My Captain turned 64 today. 

Still a healthy, strapping (but older)

man, very much like the younger one

in the above picture with Nain and Taid.

 

I sneaked this one out from his study

tonight, to take back to the studio and

have it blown up. My artistry skills are

close to none, but I’m going to wing it

and try to paint over the larger version.

I’ll trust myself enough not to screw it

up so I can have it framed for his room.

 

“Why would you do that?” a friend asked.

 

Because he misses them.

xx

 

At the junction on the way down from

20 Trees, Abang almost had a heart

attack when a familiar vehicle took 

a tight turn close to his car. “Holy shit

that was too close for comfort, man.”

 

I turned to look and saw the carplates.

Didn’t offer to say anything else.

 

Too close for comfort indeed.

xx

 

Governors convened for a meeting in

Bank Negara this weekend, which also

translates to this being a non-weekend.

I was attached to Governor Kim of Korea.

 

His officers called around 11pm tonight

from the airport before boarding the

flight home to bid me goodbye. 

 

In halting English, they said:

“You must come to Korea and visit.”

 

 

“…So we can take you to our Bank and

you can help translate in your free time.”

 

 

Efficient terlebih, these Koreans.

 

Maybe I’ll pass, good sir.

Thank you anyway.

 

 

Nain passed away in her sleep in

the early hours of Thursday morning.

 

I hugged Papa as soon as I saw him.

For a man who is normally so stoic,

he looked at me with forlorn eyes

and said, “It’s not a good day, is it?”

 

No, dad. It’s not. 

xx

 

Papa has always been secretive about

his feelings for the kindly Welsh couple

that took him in as a young 13-year old.

We catch glimpses of it, sometimes; the

depth of his love and affection for them.

 

It is apparent in the way he makes

quiet trips back to Wales with mum

three to four times a year; 

 

from the stack of postcards on his

desk, all addressed to a retirement

home in Cardiff and dated weekly;

 

from the random emails he sends, 

asking for recent pictures or new

stories to share with Nain in his

next care package or phonecall;

 

in the way he smiles so fondly

when recounting stories of the

summers of his youth spent

fixing Taid’s garage or helping

Nain plant a tree in her garden;

 

in his resolve to cross oceans

at the drop of a hat so he can

be present for Nain, even in

death, to pallbear at her funeral

just because she wished him to.

xx

 

I love Nain and Taid for being

the only grandparents I have

ever known, but I love them

most for having loved my dad.

  

Thank you, Nain, for giving a

young Malaysian boy a chance

all those decades ago. He would

not have turned out to be the man 

he is today, if not for your kindness.

 

We miss and love you so much,

but take comfort in knowing your

suffering is over and that you are

home with Iori, just as you wanted.

 

Gorffwys mewn hedd,

Glanys Wynn Jones.

Sleep well.

 

 

What’s amazing parenting? 

This.

 

“The only time you should look

in your neighbour’s bowl is to

make sure that they have enough.

You don’t look in your neighbour’s

bowl to see if you have …. just as

much as they do.”

 

I have a story to share from this

morning. I’ll get round to it soon.

 

For now, negotiations are done 

and I am going to get some sleep.

xx

 

edit:

I got in to work later than usual

this morning and while driving down

the slope from Lobby A to Lobby C,

saw two men walking in the hot sun.

 

One was an old uncle with an amputated

right leg, struggling uphill on crutches.

 

I felt a pang as I drove past, hesitating

slightly but needing to find a parking

spot fast before my time-out ran out.

 

As soon as I rounded the bend,

I asked myself what the hell I was

doing, and immediately turned the car.

 

I stopped the car next to the younger

man and asked where they were headed.

 

“Saya baru datang dari Link,” he said.

The Link office is BNM’s front-office

for public enquiries, and was all the 

way on the other side of the Bank.

These men had walked a long way.

 

“Uncle buat apa dekat Link?”

 

“Saya punya bapak sudah bankrupt.

Tapi orang Link cakap tak boleh buat

apa-apa sebab tak bawak kad OKU 

dan passport dia.” He stopped and 

looked at his dad. “Bapak saya

mana ada passport, amoi.”

 

He handed me a piece of paper.

“Awak tau office ini dekat mana?

Saya kena pergi sini untuk bukak

file bankruptcy dia. Mau clear.”

 

It was an address for the Department

of Insolvency in Putrajaya. I explained

that it wasn’t in the Bank, and that

they needed to get home to get the

rest of his father’s particulars anyway.

 

The man looked puzzled all the while.

I explained it to him a few more times,

then gently suggested that they return

home and get to Putrajaya tomorrow.

 

“Ok lah. Kami balik dulu.

Mana nak ambil train di sini?”

 

“Uncle masuk kereta saya dulu. 

Saya bawa pergi train station.”

 

“Ok adik. Tunggu ah, saya tolong

bapak saya masuk pelan-pelan.”

 

I sat there with the engine running

while he lifted his father in his arms

and carried him into my car before

stowing the crutches in my backseat.

 

Ya Allah, such love in the way he

cradled his father and spoke to

him softly to explain what was

going on. Bergenang airmata Na.

 

During the short drive to the KTM

station he asked what I did for

work. He very kindly reminded

me how lucky I was to be here.

 

“Terima kasih ah amoi,” he said,

struggling to lift his father out

at the sidewalk of the station.

“Awak jaga diri baik-baik.”

 

“Ok uncle. Good luck besok.”

 

The old man looked at me very

strangely, then leaned over the

rolled down window of the

passenger seat and said, “Doh jie.”

 

I smiled at him before

pulling away from the curb.

 

And then I burst into tears.

 

Back in the office, puffy-eyed, 

I recounted my experience with

Lat, desperately needing someone

else to understand what it felt like.

 

She understood. 

But it didn’t feel any better.

 

I really hope they’re okay.

 

 

ASEAN negotiations today,

probably our toughest fight.

 

Here we go.

Bismillah.

 

 

“By the way, I use the prayer scarf 

for every one of the five prayers. 

Can’t imagine praying with anything 

else. I hope Allah rewards you for

making it easier for me ”

 

Waking up to this today made me

rasa sebak sangat. Not that it didn’t 

make me happy to know that this

beautiful friend of mine feels much

gratitude for a telekung set I gave

her some years ago (bless you),

but because I am reminded of her.

 

This friend of mine, she is inspiring.

In the way that she is courageous,

in the way that her heart is kind,

in the way that she loves people.

 

Sometimes I remember her journey

of conversion into Islam and I cannot

help but think to myself, Ya Allah, how

does someone have this much love for

you to willingly give everything up?

 

Such faith.

 

And He loves her, I know, for her 

unflinching belief in Him. Because for

all the hardship she has experienced

as a young convert; a wife; a mother,

she has been blessed in return with

the ability to love so much more.

It is almost like her heart will never

run out of room to keep loving people.

 

At least, her heart has certainly

never failed to make room for me. 

 

I hope Allah rewards you for constantly

making good on that prayer scarf, Shiv,

and for your kindness this morning.

 

Meant the world to me.

 

 

The amazing Mike Dawes was at No Black

Tie tonight and played an incredible two sets.

 

Was initially bummed at going alone but Arief

was there, as were Nigel and Rendra’s younger

siblings Hameer and Kaiyisha. The usuals all

ended up present, so for a brief moment that

bit of familiarity made me feel at home again.

(Thank you, No Black Tie.)

 

I remember putting up a post in 2008 at

my first chance encounter with Eric Roche.

In the accompanying video to the post he

played a percussive acoustic cover of ‘She

Drives Me Crazy’ by Fine Young Cannibals.

 

My first thought: “Oh my God! It’s Jesus

playing percussive guitar!” (He did look it.)

 

Same deja vu feeling tonight with Mike.

____________________________

Selingan:

 

[To my claims of Jesus on percussive

guitar, Abang once replied cheekily:

 

"Jesus was a very underrated guitarist.

But his career was cut short when they

nailed both his hands to the cross and

stuck a spear in his side. God may have

resurrected him, but then changed his

mind - can't be having rock stars dying

and coming back to life now. How else

could you profit from the marketing

rights and cult status? ... And that,

folks, was how religion was born."

 

"Geez, Abang."

 

(Sambung tirade)

"Jesus died in his twenties.

So did Jimi, Janis, and Jim. 

Coincidence? I think not.

.. 'Cept Amy Winehouse.

That was just a fluke."]

 

End selingan.

____________________________

 

The unassuming slacker turned up in a

ratty old t-shirt and straggly hair, and

I instantly thought - Roche! Schwingg!

 

Like Az Samad, Mike tends to dance all

around the stage as he plucks, strums 

and hits his way through his songs. 

Nothing can beat Az’s cute frogdance,

naturally, but Mike’s saucy Irish jigs 

has a special place in my heart.

 

You look at the way these guys jam

out onstage, completely immersed

in the music they create from those

six strings of steel – it’s like magic.

 

And as much as I fell in love with Mike’s

music tonight I came home wanting to

listen to Erich Roche again and again.

 

I leave this post with the only recording

I’ve ever found of this gorgeous cover.

 

Put this on while getting ready for work.

You might just be going out the front door

with a much lighter step and a wider smile.

 

Thanks for this, Mr. Roche. Rest in peace.

 

 

Today during physio, soon after

I managed to get into position and

Leah clapped her hands and yelled:

“That’s it! You got it!”

 

It felt wonderful.

  

 

 

Thank you for teaching me to laugh at

myself, and in times where it feels like

laughing is the last thing I want to do. 

 

Everything I am now and will

ever become, I owe to you, Pa.

 

 

Because tailoring is expensive.

 

Turns out that I’m not supposed 

to be as tiny as I am now. 

(Dr. Nick can attest to this)

 

What a revelation.

I wonder how different the world

looks from a higher vantage point.

xx

 

Father’s Day weekend is upon us.

 

I have come to love the fact that

part of what makes a great dad is

helping your kid believe they can 

be anything, or anyone, they want to.

 

(Mine does. I am extremely blessed)

 

Some day I hope to marry a man

who will embody this quality and 

instill that same belief in my child.

 

He’s out there, somewhere. 

 

 

Doctors are miracle workers in

the truest sense of the word.

xx

 

I had my first physiotherapy

session today at Global Doctors.

Coming in after work I was a

nervous wreck after having 

found out yesterday that my

spine isn’t aligned to how it

is naturally supposed to be.

 

After ruling out the possibility

of quitting running and other

exhertive physical activities,

we decided on physiotherapy

and to hope for the best in

my older years. We’ll just take

the incoming knee problems

and back pains with stride, eh?

 

Dr. Nick and I bonded over our

chance love for Dave Matthews

and Zainal Abidin during the

hour-long session. Coming from

South Africa, the man is a true

blue Dave fan. At some point 

in there he played a live DVD

of Dave at Red Rocks, Arizona.

This was amazing in itself as

Red Rocks is the one concert

I have always wanted to watch

on DVD, but could never find.

 

“Have you heard of the penny

whistle?” He asked.

 

“No, what’s that?”

 

“Here, let me show you.”

He walked over to his cabinet 

and pulled out this pen-like flute.

 

Then he switched to a Youtube video

of Dave playing One Sweet World in

acoustic, and started jamming the

heck out to the song, right in the

middle of his chiropractic office. 

 

Those two minutes made my night.

xx

 

I struggled to keep up with our

conversation throughout the rest

of my session as he kept pressing

on my spine several times – it would

squeeze the breath out of me and I’d

get a mild form of panic attack each

time my bones cracked or snapped.

 

In the midst of my review of Abang’s

90s music playlist against his own,

Dr. Nick pulled me upright and held

out my left arm. “Do you sleep on 

this arm a lot? It’s a little stiff.”  

 

It was, in fact. I had never told

anyone about this problem before. 

I tried to describe how it always

feels dislocated when I wake up,

and the teeth-gritting way I 

would usually snap or wind it

back into place. He tutted.

 

“Yoh! That’s bad. Stop doing that.”

 

(Oh believe me, I will.)

 

He patiently taught me a better

way of fixing my arm in the

mornings – definitely less painful.

It was also really comforting to

hear that this is common among

some people. “Our bones have

a funny way of protesting our

postures sometimes. Just try

and change your sleeping 

positions a little bit and 

give that arm a break.”

 

(A ‘break’? Really now? 

Medical humour, you slay me)

 

I felt much better upon leaving.

Almost decompressed, somehow.

Like my spine feels elongated.

 

I realised that our body is taken

for granted for a good part of 

our lives. We physically exhert

ourselves, knowing our bones

can hold out, but don’t really

understand the kind of care

they need to continuously

serve our physical demands.

 

Thank you God, for miracle workers.

xx

 

“You’ll get your backbone back

in no time, miss!” Dr. Nick said

cheerily as he waved me off.

 

‘In more ways than one,’ 

I thought wryly, waving back.