One Year Later

It has been one year. Wow. And what an eventful year it has been.

1. The world is still reeling from the effects of the worst global recession in recent memory.

2. Obama is the first American President who is, well, different.

3. Malaysia's political landscape has changed. The opposition grew to strength, and is now standing precariously at the precipice; either to fall into yet another pit of stupidity, or one of great actions that will go down in history as the turning point of Malaysian democracy.

4. I'm still working at the same company. That is a record of sorts - considering how my butt itches every 18 months or so...

5. I now wear a ring on my fourth finger.

With this oh-so-brief re-intro, I'll slip right into my chatterboxical slippers soon to launch this blog to 'greater heights' - the place every Malaysian leader refers to at least 5 times in any speech.

Opinion: The Toilet Downstairs

Gy and I are currently renovating our house. It's an ancient 30-year old double-storey house, complete with damp patches on the wall, and dubious wiring that crisscrosses the ceiling. 

So after much discussion, we decided ˆnotˆ to have a washroom downstairs. 

That decision unexpectedly opened up a whole can of worms. Friends have gasped, relatives have tut-tutted, parents have painted a million possible outcomes - all deliriously dire. While opinions are free, these people have not had the decency to check with us why we chose not to have the jamban in the first place. Immediate responses have been the what-were-you-thinking? looks mostly. Even my mom predicted that I would regret this decision forever and ever. 

God, it's only a stinking toilet. I know that it may not be convenient for people who come to visit, but I totally do not see the rationale in carving out a 3' by 3' space for the convenience of people who step into my house probably less than 5% of the hours in a year. It makes no sense. And just because everyone has a bathroom downstairs does not make it the best option in the world. That is sucky reasoning, if you ask me.

That is pretty much the state of mind most of us are in. Just because it is, therefore it is good. Poppycock.

Take for example the institutions and rites society has imposed upon us. A wedding should entail a diamond ring, a pre-wedding photo shoot, a lavish dinner, a do-everything-and-anything-to-please-our-parents-and-relatives attitude and kazaam! - it's nearly perfect. How about the very basic thought that a marriage joins 2 persons who are madly in love into one. Who gives a fink about how this union should be celebrated? Would I care if picking up my bride in an Iswara will start the in-laws tongues a-wagging? I don't. Would I care if the wedding date is not predestined by the celestial charts? I don't. Would I care if all my relatives are not invited for my wedding? Screw it. I don't. I only care about 'US'. 

I used to think that weddings are a big show-off parade for the Chinese. A Malay friend recently mentioned how much is spent on building the grandest pelamin ever, as that would be the yardstick of wealth. What a sour taste in the mouth that leaves. A wedding celebrates the love of the newlyweds, and here you have parents wanting to outdo one another for apparently ill-advised reasons in the first place.

Why place such a premium on what people think? The more we try to meet society's demands, the more disappointed we will be with ourselves. Life is short. Set your own goals, set your own dreams and achieve them. 

What am I gonna do about my toilet? If my friends come a-visiting and they cannot find the will to walk 12 steps to the toilet upstairs, they are welcome to pee at the backyard. And they will probably never be invited back.

Stupid societies breed stupid people. I'd rather be the odd one out, thankyouverymuch.

Reviews... 'cos I'm back!

'To my people in the dark... Still out there in the dark...'

So sings Norma Desmond, the demented creature in Sunset Boulevard, stubbornly clinging on to her zaman kegemilangan yang lampau. Likewise I obstinately latch upon my (nonexistent) glory days of blogging... when my audience numbered in the ones!

Alrighty. Business first- I watched P. Ramlee - the Musical (PRTM) twice!

My initial misgivings: i) I adored Sean Ghazi as the smooth crooner in the first season, and I simply couldn't imagine another wannabe, ii) will I doze off again in the first Act this time?, iii) God, please tell me they removed the horrendous paparazzi!

Well I should have just discarded my doubts at the front door of IB as the second season of PRTM was a much better production. My misgivings all came to naught... except the irritating paparazzi. The contemporary take on musical direction breathed life into the music, making it somehow lighter and fluffier. From the get go, the Penang song itself became such a joy to watch, and to listen to.

The rhythm was set... and scene after scene whizzed by. Before I knew it, it was the end! Now this is a good musical! Making 3 hours feel like 1! The tighter plot worked miracles for the story (I have no idea what changes were made, but it sure felt 'right' this time round).

Musly rose to the occasion as P. Ramlee... though I still think Sean Ghazi had more of a stage presence. Speaking to people to whom P. Ramlee was a staple idol since young, Musly was more 'P. Ramlee' than Sean. His quirky mannerisms were very well depicted. Whatever it is, I did not not enjoy Musly's performance. Azizah was a let-down though. She could hardly carry the beautiful duet with Musly. Pity. Melissa Saila - devilishly delicious yet again! Of course the Saloma-P. Ramlee scenes remained my favourite, as the heart is really felt there. Somehow.

Another obvious improvements were the lighting (finally, some thought went into it). The one-dimensional triumvirate of Shaw, Shaw and Rajhans were less annoying this time around.

On the whole, it was the new treatment of the music and the tightening of the story that made a world of difference. It's a sincere form of enjoyment, not stuck with the qualifier '... for a Malaysian production'.

The second time round, I had the privilege of sitting next to the orchestra pit. It was a beautiful experience, seeing the musicians having so much fun, and the interaction going on among them. It makes one long for such productions to be the norm, where the people actually are passionate about the material they are working on. Simply beautiful.
Then Lady Luck smiled upon me once more, and I had complimentary tickets to Dansing Thru Broadway.

The flimsy premise was just an excuse to showcase numerous stage hits of the past. A kid (manly and testosterone-laden) wanted to get a job at the theatre, and he was taken on a whirlwind introduction to some of the most popular Broadway tunes of our time (after which the kid seemed pretty low on testosterone, but brimming with oestrogen).

First thing is the noble thought behind this production - introducing the world of musical theatre to the audience. Though the execution... er, the execution... well, it is a noble thought for a noble cause.

Main problem - why the minus one tracks? The recorded instrumental thingy doesn't give a fink of emotion to the tunes... This is especially true for stirring melodies; like The Last Night Of The World and All I Ask Of You. Tender tunes are rendered flat and lifeless. Even a live piano accompaniment would have created a more expressive complement to the singing. Terrible terrible pity.

Second problem - the technical crew seriously needs to undergo a rehabilitative course. The wanton mike-on-mike-off moments do a great injustice to the performers, and the performance. The sound system left too much to be desired. I won't even get started on the limp lighting treatment. I won't.

The performance for the night has to go to The Strongest Suit - incorporating the best elements of the musical. For most of the other songs, they were hit-and-miss. More misses than hits, unfortunately.

Thank goodness for the secret weapon - children. No matter how bad the production, dress little kids up in butter-yellow sunflowers, or suit them up in cutesy Victorian garb, the audience would give a guaranteed 'aw...'. I'm guilty too. Good on you, kids!

My personal gripe is the selection of tunes. How can a tribute to Broadway be bereft of Stephen Sondheim? Not only that, the inclusion of Carryin' The Banner (Newsies) was a blatant oversight, as it was never a stage production, only a Disney musical. I loved that song, originally as it captured a very Brooklyn-New York working class feel at the turn of the century, ingeniously choreographed. But on this stage, the magic of the original was clearly missing. But that's my personal opinion. *Sigh* Everyone has an opinion...

While I'm still swimming neck-deep in crappy work, I'm glad to be able to catch a couple of musicals. Apparently there will be more musicals on the way. That, is good news indeed!

Stage Review: Uncut Untitled Paper House

There is always a danger in placing your handiwork next to someone else's. When I was Scouting, I once tested my fingers' dexterity to the limit, folding grasshoppers from the slender leaves of the coconut tree. All for the sake of some Ahli Kraftangan badge, or some Apa Nama Pun Tak Penting badge.

I rewarded myself with a congratulatory pat on my back (yes, even back then, I was a pretty sad person) three hours later, my fingers criss-crossed with angry blade cuts no thanks to my stubby fingers and total creative dense-ness. My emerald green grasshopper looked almost ready to take flight at the snap of my bleeding fingers. Oh yes, I'm da man.

When I passed it up to the equally dense-looking examiner, whose kraftangan skills probably extended to spud-stamping in primary school, I saw a whole range of grasshoppers on his desk: bi-coloured, triple-folded, props included, detachable wings etc. Gosh. A second look at my grasshopper - a plain crumpled mess of mutilated leaves. That's perspective for you, boy.

The triple bill Uncut Untitled Paper House invites comparisons, fairly or not, warranted or otherwise. Which, to me, is a pity - as each playwright has his own pros and cons. When placed one next to another, I couldn't help but pick favourites.

Untitled heralds Johann Lim's debut as both a playwright and director. He delves into a common Asian theme. Bottom three lines: Breakdancing son wants to do something out of the norm. Traditional mother balks. And balks. So there you have it, the huge cultural chasm separating parents and their offspring sparking off conflicts of Loch Ness-ian proportions.

Yet to me, it felt tired. Alfred Loh plays the Son, and a very whiny Son at that. Fang Chyi (whoa - a total un-Fang Fang!) as the Mother fares much better, simply because she reminds me of the so many aunties I've met before. The lines, however, are a wee bit cliche. Mother has the same objections in a million previous plays, and the Son has the same million retorts too. The Sister (Amelia Chen) feels obligatorily added for comic relief (New Age-ism is passe too) - softening the verbal blows between the Mother and the Son - without taking the story further.

Truth to be told, with or without the Sister the story would not have changed much. The annoying thing about this play is the endless fixation with imaginary actions [holding glass, eating sandwich, wiping tabletop (again and again! How big is that tabletop again?)]. Unnecessary distractions. Johann is one of the most verbally-gifted guys I know. But - reprised, recycled and rehashed is my honest take on his maiden effort.

I was quite apprehensive about watching Ky-Gan's Uncut. How was I to pretend liking it? I thought. Ky-Gan has always leaned towards melodrama, long recitations and over-explanations, devices I hardly support. Fish plays Encik Zakaria, the head honcho of the Malaysian Censorship Board. He started off shaky, but as his monologue gathered steam, Fish comes across very believable - and that in spite of the avalanche of words gushing out. Encik Zakaria is, I believe, fashioned after good villains or wicked heroes (paradoxical characters Ky-Gan favours), and this time - Judge Claude Frollo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. A moral cop who believes in his own 'right' principles, no matter how inherently 'wrong' they are to the others, falling from grace aided by Aishah Sinclair (and who can resist that?).

The actors have done a good job, but Fish would earn extra brownie points for effectively playing the more difficult character. The star of the show, though, would have to be the words. The very verbose script is delectably delicious. I thoroughly enjoyed Ky-Gan's work. Despite the obvious eventuality, the smart banter of the two actors is entertaining. His pet style, if you can call it that, of consciously adopting inconspicuous items into the story, such as Aishah's Scrunchy(-ie?), is deviously used to great effect here. One observation though - alliteration should never take precedence over speakability, methinks.

Ky-Gan's word-heavy approach is something fresh (for me, at least), and I genuinely look forward to his next music-less undertaking.

Paper House is Mark Beau de Silva. Watching it is like meeting an old friend, initial awkwardness melts away to familiar comfort and warmth. 10 minutes too long, the story details two sisters', Maybel Chan and Bella Rahim, emotional journey over the course of a night. Mark infuses his play with rich cultural embellishments; delightful even for this Cina pek.

But as with old friends, there is a tendency to be cheong hei. And that was how I felt. Other than the juicy cultural morsels dished out, the sisters overstayed their welcome. Bella Rahim shines when she is in 'the zone' (that place actors go to when they completely assume the character). Yet oftentimes, her effort to remember the next line, the next emotion, the next intonation dampens her performance. Likewise, Maybel Chan felt 'kooky' - well-rehearsed, but losing her sense of character one time too many, and not really fitting in snugly.

While his stories are always entertaining, Mark runs the risk of sounding like a broken record. Still, why fix something that is not broken?

Technical
Lighting was splendid, in my opinion. Varying moods to fit the different plays. I like!
Costumes were spot-on; every size seems to fit to a t! Costume designer, give yourself a round of applause! And nothing looks like it came straight off the racks of Kamdar too!
The stupid Lego blocks are that - stupid. Cumbersome, unwieldy, unnecessary. Seeing the actors moving the blocks is distracting. Why? Why the blocks? What additional angle do these blocks symbolically shed on the stories?

Back to my origami grasshopper. While my grasshopper was outranked, outclassed and out-dazzled by the other more deft fingers, I still got my Badge. And hey, at least I have the balls to try it on my own (yes, there are other Scouts who got their patrol-mates to do it for them). And while it might not have gleamed to high heavens, at least it was my own work, and I was proud of it.

So there. Congratulations all.

Opinion: General Elections 2008

I, a Malaysian citizen, will exercise my constitutional rights this coming general elections to vote in a government that shows the following qualities:

1. Accountability
It is high time the Datuks and Datuk-wannabes in our local councils, in our government, in our Parliament, all realize that they are 'elected'. It is a privilege to be elected, not a right. You serve us, the electorate, the people. You hold the keys to our hard-earned taxes, again not by right. So please think twice before you fling the ringgits to the wind on hare-brained roundabout beautification projects or superpricey screwdrivers.
Show some sincerity. Show us that you want to be elected because you truly want to serve the community. Support your tin kosong press conferences with hard data: accounts and statistics. I want to know how my money is actually used, and how much goes into your pocket. I want to know how efficiency is measured in your department, and whether all the counters will be open when I'm there rather than the solitary Kak next to the row of empty chairs beside her. I want to know if complaints are properly recorded and acted upon.
All these issues are pretty commonplace in any decent corporation. Yet why do our elected officials still get away with everything (some say even murder)?
I want accountability. Black and white.

2. Respect
Malaysia, whether you like it or not, will always have different races. We will not end up as one blob of similar-coloured flesh and pray in the same way as the homogeneous Japanese are. We are diverse.
I want leaders who lead Malaysians, regardless of race, religion or title. When the leader speaks, it is for all; not to kiss the asses of ringgit-heavy towkays or to stoke the carnal bloodlust of racist communities. Unite, not divide.
I will no longer stand for any one-community champion. If you want to represent one race and one religion at the expense of the others, Malaysia has no place for you. Get out.
I'm not a majority race, and I'm not a majority religion. But I'm Malaysian. Please respect me as one.

3. Intelligence
Talk is cheap. Hence we have asinine ministers making asinine comments. What do you take us for? Idiots who only read sanctioned KBSR and KBSM textbooks? You humiliate us in the global arena by demonstrating how shamefully shallow your knowledge is. But in Malaysia, you can still pretend that you're smart. And sadly, we still gobble your dumbass remarks whole.
Not only that, we have unnecessary sexist remarks making the rounds in the Parliament. No, the comments are not funny. They are not smart either. They are plain stupid. I didn't put you in the Parliament to make general comments about skirts, and toilets and broken dams. You are in Parliament to debate! Intelligently! Why don't we hear statements that are supported by hard facts and research? Why do we have to cringe everytime an MP speaks, because they'd rather engage in childish banter and name-calling?
We look to the Parliament to engage in high-level discussions, not for embarrassing Punch and Judy rip-offs. So yes, intelligence is definitely a must-have. Buy a brain, if need be.

4. Separation of powers
Montesquieu defined this doctrine in the 17th century. Yet here we are, in the 21st century, still grappling with the basic concepts of a democracy. Is it really that difficult to comprehend?
Restore our judicial, revive our legislative, restrict our executive.

5. Vision
Enough of corridors flanking all corners of our country. Tell me, in simple terms, where are we heading to?
Are we focusing on agriculture again? If so, how much are we investing in this and how much do we stand to gain in the near and farther future? Will this be a sustainable economy for us in the long run? How are our various agriculture-based institutions being involved? Are we growing for our own consumption or for the world? If for the world, are we even sure they want what we're growing?
These different corridors - how do they contribute? Are we looking at biotechnology as the next frontier, or rocket science? What about software development? Are we also considering Malaysia as the outsourcing centre of choice?
Too many vague terms, too little details. It leaves a feeling of dread, actually. If our highest echelons of power do not know where to navigate us to, we may end up hitting an iceberg or Titanic proportions. We need a Vision. Now, we're just plain lost.

Reading thus far, you may think I'll be voting for the Opposition. That's not a foregone conclusion.
With that many Blue Clowns making decisions for the country, I'm not sure that Red Clowns would do any better.
In the end, I guess the vote has to go to the best of the worst. That makes me sad for my country.

Opinion: The Introduction of M

ACS Ipoh was a place of sunshine, rainbows and candy sticks way back in 199x. Er - interminably long bunga manggar + kompang processions, stink-o-lethal toilets and broken furniture were more like it. The simple fact is, life was simple then; the canteen wasn't caged up a la Alcatraz, the Librarian room was an excellent hideout for self-appointed take-fives (now, don't tell Mrs. K that!) and the scariest student-eater by default was En. R, the afternoon session cane-wielder. En. MI the morning session Discipline teacher, aka teapot as he perpetually had an arm resting on his hips (the handle) and the other arm in an upraised-S, like the Snake kung-fu style, or to be frank - the camp camp flippy hand (the spout), only struck fear in oh, er, ants, I suppose.

Then by the-ancient-spirits-of-evil, M appeared. And her gargantuan hands literally held every single student's balls in her iron hands. *Gulp* Kecut telur semua. We were at the cusp of examhood, with PMR just around the corner. This would be the final year, we know, that the class would stay together, as after that, people would go off to MARA, or take different streams. Life would go on, but you'd only go through Form 3 once.

Now Main Convent, the fount of gorgeous gaggles of gals and the local Milan runway of sorts, had a few Third Form classes making their own class magazines. And we were struck by the idea - why not make our own class magazine? We had Michelangelos, Hemmingways and Dickens by the bucket. Pergilicious, our Form teacher, was nonchalant about the whole initiative. As usual, nothing mattered except her dentist husband and her infallible children.

Su, Yus and I (the ahem, ahem, editors) then approached Miss Cheong (a temp teacher, but the Dead Poets Society sort, well kinda) to be our adviser. Unbeknown to us, Pergilicious was seething mad that she, the wife of a dentist *gasp*, and the mother of 2 Einsteins-in-the-making *gasp, gasp*, was dropped for a young upstart. Ah, the frail egos of English teachers.

So happily, we got everyone to pitch in, and we even managed to get it with printed covers (all for less than RM 5 per book). I was definitely proud of our achievement. I guess we all were. We did not suspect anything malicious lurking in the background. After all, most of us just reached puberty - sucking up to teachers certainly ain't one of our maturity milestones. Pergilicious was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike. *Doo doo doo*

Opinion: Memories of Days Long Ago

Trawling through google images, I realized that my beloved school (more than 110 years old, ahem ahem!) does not have any blardy nice pictures! Note to self: Take some pics the next time home.

Ah, Chinese New Year - somehow or other 'reunions' are more acquainted with this occasion than any others. Maybe because I'm Chinese. Ah. *Smacks forehead* Other than catching up with relatives, both eccentric and eclectic (stories for another time, I promise), Chinese New Year is a time when old friends call each other up and arrange for our own get-togethers.

This year, the ever-reliable event coordinator and alumni CNN, Cze, has zipped off to the UK, leaving the rest of us high and dry. As we've always said year in year out, without Cze around, we will never be able to meet up. True enough this year, other than a few half-hearted SMS-es, we didn't meet up.

Over time, our gatherings have dwindled in numbers. From our fresh-out-of-SPM chow-downs that needed at least 2 large tables, to a cosy corner for five last year. Even the ubiquitous 'yee sang' has not been tossed for more than 3 years. *Sigh*

These friends I grew up with, people who saw me at my most ridiculous (when I long-jumped and tore my pants), at my most vulnerable (when the Lucifer-spawn Puan M threatened to throw me out of school over a class magazine), at my happiest (when I staged ACS's first all-student musical with their support), and at my best (when I still wore 28" pants). Ha.

Now, Chak is in kiasu-nation, Khai is in no life-nation, Mel is in Bushland, Xiao Cao is in ulu-land, and all of a sudden, no one seems to be here anymore.

Here's to great memories, and may there be more to come! Gong Xi Fa Cai!