Beggars can't be choosers

My friend pointed out earlier to me that the Govt could spend more money to make public housing flats for the poor more pleasing in sight. To him, the pigeon hole like units deprived of aesthetics plus squarish windows with prison like grills is a sight for sore eyes.

I agree on the latter but certainly not the former. Why should the Govt spend more money for public housing flats for the poor by making it more aesthetically pleasing? To me, the Govt should spend more effectively to uplift poverty so as the poor don't be beggars. That includes keeping costs of governance low so as more monies are left with the rakyat to decide how to spend/save them.

Source: http://kpkkblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/hadiah-perdana-menteri-kepada-rakyat.html

In not so many words, I summarised what I said with this old saying, "Beggars can't be choosers."

He disagreed. He said beggars can choose which pasar malam to beg from. I merely replied, "Yet they can't choose who to donate to them."

The poor may be poor for many reasons but I admire those who choose to not blame the world but work hard and with whatever limitations they have to lift themselves from poverty. I have seen poor people who took advantage of generosity of others to be dependent on donations. Some even have the audacity to ask why at times you don't help them. I can't move myself to pity these poor people though I believe aid should be given to the poor that wants to improve themselves (and not treat it as a privilege and/or source of income).

I remembered what it was like to be poor (not hardcore poor, just poor). When I was young, I am the one with the least toys and most hand-me-downs among my friends. I have to literally beg my grandma to spend RM5 to buy a small like "Made in China" plastic toy. While everyone raved about their Optimus Prime, my favourite was only plasticine made figurines. My family stayed in my uncle's place, probably to save on cost of living and all four of us cramp in a room.

On one of those particular night, mom scolded dad and they had heated arguments over money. Why? I later found out my dad spend too much monies on his gambling habits and he took monies from mom. Though those were difficult years, I am thankful when I couldn't recall a day I was ever hungry, naked or go without shelter over my head.

Things improved when I started Standard 3 when my dad quit his gambling and focused on work and saving to bring changes for his family. Perhaps I didn't realise it but simple under consumption and saving do provide us with the necessary resources that can be turned into capital for the future. The best example for this is when my family later moved to our own house and our overseas education were were fully funded by FAMA bank.

Perhaps some may say today that the poor nowadays can't even save because basic necessities alone cost more than what they earn. So what is a bit of charity by making the public housing for the poor to look a bit aesthetically pleasing? I don't think pretty windows and/or doors will address the issue of hunger and nakedness.

So yes, it is cruel but true. Beggars can't be choosers. It sucks but seriously, I rather have drains unclogged and roads paved rather than have aesthetically pleasing public housing flats for the poor. I make no apology for that.

Remembering the past once more...

WARNING: Another long piece which may bore you and makes you wonder what is wrong with this guy.

I recently met up with a few friends which included an old friend who just came back to Malaysia to visit his relatives and friends. Old here of course do not denote the age but rather, the friendship we shared when I first went over to Australia to study. Unlike me, he has been there since his early teens.

While we spoke of our current welfare, we also spoke about things of the past. One of which of course, was about this girl I had a crush for slightly over 2 years. This girl of course is now a woman and we have lost contact ever since we graduated from the same university. Unlike me, she never did return to this country or at least not that I know of. He then told me about his recent encounter with her on the street and about the lunch they had. He briefly told me about her fling with a guy and later she left for London, for work I presume and two years later, returned to Australia. That is where he met her, on the streets of Sydney. She apparently told him about her desire to be an archeologist, which was shocking considering it probably took her close to 10 years to decide on this drastic change?

She has changed quite a fair bit, no longer the person I thought I knew yet somehow, something distinct about her makes it quite understandable. They joked about how she was my fling, which is not quite true considering I did confess but was rejected and I was quite devastated by that.

Anyway, memories about her started to flood back and I decided to type down these memories before it fades further.

And it makes me wonder why the Government build bus stops in places where there are no buses?

Source: http://www.zombiezodiac.com/rob/ped/busstop/keio_bus_stop.JPG

I remember where we first met under a tree (now gone to make way for road widening works) as I was waiting for a bus. She looked lost and asked if this is the place to wait for a bus as you know, the Government don't exactly invest much in building a bus stop.

I told her yes and that is how it all started. Our conversation as we waited for the bus, boarded the bus when it arrived and of course, as I stepped down and waved goodbye. Before I knew it, I gotten quite smitten with her.
Though our conversation was not very long, yet I feel her yearning to be free (which I would learn later that she felt tired of responsibilities imposed on her as an eldest child in her family and expectations imposed on her) and that she has a very strong mind of her own. Unlike her, I have strong disdain from the unpredictable. I have very low adventure spirit and given a choice, my only exploration would be purely on foot so one might imagine the distance I would achieve from my house to wherever.

But being smitten by her, this unknown feeling of curiosity began to develop in me. I wish to know her more, yet I am quite shy (a really big prune which only began to be shed of late) as I rather speak to a wall, a tree or some cat meowing at me than with another fellow human being for fear of the unknown. It is weird, come to think of it, as the earliest memories of fear of a fellow human being began way back to the first day I picked up the phone receiver and I am supposed to spun the dial to call my friend. It is quite weird how our brain somehow throws things up just to embarass us at times.

So anyway, during that rather short conversation I had with this girl I was kind of devastated to know she will not be taking the same bus which journeys through the same route which intertwines both our homes. Apparently she is taking a chartered bus home.

So what is a guy in love to do? I actually have to summon courage to speak to that bus driver so that I can engage his service to pick me up and drop me to the nearest possible route home. Again, this is a desire to know that girl more, to just see her and speak to her. Alas, by the time I got into the bus, she has stopped boarding the bus, which I only found out later, she has managed to hitch a ride with her class mates to go home. It this something fate is telling me?

In addition, everyday, I ate the same food (porridge and 2 pieces of nuggets) at the same spot, in the same cafeteria, hoping to see her for just one day, perhaps to see her smile and if in luck, to speak to her. Looking back, it is quite silly of me as I realised I once saw her there, had a passing and casual "hi and how are you?" and before I knew it, the cafeteria lady already knew what I would want when I went to their store. I only stopped after a few months since it is quite a pointless affair right?

But you know what is the strangest thing? In that 1 year I am in that college, I don't think I have spoken to her more than 10 times and each time, not more than 1/2 an hour.

Later, when we completed our pre-university course, I ran into her and was curious to know which university she would be enrolling herself. I asked because I am hoping to go to the same one as she is. My results by the way, weren't bad, but it wasn't the best either but it qualifies me to wherever she is choosing. But at all times, it was only twinning programme for me as that is the most my parents can afford.

Source: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/166/400741510_3829f0fc49.jpg

So anyway, luck would have it (sometimes one must engineer this sort of things and indirect promotion helps to when you mention cost and the fact that it is a very good university) she enrolled in the same course as me. Again, despite the same enrolment, we hardly spoke until I was about to leave for Australia.

I know then I have to share my feelings with her as otherwise, who is to know what will happen? I plucked the courage (again!) to learn to drive (yes, I love walking so much my dad scolded me for not being a man enough to learn to drive at 17. I only started driving two years later.) because how is one going to pick anyone to anywhere romantic for dinner?

I am so glad I passed the driving exam at one go and then, I asked her out for a dinner in TGIF and I went round shopping for a gift. I think I saw it on a catalogue and I mail ordered it. It was a glass clock and why a glass clock? Well, because clock signify time and given all the time in the world and the fact we have limited time of course, I would want her to have mine for the rest of our days.

Alas, it didn't work out as I only found out via e-mail when I am in Australia. I was devastated for this rejection is something I can't accept (though the silly me should have been all prepared since it is unrequitted love coming from 1 side but having invested close to 2 years before I summon the guts to share my feelings for her...) I tried calling her but instead, I end up bugging her instead. My e-mails, which was begging her of sort to accept me, was an act of desperation which just turned her off further. Yet, I can still recall her final remarks which pierced me quite deeply where she told me to stop walking in the "prism of crystals". Ah... the very glass clock which signify much now come a full circle aye?

Save to say, because of this, an incident occured (which I would share in another entry in future) and right after that, I got to know this old friend in person and grew closer to him as a friend and person I can talk to as I underwent depression during those long and cold months.

After a year or so later, she came to Australia to study her final year. By then, there is a pent up hatred for her (which is not her fault) and yet I wish to remain at distance for her, for the humiliation I felt (which is also not her fault) makes it daunting for me to even see her or remain within 3 metre radius from her. When we met on the street, it will just be a quick hi, a desire to just flee and think of the happy memories of other things or if possible, just turn round and walk away. I could not summon my coldest act and that is to walk past her and pretend she is not even there as I look straight at her direction of her ears, given the pretense I see you but I actually don't.

Anyway, once I stop looking at her from a mad unrequitted lover's eyes, I realised much about her that makes me wonder why I fell for her in the first place. I realised she is not only strong willed, she is quite set in her mind that she is right unless you opt to scream your reasons at her and ended up agreeing to disagree (this I found out from a team assignment which she volunteered to join up with my friends and I). But anyway, for me at that time, I learnt that we should just complete that darn thing and get on with our lives.

The last memorable encounter I had with her was in a train in Sydney in the final days to the end of the millenium. She probably wondered why I avoided/ignored her even during this trip (which she self-invites herself as far as I recall it) and we had a long discussion which involved much arguments and screaming (thank God there is no one else in that coach we are in except some of my friends). I think she really wanted to know what is bugging me despite my persistance in avoiding giving her such satisfaction. But what was the conclusion from that? I can't even recall. Thinking back, have I been too harsh and selfish? Perhaps...

If I have a chance to see her now, how will I react? Though this old friend of mine offered her phone number to me, I declined. In my mind, I only wanted to wish her success in her life but I don't want to be part of that. Afterall, what is the value of my time to her?

For the love of pork

I seriously love pork. And there are two types of pork dishes I cherish above all others and that is roasted pork and suckling pig. When I was younger, I used to like eating the sweet barbeque pork. But as I grow older, I prefer the salty roasted pork which comes with its own natural sweetness and chewy roasted skin. I believe it is due to age.

A picture of a better suckling pig I had in recent times

So anyway, pork has its own distinct taste and natural sweetness that other meat can't replace. In fact, this other white meat is so popular that in Wikipedia, there is a citation about pork being the most widely eaten meat in the world.

So when I read about Jakim's comments that Bak Kut Teh cannot be deemed as halal even if it the ingredients (minus the pork) is halal because of the connotation of Bak Kut Teh represents, I don't feel offended at all. Many of course argued that since the ingredients are halal, why should the name be of concern?

Rather than ranting who is right or wrong, I would instead share on some encounters I had when it comes to sharing food. By sharing food, it is a method which I often time employ to break down the ice that may exist between strangers. With the same food, at times I inadvertibly invite consternation or stare, simply because they don't or can't enjoy it. For instance, I once brought a box filled with cake and accidentally left it on a common cabinet where everyone places food to share. A muslim colleague saw it as she was passing by and took a piece from it. When I told her it was mine, you can see the guilt ridden look on her face. Is she feeling guilty because she ate the cake without my permission or because I am just a non-muslim who may have earlier stored non-halal food in there? Either way, I take it that my food will not be welcomed, even if I bought it from the store and kept in a perfectly fine plastic container which was not at anytime used to store pork.

Anyway, one of my first acts which I establish as a norm in my workplace involves food sharing. I would buy tit bits and such (and ever mindful of the halal logo) to bridge my connection to others. You may know a bit about a person by the way the present themselves but in sharing of food, you get to know more. You talk about it. The taste and perhaps encounters and experience relating to food. It is a very good thing to open up topics at times, if there is nothing much to talk about to begin with other than work.

On annual basis, I have a certain backbreaking ritual which I will perform. This is nothing religious but rather a way for me to preserve a sense of culture and at the same time, sharing joy with others. Joy is something you can't buy but if you invest in simple ingredients with prepare and cook it with love, joy comes when you see people smiling at savouring the food you personally prepared. With feedback, criticisms and comments, I would take it as necessities to make the food better, only to again see the joy in faces of others when they savour what I made the following year.

Another picture taken in El Cerdo (A really good place to enjoy pork in Changkat Raja Chulan)

And what is this dish? It is the humble bak chang which with time, I am making less and less as the work is kind of back breaking. I am limiting it to about 150 pieces per year now, unlike the good old days of making about 200-220 plus. But the main ingredient is pork and it is difficult to share this dish when you work with Muslim colleagues around you. I often come in early mornings, carefully ensure that each of these changs are packed in proper little plastic bags and handed to the intended recipients (a.k.a. non-Muslim colleagues).

It is hard to describe the joy in the faces of others when they savour the simple food I made. I however, don't think such joy can be shared with Muslim colleagues. I may be able to eat in the same table but I can't ask them if they like their bak chang with that big fat layer of pork fats or lean ones. I can try making cakes and cookies but like one of my other colleagues I spoke to, the Muslim colleagues would just politely decline; ever suspicious if my pots, pans, oven and other stuff are halal.

But for that will I abandon my pork? No, I still love my pork. I will cook, eat and share it. It is unavoidable. You can't pass out good food more so in this country where eating is a national pastime. Whenever I take a bite of those yummy white meat, I would always tell my friends at the table, "I pity my Muslim brothers and sisters who are missing out on this dish." By that I meant no offense, it is just their conscious choice to pay the price of religious piety. Which also means less competition for me for my yummy white meats or worries about looking for a place to eat right after Maghreb prayers on Ramadan months...:o)

Oh well...