Talentime: The Results

When I first thought of writing this post, I wanted to fill it with my disappointments, my regrets, analyzing over every minute detail of the performance, what I did wrong, where I could have done better, and the dejected feeling of losing.

However, after sleeping on it for a good 8 hours, I start to realise that that shouldn't be what I focus on. Although I might still pepper the post with a little bit of negativity here and there, it shouldn't be the main take away from my virginal experience of singing solo in front of a ballroom full of strangers.

Instead, this series of posts will serve as a record of my experience from the point I received the email from the organising committee of Great Eastern's Annual Dinner & Dance 2011 announcing the talent competition, to, well, this morning, when me and Jean talked about it.

Keeping in tradition with the way I like to write, lets start from the end, the announcement of the result, and jump around with no respect of a perceivable chronological timeline.

My team and I didn't place. We got a consolation prize, which was RM 588. The consolation prize is given to the remaining 3 teams that did not place first to second runners up.

I cannot deny that it was disappointing. Was I completely taken by surprise by the results? Since I messed up the lyrics twice during the performance, it should have been expected, but my hopes that other aspects of the performance might still make up for the mistakes were obviously misplaced.

However, I have to state that I was a little surprised that some teams which I thought performed better than others didn't get the results that, in my humble opinion, they deserved.

Of course, it wasn't up to me how the 3 judges scored the remaining teams. Personal preferences for dance over song, showmanship over technique dictated their scoring and although others may see it differently, the fact that 90% of the results were determined by these appointed judges can't be changed.

The champions of the night was Mat Bunga, a Latin dance troupe with elaborate dance steps and costumes, and the runners up was another dance crew, D'Truth who performed a hip hop dance. Second runner up was the local rock star, Abang Salleh who can probably give Faizal Tahir, a guest artiste of the night, a run for his money. The remaining teams were my team, comprising of Fikri, Rachel, KC and myself, Iconic, a team that performed puppetry to the Guns & Roses song, "Sweet Child of Mine", and another solo singer with her keyboardist, Yien Li and Ying Shih respectively.

Yien Li and Ying Shih produced a beautiful medley of Siti Nurhaliza's "Bukan Cinta Biasa", a Theresa Teng mandarin classic and Dan Hill's "Sometimes When We Touch" which I thought should have warranted a first to third placing.

However, reflecting on last night's dinner, Yien Li/Ying Shih's placing was not the only thing that didn't go as expected.

Practicing in a closed surrounding with the acoustics that I am more familiar with, everything seemed pitch perfect. There were no missed words, and each note was well controlled. What I hadn't factored in though were the nerves that creep up on you when you are on stage.

Forgetting the first sentence to the first song was bad enough. While looking at a recording of the performance this morning, I noticed that I was holding the microphone too close and ended up singing loudly into it, without the proper amount of control that I should have exerted. My mistakes kept piling up when I somehow sang "complicate" instead of "compliment" in my second song.

I knew from the second I stepped down from the stage that I would be beset with negative thoughts, and I needed to rein in those emotions so that I do not appear too distressed in front of my fellow team members and our colleagues. I needed a few minutes to myself, but not before I thanked all three of them for their effort. An apology wasn't appropriate that time. It was after all, a performance that despite the mistakes, everyone, including myself (although I really had to convince myself) should be proud of.

Internally there is this struggle to allow the disappointment to completely engulf oneself and hide in a corner, or to take pride in our little performance despite its flaws, and face the crowd with courage.

I texted and spoke to a few close friends, spoke to Jean briefly, and shared my misery with only a selected few.

I decided, though, that I would not allow myself to wallow in self-pity. Well, at least not for too long.

After lounging at the corridors for a good 15 to 20 minutes, I took a deep breath and went back into the ballroom to take my seat among my fellow internal auditors, and receive a warm welcome from them. They were generous in their support for me and for that, I am grateful. After a few high fives, I tucked into the food that has been left for me.

Oh how I ate. I made sure that not a single morsel of food was left on the plates. Within 10 minutes, I had a mini mountain of small plates stacked by the side, not unlike what you see in sushi restaurants. Immannuel commented that he has never seen me as hungry as I was last night, but after a week of avoiding fried and spicy food to partial success, this was my redemption, my prize at the end of a month-long struggle and hard work.

I was a spent force by the end of the evening. I was exhausted, my eyes were tired, there was a distinct lack of energy in every fiber of my being, and although I could have used a beer or two with good company, I knew that what was most important was that I get back home and get the sleep that my body craved.

My night came to an end when I finally planted my face deep into the comforts of my pillow at 2 in the morning, but this tale is far from over. This is the end, but the beginning is just about to start.

Get An Inbox! Campaign

This is another rant in my continuing struggle against Facebook status updates which gets on my nerves.

After seeing one too many mushy updates from my friends about their boyfriends and girlfriends, I started a little research in my free time and came across this term.

"Get An Inbox!"

Urban Dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/) defines it as follows:

Derived from the expression "get a room." When couples constantly leave romantic, mushy or suggestive messages on each other's Facebook wall for everyone else to see, someone else may tell them to "get an inbox already" and carry on in private.



Sadie: I love you SO FUCKING MUCH ahhhhhhh Im gonna die from how much I love you <3 <3 <3


Ian: me too bby


Me: holy shit guys, get an inbox

We may live in an era where the Kardashian sisters can be famous for being famous, no discernible talent and with the help of a devious little 21st century tool called the sex tape, but this type of over-exposure by the ordinary Joes and Janes needs to be curtailed right in its bud.
 
If you are guilty of the above, I plead for you to recognise the calamitous amount of your friends' hair that you are making stand on their ends, a condition known as "horripilation".
 
If you are a victim of horripilation, join me in my campaign to clean up Facebook, and to denounce the practice of excessive gushing and mushy lovey dovey messages which shows up on your news feed.
 
Please make a substantial donation to me while I take time off work to draft a memorandum to be submitted to the Agong, with the ultimate objective to pass a legislation in Parliment prohibiting such messages in the public domain.
 
Join the Get An Inbox! campaign, today!

Belum: An Adventure of James Bond Proportion (The Conclusion)

There comes a time in a man's life when he is faced with the option of either taking up oars and paddle against the current...

...or lazily lie on the lawn chairs of life and let the days pass them by idly.

For the Kuans, the final morning of their expedition brought with it the excitement of maneuvering solo or in a team, a kayak or a bamboo raft.

The more adventurous ones chose the fast moving but unstable kayaks...

...while the bamboo rafts provided the chance to experience a whole new way of gliding through the waters...

...and an opportunity to experiment of paddling in a unique fashion...

...with your bare hands while lying flat on your stomach.

The final mission, which was delivered in the form of a self exploding teddy bear held by the most adorable girl (who was suffocating the bear with the poly bag)...

...was to leave your hand prints on the bridge which connects Pulau Banding, which lies in the middle of Lake Temenggor, to the mainland.

Few made it, and felt better for achieving it, but for those who did not, well, didn't know that that was what was expected of them.

Many emerged from their kayaks and rafts as dry as a marathon runners throat after 30 KM, but those with balancing problems and a high center of gravity had to contend with walking back to camp drenched from head to toe.

The last leg of the journey consisted of going hunting for pork chop again for lunch at Lenggong, and the best hawker fare that Ipoh has to offer.

The Kuan convoy finally returned to Kuala Lumpur (which, ironically, in English, means "muddy estuary") around midnight, eager for a shower and their warm bed and a long weekend of unpacking to do.
______________________________________________________________________________
For more photos of the Kuan's family expedition, please visit my Facebook photos at:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150303220492908.361003.591312907&l=ee90234844&type=1

For more information on Belum Rainforest Resort, please visit their website at:

http://www.belumresort.com/

Belum: An Adventure of James Bond Proportion (Part II)

With their life in the balance, the Kuans turned on the charm offensive.

They first befriended the aboriginal children (although some, like the one right in front, were more difficult than others to charm). For this, they sent their two most childish and childlike operatives...

...these two.



Then, they offered to help the women with their laundry, an idea that was quickly abandoned when the city folks in the Kuans realised there was not a single washing machine in sight.

In the end, the Operation leader stood tall with pride with his second-in-command and declared "Mission Accomplished".

After successfully pacifying the aborigines, the Kuans continued with their search for the foul-smelling Rafflesia plant. This was a little more arduous and demanding than expected. After another 30 minutes boat ride and a 20 minute traversing up a muddy hike, negotiating slippery rocks and the constant voice (both from inside their own head and from all the mothers and fathers in the group) that repeatedly screams "Rat urine, rat urine", the majority of the Kuans finally made it to where the plants are.

Their joy, although evident on each of their faces, were short lived, as the fabled largest flower in the world had yet to bloom, and all that was there to see were this; black nodules on a tree trunk.

Lunch meant another hike into enemy territory, the Royal Belum Ruok Waterfall, a forest reserve run by the locals...

...but ruled by a minion of leeches and their king leech with his sinister looking crown...

...and is assisted by his ethereal looking niece, perched on her sharp edged rock, whose mythical singing is said to lure Iraqi (or was it French, or maybe Lebanon) holiday goers to their rocky demise.

The Kuans were in no shape to overcome the danger they faced, not after lunch of only a couple of thinly spread sandwiches, and a fried chicken each (by the looks of the size, in most probability kampung chicken), and their only resistance were two scrawny operatives, both with less than desirable eye sights. 

And so the Kuans slowly made their way back to where their boats were anchored, down slippery slopes of mud (while protecting their designer Kipling handbags)...

...underneath the blazing hot sun...

...and through the thick thorny undergrowth.

With only a few leech bites, muddy buttocks and a few missing shoe soles to report, the day was considered wildly successful.

As the Kuans bid farewell to the iridescent emerald waters of Lake Temenggor for the day, there is no doubt that there was a sense of achievement within everyone.

Wait, wait.

The fat lady hasn't sang (although a fat man was belting out "Just The Way You Are" two nights in a row) and this tale has yet to end.

What other perilous danger lurks just beyond the corner, waiting patiently for the Kuans, plotting like a bunch of gluttons craving for a second helping of pork chop?

What will the final leg of this epic adventure entail?

Stay tuned for the concluding episode of Belum: An Adventure of James Bond Proportion.

Belum: An Adventure Of James Bond Proportion (Part 1)

On 31 August 2011, at precisely 7.00 a.m. (give or take an hour for the chronically late), 43 members of the covert group, codenamed "the Kuans", set out on a treacherous journey to the northern most part of Perak, close to the Thailand tumultuous southern borders, in search of adventure, danger and a good time with family.

This is their story.

The two black cars lie awaiting in the streets under the first break of dawn - waiting to join the rest of the convoy in Rawang's highway rest stop.

Breakfast was a spread of nasi lemak, mee goreng, sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, yam cake, sausage buns.

Three tables were quickly filled underneath the white tent, which shielded its temporary visitors from the morning downpour.

There were many operatives who doubled up as waiters, distributing the food and helping to buy drinks. An elder of the group played disc jockey ("DJ") by blasting Mandarin classics from a portable music player (even though this was bound to irritate our fellow Muslim highway travellers who was, no doubt, in their Raya mood) and one channeled his inner janitor by helping to clean up after everyone else.



The sumptuous meal was concluded with the game of "passing around the sandwiches from car to car".

Out of the 9 cars, 4 were given the responsibility of ensuring ongoing communication by utilising the state-of-the-art walkie-talkies, a device thwarted only by a distance of more than 2 km and mountainous terrain. A challenge, considering Ipoh is known for its numerous limestone hills.

Communication was imperative to keep not just the driver awake, but to prevent anyone else in the car from getting a good rest. Of course, the usual reminders to prayers were not forgotten, and seeing how racism is not on the agenda, the Azan, the Buddhist chants of "Namoametabha" and even an Indian song were repeatedly announced over the aforementioned walkie talkie.

Before long, the Kuan's set up camp at another rest stop, this time just after the Ipoh toll exit.

Just like breakfast a mere 2 hours ago, food was distributed to the worn and weary, an entire pagoda was colonised and the announcement that the Kuans are Chinese and are proud of it was again made via the blasting of songs by the late great Theresa Teng.

The many challenges the Kuans faced on the road such as their growling stomachs (strange considering the amount of ration already consumed in the previous two stops) "forced" them to set up camp in Lenggong for lunch of fresh fish and delicious pork chops...

...and then later at Gerik for coffee, and for those who were famished again, toasted bread with butter and kaya  and prawn noodles (verdict for prawn noodles and toasted bread, average, although you wouldn't have guessed that by the number of empty plates and bowls left on the tables).

What was supposed to be a four and a half hour journey took the Kuans close to seven hours, and by the end of the day, some were secretly glad that the midnight trekking through the jungle was called off due to unfavorable weather.

On 1 September 2011, the hunt for the elusive tribes of aborigines (known locally as "orang asli" or the original people") and their highly protected medicinal plant, the Rafflesia (although it was later revealed that the plant has been proven years ago to cause kidney and liver failure if consumed, in other words, no different from beer) began by boat.

Within half an hour, the aboriginal settlements were located.

Women and children were kept out of harm's way...

...while the men tried to keep the Kuans away by using their magic blow darts.

Will the Kuans quest for friendship (or at worst, diplomatic relationship) with the aborigines ultimately end in failure?

Will they survive the onslaught of magic blow darts blown with immense accuracy by men dress in pink (sounds wrong, like http://www.men-in-pink-blows.com/ wrong)?

Will the men of Cheah Company and Tan Company finally find the cure for baldness in the form of Rafflesia powder?

Watch out for the Part 2 of this incredible journey into the heartlands of Perak.

Roger and OUT.

A Mini Tale From Belum: The Lake Temenggor Monster

The monster of Lake Temenggor is a fan of the Sleeping Buddha.

Remember that, the next time you dare venture into the emerald waters of his kingdom.

It was an uneventful day when we set out on our daily trips to the local river soup kitchen for our one meal a day, on our home made raft, known in local lingo as "rakit". We are poor that way...

Our faithful old raft - nicknamed Batmobile after another old rickety...
my black Myvi.

On the way, we decided to play the game "Sleeping Buddha or Victoria Secret".

The only difference between Sleeping Buddha and Victoria Secret
is the placement of your right arm.

I chose Victoria Secret.

Wrong choice.

The monster emerged unannounced from the deepest depth of the lake, and flipped us over as easily as one flips a booger after rolling it into the shape of a cannonball.

Strange how a monster of the deep needs a life jacket too.

Within seconds I found myself neck deep in water, at the mercy of the merciless beast.

My safety rakit only inches away from my flapping arms.

I was determined to not breathe my last inhaling the toxic fumes emanating from the lake, a result of the monster's obvious poor hygiene.

Note to self: Add a ladder at the side of the rakit

Just when I thought I was doomed, the monster decided not to consume me in view of his current low-fat diet.

I was NOT a happy camper..I mean, rafter, or rakiteer, up up
here we go

I survived to raft another day.

Who says being fat doesn't have its advantages?

Men: Through The Ages

At his very core and essence, men has not change since the Ice Age.

As compared to the fairer gender, men has steadfastly held on the the concept of simplicity, and outright rejected all complexities that women bring to the table.

To understand men, all you need to know are three things, and believe, even in another thousand years, this will still hold true.

(Note: Read this in an "ugh ugh", Neandarthal "Cavemen" style)

1. Men like food. Preferably with meat.

2. Men like sex. Prefarably with women.

3. Men like sports. Preferably without women.

So go forth, all ye woman who claims that your men are difficult to understand, and have a more understanding and loving relationship.