless. What we need is a little of the momentum that the surge created to be sustained and turned into something positive.

I tend to view violence as part of human nature. Every civilization that has ever spawned has resorted to violence before, and that in itself is enough proof to me that violence is hardwired into the human brain. It is the most basic and instinctive of the many conflict resolution techniques that exist. To tell mankind to stop being violent is like telling man not to have sex. Its completely counter-intuitive. If violence is to be stopped, there must be a better way of solving conflicts, a way that will appeal to the self preservation instinct that ticks in every one of us. So, can violence be stopped? I think so, yes. Just not by harping on moral principles, and how we human beings should be better than that.

In an effort to win a convert, Christians have asked me if I thought that we live in violent times. I said yes. In retrospect, I would have said no. Steven Pinker's talk has given me a whole new perspective of violence in the world. He says a lot of things in that talk, some of which some people will find very hard to swallow. Especially the idea that we really are much less violent than our ancestors were, on multiple time scales. The idea of the good old days with reference to relative peace in the past is an illusion. He discussed possible reasons for the drop in violence, and those, I can extrapolate to being possible solutions to the pockets of violence that flare up in the world today.

Understanding the other person's perspective, is I think one of the most powerful deterrence to someone being violent. The rapid expansion of humanist thinking ever since the Enlightenment has discouraged people from thinking of other people as sub-human, and thus deserving of violent behaviour. He has other theories too, like the Leviathan theory that works a lot like the concept of Mutually Assured Destruction that people toss around all the time in nuclear weapon discussions. But thats irrelevant to this post because we can't put the Leviathan into action. That system calls for a single democratic entity that has the legal authority to use violence to oversee the rest of the world. (A bit like what the U.N. security council is supposed to do).

But understanding is something that we can do. See the misunderstanding from another set of eyes, and maybe, it will turn out to be less of a conflict than previously thought. Jehane Noujaim has done something about it. Full credit to her. There are examples I could use to make this clearer, but they could quite easily be misinterpreted as me implying that certain groups of people are stubborn and refuse to see other perspectives. Look around you. I'm sure you can find a few examples yourself.

Winning a million dollar TED prize and using that money to produce a film to promote understanding between the Israelis and the Palestinians is a tall order that not many have the will or the ability to achieve. But we needn't go that far. We just need to start with what we have around us.

Boys and danger.

I have always been an advocate for the recognition of gender differences in children and the restructuring of societal perception, especially in education to accommodate these differences. I am also one of those people who can get excited over a bunch of words, constantly obsessing over a well written article that hits an issue, and hits it well. Which is why I felt this familiar high after I finished reading 'Risk is fun' in The Star today.

Its about a man who has written a book about his childhood, about growing up with his brothers and their 'Black Cat' club. He called the book The Dangerous Book for Boys. And he talked about stuff that made so much sense to me, yet I couldn't really justify it. I'll quote directly.

Its safer to put a boy in front of the Playstation for a while, but not in the long run. The irony of making boys' lives too safe is that they later take worse risks on their own. You only have to push a baby boy hard on a swing once to see his face light up. Its not learned behaviour - he is hardwired to enjoy a little risk. Ask any man for a good memory from childhood and he'll tell you about testing his courage or getting injured. No one wants to see a child getting hurt, but we really did think that the bumps and scratches were badges of honour, once.

He ended the article this way.

We all care about our sons - scabby knees, competitive spirits and all. Its about time we let our schools and governments know how much we care. Let the pendulum swing.

I know exactly what he is talking about. I had my own little adventures as a child, pretending that the Lake Gardens playground was this alien planet and the slides and the monkey bars were all part of my spaceship. Yet, I have been so indoctrinated with the whole 'children must be kept as far away form danger as possible at all times' idea that I probably wouldn't have been able to write anything like I read in that article. I find justifying risk to children horrifying, and I was torn between shock and recognition of truth.

He also talked about his experiences as a teacher, and how every textbook had a girl achieving her dream while all the boys were morons. When he asked why, the reply was 'boys had had it their was for too long, and now its the girls' turn.' Sure, that example might be a tad extreme, and might not be entirely true, but its symptomatic of the kind of environment that young boys have to grow up in.

Refusal to recognize boys for what they are is a problem. Boys will be boys. Turning them into something else is a prospect that depresses me like almost nothing else can.

Note : I was prepared to write a lengthy rant on the article beside it about the confessions of a shopaholic, but decided that talking about boys' childhood is more important than slamming an addict for daring to glorify her problem and admitting that she has a problem but refusing to do anything about it because he husband lets her get away with it. What a selfish, pompous ass.

Engineering in MMU - a pissy and poorly analysed perspective.

I haven't been blogging these few days. Blame the exam schedule. 4 papers in 3 days. Thats as bad as exam rules would allow, since MMU made it a point not to give us 3 exams in 2 days. But I guess I can't really blame anyone but myself for this. Apparently, the law students had a screwed up schedule as well. They wrote a letter, and got it changed. The mechanical engineers sat down, sulked and ultimately suffered. Oh well. 4 papers later, I'm glad its over. Mostly over, that is. Another semester almost passed, and another one that I have learned almost nothing. Control engineering is what I consider the best representation of learning in the FET. Go to class to learn a bunch of vague rules of a game. Go home and practice the game. If you do enough, you get an A for playing. At the end of the semester, you can forget all the rules, because you are going to be playing a different game very soon. Don't believe me?

Rules to drawing a root locus diagram. (The ones I can remember)

1. Modify the given transfer function to the general form. (Before that, pray that the equation is in a form that you can recognize)
2. Identify the poles and the zeros.
3. Plot the poles and zeros on a graph.
4. Calculate the angle of asymptotes by using the memorized formula.
5. Calculate the break off points by differentiating the transfer function.
6. Calculate the angle of departure by using the memorized guidelines.
7. Draw the loci, keeping in mind that they cross the real axis between odd numbered intervals of poles and zeros. Use the calculated values to help you, while hoping that there is no contradiction in the conditions that you have determined.

I have to point out that I have no idea what a transfer function, pole, zero, break off point or a root locus diagram is. And neither does anyone that I know. We just do it for final exams. And after that, we forget it all.

What it ends up becoming is this:

Rules to a pointless little game that you have to master to pass. You get one shot at it, with failure resulting in having to wait another year before you can play again. Failure would also mean that you cannot play the harder, equally pointless games that await you in the future.

The last time I've seen scenarios like this, they have been a test of will, and not part of a learning process. Its like some challenge on a game show that we have to excel in to win this prize at the end. Since when did learning ever become a test of will?

Yep. Thats what engineering in MMU has degenerated into. Grab any Control engineering A student and ask him what a Bode or Nyquist plot is for. 99% of them will tell you "I don't know". Or "I don't give a flying fuck" depending on how cynical he or she is. Also, if you give them a question that only slightly different from the covered patterns covered in the tutorial, they'd get stuck.

And its not only control engineering. Any electronics subject that mechanical engineers have to take are so woefully surface that no one but the most technically gifted students actually learn anything. And yet, they insist we learn as many advanced concepts as possible. WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT?

My grades have been slipping these past few semesters. Am I getting stupider? Or lazier? Or am I still too heart-broken to study? /snort (lulz)

I think the most likely explanation is that disillusionment has taken its toll. Engineering isn't evil. Its just the version that I'm learning.

Mehness.

Ever feel this strange depression creeping in but not know where it is coming from? This unexplainable feeling of despair for which there is no explanation. I hate that feeling.

I have no idea where it comes from, and I suspect that I'm afraid of identifying the reasons. People love deluding themselves, and as much as I try to tell myself that I can take it, it feels like something wiser than me is holding me back.

Denial of information to myself in the name of self preservation.

I hate the feeling because it debilitates me. I start justifying time spent staring into space doing absolutely nothing. I feel like crap. I have a reason to be lame. Except, I don't. And the knowledge that I don't just makes everything worse.

The feeling of utter helplessness, knowing that there are solutions, but not being brave enough to accept them, always hoping that an easier way will present itself. Fear of change. Fear of being judged. Fear of the unknown.

Its enough to make me want to cry.

I can't delude myself. I can't tell myself to go to sleep, and when I wake up in the morning, all will be well. Because it won't.

And when I start comparing my situation with the worst case scenarios, I know that what I'm going through is nothing. And knowing that makes me want to cry even more.

Spontaneity

Is something that I simply do not have. And is something that I will probably never fully understand. I used to frown upon spontaneity, less so now. I could credit it to Malcolm Gladwell, but I think it started long before I knew about him.

Now, its almost amusing. Its almost like I am a child poking at a Fisher Price toy that keeps rebounding back and giggling happily every time it does that. Sounds silly, but thats what it feels like to me.

I thought that it was a bit contradictory for me to be so chaotic but still lack spontaneity. I'm not exactly the most organized of people, something that I get reminded of all the time. (especially if I mess up). But then I realized that being methodical and being spontaneous are not exactly two mutually exclusive things. There are people who are both.

I guess part of being spontaneous is not giving a flying fuck. Something that is exceedingly hard to do. Even when writing this post I asked myself why I am doing this. I suppose that deep down inside I think that a policy of do first, consequences later could be disastrous. The problem is where to draw the line for allowable spontaneous behaviour. How do I identify situations in which the disastrous consequences are negligible?

Sigh.

I realize that this post is the exact things that I rant about. Pointless, meaningless jumble of words that are more likely to annoy than to inform.

But I'm trying to be spontaneous, so gimme a break.

=)

Scott Adams, I worship thee.

http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/2007/09/suing-god.html

One of the funniest posts ever! Almost fell off my chair.

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.