It Is Never Too Late To Fly

“Dear God. Make me a bird. So I could fly far. Far, far away from here”

Do not fear the open world. Never in the history of men has the world been so vast, where human knowledge of each continents, land and sea increases every day, and yet, no corner of the world is too far away or isolated that it is inaccessible by a determined and imaginative man.

Within many of us lies a desire to travel, some more so than others, to see the majesty of what the world has to offer, to experience living in cultures far from our own, to witness the miracle of nature in its untainted, unhindered state, and to stand agog at the prowess of human science, technology and engineering.

And yet for most of us this dream is never fulfilled. We delay the pursuit of adventure and although the desire itself never goes away, the will to do something about it dies a slow sure death. We make self-defeating excuses for which we hold up as a worn-out shield against the dogged belief that we are short-changing ourselves in living a fuller life. It could be monetary limits; it may be constraints of familial obligations; maybe it is an unwilling partner who doesn’t share this dream. Whatever the excuse is, I submit that it all boils down to one thing – fear. Fear of facing the consequences of a wrong decision. Fear that there is no longer time to move to a country not of your birth as youth slips away, as they always do. Well, let me tell you, it is never too late to fly. The only time when it is too late is when you are dead. Some people may be privileged enough to be given opportunities when they were younger, but there is no law that prohibits an older person from seeking for pastures of a different type and colour, across the fences we call oceans and seas.

There is no stronger prison in the world than the prison of our own construction. We allow our fears to form steel bars and brick walls around us, and our excuses, the wardens. Only when we stop making excuses for ourselves do we regain control of the direction of our lives. And only when we regain control of the direction, can we point it towards the places we want to go.

And oh, the places you can go.

One of the giants in literature, Dr. Seuss, wrote:

“You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself

Any direction you choose.”

The things you will be amazed by, the experiences to be experienced when you travel, and really travel, not just sight-seeing or holidaying, is limited only by your imagination. Write your bucket list today, share it with your loved ones and your friends to make it real, make it a part of the world that you live in, rather than just a vague intangible list residing in the back of your heart and mind.

God did give us wings – we just call them feet.

Of course, you will certainly meet challenges along your journey. One cannot enjoy the view from the pinnacle of a mountain without enduring and conquering the ascension. This is when your creativity and ability to adapt is tested. When you are out of your comfort zone, you may surprise even yourself in discovering fortitude and talent that you would have never known you had if you had not set out on your voyage. Do not give up easily, and most importantly, do not let fear handicap you. If there is ever one advice that I hold dear to me, it is that I will always have a home back in my own country. What is the worst that I have to fear, then?

Make me a bird so that I may fly far away.

The first line of this little piece of musing is a quote from the movie “Forrest Gump”. A young Jenny prayed to be taken away from the abuses of her father. I may have hijacked it for my own purposes, but everyone has a reason to pray for flights to where their hearts desire.

What is your reason?

(Recommended reading for the young and the old, and everyone between young and old, Dr Seuss “Oh, The Places You’ll Go)

Listicles - The List of 7 Lists To End All Lists aka The List You Have To Read

I hate listicles. No, wait. I love listicles. No, I abhor them. I can't make up my mind. What do you call a relationship where you love and hate the other person at the same time?

Ah yes.

A marriage.

Some might wonder what a "listicle" is. Well, it is not a lipstick for balls, since calling that slam-dunk of a product a "lipsticle" would make more sense. Come to think of it, this is a money-making idea! I am trademarking "Lipsticle - For Women" - When applying lipsticks on your lips is just more fun for your men.

No. A listicle is an article, or what passes for one nowadays, made up almost entirely of a list. For example, just scrolling down Facebook, one is bound to come across links to listicles with titles such as "Top Ten Rules Every Marriage Should Live By" or "Six Ways To Get Ripped For The Summer".

It is a boon for writers and writers wannabes since it is so easy to write. Grammar are usually thrown out of the window. Structural no sense it needs to make. there is no need to worried about punctuation there is NO NEED TO PAY HEED TO CAPITALISATION.

It is however, a form of writing that is so easy that many budding writers are jumping on to the bandwagon (or "bad"wagon, as I like to call any trend that annoys me. Haha. I am so funny). Online magazines and websites are publishing them by the truckloads since publishing nowadays means clicking a button and releasing 'em articles into the public domain, fingers-crossed, hopping that they go viral. This has inevitably lead to good listicles, rare as they may be, getting lost among the rubbish ones.

The digital generation is also to blame for the rise and rise of the listicles. People just do not have the necessary attention span to read anything that takes more than five minutes. In fact, if you are still reading this at this point, Congratulations! You are only two out of ten who has stuck with me this far. The other eight have flipped me off and switch their mobile screens to Flappy Bird.

So what is an aspiring peddler of words to do in the face of such literature calamity?

Well, join them of course.

The following is a list of listicles that in my humble and yet infuriatingly spot-on opinion, have been recycled and regurgitated too many times, and listicles that I really wish writers would write:

1. 10 Reasons Why My Marriage Rules, and Your Marriage Sucks
2. 12 Pictures of Muscled/Lean Men/Women doing Workouts That You Will Never Do
3. 64 Reasons Why He Hates You (But Is In Love With Your Whore of a Good Friend) (Tip: You make all your friends look hotter just by standing next to them)
4. 78 Reasons Why Listicles Are Making People Think They Are Writers (and a bonus 10 Reasons Why They Are Not)
5. 241 Reasons Why Every Writer Should Love Writing Listicles
6. 2 Reasons Why I Hate Listicles
7. 892 Reasons Why People Don't Give A Rat's Arse About This List

So why did I only list seven things in my listicle? Well, I had reached seven, and then something more interesting than writing came up on the television (the Real Housewives of Melbourne). That is one more advantage of the listicle. You can stop anytime you want and no one can accuse you of quitting halfway.

Yeah. I definitely love listicles.

Trim Your Guest List by Ranking Your Friends

 

 

The biggest challenge one faces in planning a party is the guest list.

 

If, like me, you are very likable, popular and have a large social circle, and yet not rich enough to own a mansion like Mr. Jay "Old Sport" Gatsby to throw large extravagant parties inviting everyone in town, you will likely be forced to whittle down a guest list to a number which your humble apartment can accommodate.

 

And with the cost of holding functions in hotels and restaurants reaching astronomical heights, one can only reserve a limited number of tables before one unconsciously begins to Google the process of applying for bankruptcy.

 

While discussing this with a friend of mine who is planning his wedding luncheon, I suggested that when faced with the predicament of pruning the guests list, one must put aside the vague arbitrary concept of emotions and feelings, and adopt a rational approach.

 

The strategy that I proposed, which I will trademark soon in case any event planners plagiarise it, is a point ranking system, where each potential guest is given points based on certain established criteria and the guests with the lowest points are given the boot.

 

CRITERIA

 

1. Guest you are in constant contact vs. guests you haven't seen in a decade

 

Friends whom you see at least once a week gets awarded 5 points each, while those whom you see at least once a month must only be contented with 3 points. Those whom you have socialised with at least in the past one year deserves only 1 point. Anybody whom you haven't seen in more than twelve months gets zero points.

 

Special bonus points goes to people whom you don't see as often, but still keeps in contact over the phone. (Note: Facebook or other forms of social media's birthday messages don't count)

 

2. People who are lights up the room vs. people who wears grim and sombre like a pair of earrings.

 

We all know people who are able to almost immediately command the attention of any room they walk into, and are able to have interesting conversation with a group of strangers only introduced to them a few minutes ago. These people deserves 5 points. Having these guests in your party implies that you, the host, is interesting too, that such charming personalities would grace your event.

 

At the end of the spectrum are people who tried being happy once, and it almost killed them. They go around the room complaining about their jobs, their spouses, the food, other people who complains too much; and they just kill any mood you may have tried to imbued into your party. These people get only 1 point (Just so that they have one less reason to complain).

 

The middle rung in this are the people who just stand around, nodding at everything the charmers say, and smiling politely. They usually only talk to the person next to them and never address a group of more than one. Give them 3 points for being the pedestals for the charmers to stand on.

 

3. People who are good looking vs. people who aren't

 

Your party may not make the event pages of Esquire or GQ, but there will be tonnes of photos taken, and shared insouciantly on Instagram even before the last spit or puke is cleaned from the toilet floor.

 

Hence, it is important to ensure that your guest list is filled with people who have got ten pounds to spare for the camera lenses.

 

Go through their Facebook profiles and identify people who are photogenic, with an average of 1,000 likes for their profile pictures and selfies. Give these people 5 points.

 

The second tier would be people who may not look good from the neck up, but has the moral flexibility to show a little more skin, hence upping the "Hot" quotient. Give them 3 points for, well, fashion sense.

 

For those who are average looking and dresses like they do not care about being seen, award them 1 point. These are the ones who will fit in nicely at the sides of the group photos, enhancing the looks of the beautiful people in the middle. They can also be the designated photographers for the night, thus eliminating the risk of them appearing in too many photos of that night.

 

(Note: Be wary of people with pictures of pets, cartoons or landscapes, on their profile pictures. If you have to hide behind Spot's photo with his slobbering tongue hanging out, you have some serious grooming to do my friend)

 

Bonus points to yourself if you are able to locate enough beautiful people and yet, as the host, remain in the top 1 percentile of the lookers in your party.

 

4. People who are useful vs. people who sits on their ass

 

Anyone who offers to bring the booze and/or clean up after the party automatically gets a place in your guest list, whether or not they are good looking or charismatic. These naturally helpful, essential, unofficial, crew of the event will make or break your evening and having them around means having people to boss. 5 points to them!

 

There will also be people in your draft guest list who has a reputation of being voracious eaters. These are people you want in your party, but not at the very beginning, but towards the end when they can help to ensure that there are no leftovers. Try lying to them that the party starts at 9pm when in fact you have told the other guests to come at 7pm. These folks gets 3 points.

 

Those who refuses to lift a finger other than to indicate the number of champagne they want, deserves a finger to their face themselves. No points for such seat fillers.

 

5. People whose weddings, birthdays, etc. you want to attend vs. those you don't

 

I have known people who have been forced to invite people whom they loathe to their parties, just because the former was previously invited to an earlier event by the latter.

 

Thus if you turn it around, say, you know that a rich person throws lavish parties that you would like to be invited to. Award them 5 points, if these rich folks aren't assholes (they usually aren't...rich people are mostly quite nice people) then you have a foot through their heavy and expensive mahogany doors.

 

Anybody else gets zero points for this criterion.

 

6. People who pays your salary vs. people who leeches off you

 

Look. There are inherently more important people in this world than others. They have reached their station in life through hard work and determination, and hence have been granted authority over certain areas of your life.

 

Such as promotion.

 

Job security.

 

And to repay their mercy in ensuring your kids have food to eat and iPads to waste their lives on, these bosses of yours deserves at least 5 points each.

 

Speaking of kids, your leeching children can be left out of your guest list. Zero points.

 

So there you have it, a fool proof system of ensuring that you have the most dynamic guest list possible for your party. Be prepared for a lot of hurt feelings and offences being taken by people who do not make the list, but fortify yourself for you know that this was what science has dictated - and that only deserving people have made it to your party, no doubt making it an event people will be talking about for years to come.

 

Even if talking about it means cursing it like a sailor with a stubbed toe.

The Only Way To Explore Chiang Mai - Biking

The biting cold wind was snapping at us.

"Oh!" she shrieked gleefully, as she negotiated another 90 degree bend without using the brakes, "This is just like a roller coaster!"

"This," I replied, trying to impose a sense of authority with my voice, "Is not like a roller coaster. We do not have a hydraulic harness strapping us in. We do not even have seat belts."

My pleas fell on ears deaf and filled with confidence and the adrenaline thrill of riding one of these vehicles for the first time.

I was riding pillion on a rented motorcycle behind a beginner rider, with our companions, Mike and Am, trailing closely in their motorcycle.

The sun was setting just beyond the valley of viridian green foliage and misty grey. It was beautiful, but also foreboding as  we have no intention of being stuck in the mountains when it is dark and cold.

"Slow down," I repeat for the tenth time, my lips trembling while I spoke, either from fear or from the chill. Or both.

"Is my hair getting in your face?"

"Yes, they are quite annoying. Just like everything else that is attached to the other end of your hair."

"Whaaaat...?"

"You heard me," I said, grinning.

She turned her head and glared at me. Not the most appropriate time for a joke at the expense of someone who has got absolute control of my life at this moment, I thought, as she again conveniently forgets the existence of the brakes.

It got better though. Way better.

After a few minutes, I could tell that, as her confidence grew,  Kat had the machine purring to her every whims and wants, and I learned to relax. My fingers, which were previously clenched tightly around the steel bars attached to the back of the bike, let go.

The wind, though still frosty, was refreshing.

I remembered how much I like wind. If I were asked to choose my favourite amongst rain, sun, snow, or wind, wind would, well, win.

 

Racing through the villages of Samoeng, one can really get lost in the whole experience. The undulating foot of mountains forming valleys that begs for breath-taking viewing by all those who passes by the mountain roads.



My riding buddies, Am, Kat & Mike.

The exhilaration of zipping left and right on the quiescent roads, downhill, the thrill of the experience, made me understand why some people indulge in motorcycles of various sizes and power, and take long distance bike road trips.

As much as we look forward to being back in the old city of Chiang Mai where we can fill our hungry bellies, we were also not in a hurry to forget being in the present, in the presence of nature and all that she has to offer.

The day had started differently for our quartet, though. With Mike and myself giving the girls a ride, we left Chiang Mai city around noon and had intended to make our way up Doi Suthep mountain to visit the Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep temple.

As we approached the peak of the 1,676 metres granite mountain, Kat realised that she had left her pouch bag outside the hostel. We tried, in vain, to search for the phone number of the hostel. We then decided to make our way down to the hostel, as hastily as possible.

The pouch bag contained important documents, as well as irreplaceable photographs in the digital camera.

By any estimation, our ride back down took half the time it did for us to get to the nearly-top of the mountain.

Luck had not abandon us though, as Kat found that her pouch had been safely returned to the hostel receptionist, and nothing was missing from it. In fact, although I am not one who believes in fate or destiny, it was probably preordained that the left-behind pouch would lead to a chat with the receptionist, who recommended that we take the scenic ride around Doi Suthep mountain, pass the Tiger Kingdom, and back via Canal Road (Kaukhlong Chouprathan road) - a biking route the receptionist had took herself just a couple of weeks ago.

 

We followed her recommendation - and I now had the awesome experience which I just shared in the preceding paragraphs.

 

There is a lesson to be learned here, I guess;

Life screws you over once in a while.

 

But if you just keep on going, with a positive attitude and without fear (but holding tightly to that steel metal bar), you may just find something good after the next killer 90 degrees bend in the road.

 

Something like a roller coaster ride.

Serendipity - An Encounter With Music, Dreams and Vengeful Flower Pots

Serendipity - The accident of finding something desirable or useful while not specifically searching for it.

I had resigned myself to a night of reflection in front of the soft, warm, pulsating, glow of a computer monitor, quenching my thirst with bottled milk tea from the twenty-four hours convenience store.

It was my third night in Chiang Mai, the northern city of Thailand, but my first night within the old city compound, surrounded by modern civilisation and it's various amenities like running water and electricity. I had just returned midday from three days of trekking through the jungles around Mae Taeng district, and was contend to laze the night away.

Chiang Mai, though, the devious old lady, had other plans for me.

Walking back to my dormitory, surrounded by thoughts of how to word my experiences of my journey so far, I barely took notice of a group of people congregating on the steps of a barber shop, which neighbours a store that sells hippie-ish clothing for people four sizes smaller than me. What caught my attention though, was the sweet simple melodies of Radiohead, and the lyrics that have enchanted me since I heard the cover by Jamie Cullum.

"...don't leave me high...don't leave me dry..."

Stopped in my tracks, I stood there to discern where the music was coming from. I had to strain my eyes across the dimly lit street, and could make out the outline of probably a group of ten people just chilling out. Some were playing the guitar and ukulele, with some singing along, while others were just drinking beer and talking.

My halt caught the awareness of one of the participant in this little soiree, a German guy, who gestured at me with a beer bottle in his hand, to join them.

The hunger for music, unsatiated since I was in Bangkok, repressed by the beauty and melancholy of Ayutthaya, and forgotten as I slept with the sound of crickets in Mae Taeng forest, quickly resurfaced and I couldn't resist the opportunity to give my vocal chords a workout, accompanied by the sounds of a guitar.

It was there I was introduced to an eclectic group of people, united by their love for music, beer, fashion, and the night air of Chiang Mai. There was Man, the unofficial leader of the pack; Si, the unassuming yet stylish owner of the barber shop bearing his likeness as its logo; the twins, Tam and Ton, both equally adept at the guitar and the ukulele; Daf, the owner of a funky pink Vespa which I scratched (more on that later); and the kids, Ice, Champ & Po.

I learned too that the German man who invited me over was called Pascal, a long-term tourist in Thailand (Nine months and counting).

And then there was Sonia, a trained architect from Madrid, who is searching for her different path in life after two years in the corporate sector in Shanghai, China. Between swigs and puffs, she shared her dream of being a designer in Pai, marrying the exquisite skills of local handicraft makers, in particular, people who work with leather materials, with the contemporary beatnik design of today's youth, and marketing them in her Spanish home market. She spoke of the beauty of Spain, and the contradictions of the glass and concrete city of Shanghai. She spoke of being broke, and of friends whom have reached out to help her.

I never got her last name, and she left before the night ended, but it was a conversation that was worthy of remembrance.

Our engaging little conversation was interrupted only by an unfortunate incident involving a lady falling off from her scooter a few feet away from where we were seated. She must have lost control of her vehicle due to the slippery road, wet from the rain and the continuing drizzle. People rushed to her aid (including us). She was more in shock than anything else, but just in case, the emergency services were alerted and she was sent to the nearest hospital in an ambulance.

The night continued with more beer and music - I got to contribute not just by belting Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's Somewhere Over The Rainbow, but also by buying a few bottles of Singha beer. A form of entrance fee, perhaps, an initiation of sorts, to join this group.

(A note to those who has desires to drink with the locals in Chiang Mai, but they tend to avoid Chang beer, as it has the reputation of being less forgiving the next day, leaving those who had consumed one too many with a punishing hangover. I learned this after realising the bottles of Chang beer I had bought had remained untouched, and I surreptitiously exchanged the Chang beer with the preferred Singha beer at the opposite convenience store.)

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so must this fortuitous night in Chang Mai. With my cognitive abilities peripherally and temporarily blunted by alcohol, I mistook two strangers for friends that I had met in the earlier parts of my journey, and I went out to greet them, jumping unto a cement flower pot, which contained soil, but no flora.

The cement pot must have disagreed with me though, since it decided at that very moment to give way to my heft, sending my ass and my pride to the ground, bruising both. A part of the cement pot hit the aforementioned Vespa, and left a deep scratch on the side of its bodywork.

I was deeply apologetic for causing the mini incident, but my new friends were sufficiently sympathetic, and laughed about it good-heartedly, but Man surmised the whole thing succinctly - "You fucked up, bro".

In a way, he was right. I fucked up, small time. But even with my milk tea untouched, and my calves left with cuts that stung, I had one of the most interesting nights throughout my journey through Thailand.

It was serendipitous.

I Have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger (1888 - 1916)

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous. -

The Two Boys In Front Of Angkor Wat

Yet, fate has dealt a hand far less favorable for this Khmer boy.

The boy and the baby

They try to turn a blind eye towards them, but everywhere they look, they are greeted by the same scene, just different children. And children they were. Some, like the little infant pictured above, barely a few months old.

I overhear one tourist, a mother, telling her son this; that we shouldn't encourage them by giving them handouts, that there are many cases where children are used by syndicates and passed around to beg in places which are popular with tourist.

A sense of anger overwhelmed me as I shot a glance at this family who was walking beside me. I guess it is easy to judge and pass such judgement when you are carrying a branded handbag and talking to your son with Nike on his feet. 

Even if it were true that such syndicates exist, and I believe they do, does anyone think that the children in such situation had a choice? Did the older, I presume, sibling choose sitting on muddy stone pathways feeding the baby with a banana, instead of idling his time away, playing in the watery moats surrounding Angkor Wat? Is the baby even aware of where he is?

I did not take another step further from these two boys towards the temple ruins, but turned back and searched for a stall that sells some rice. I bought a packet of steam rice with soup and a bottle of cold water. Together with what I hope would not be his only meal for the day, I dropped a few thousand Riel into the straw hat in front of the boy with the infant.

I left them with a heavy heart. One thing that really tore at me was the age of the infant. She was probably born around the same time as my precious baby niece. Yet, fate has dealt a hand far less favorable for this Khmer boy. I cannot possibly imagine my niece being subjected to sitting in the punishing sun, exposed to the rain, weary and crying out for just the comfort of having a full stomach and a little bit of shade.

A tourist pays 20 US dollars for a day at Angkor Wat, and a quick internet check shows that tourist arrivals exceeded 3 million in 2012, which means that approximately 60 million US dollars is collected annually. One wonders, if any of the gates proceeds goes towards the communities that surrounds the UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

Any foreign tourist that travels to Cambodia would, without a doubt, make Angkor Wat (and its surrounding temple ruins, such as Angkor Thom) the number one priority in terms of a place of interest to visit.

If the government was concerned about the reputation of Siem Reap, which as beautiful as it is, seems to have poverty and disadvantaged families pockmarked around the city, it appears, at least on the surface, as if they are not doing anything to fix it.

Within the walls of Angkor Wat

Angkor Wat is certainly beautiful. Against the bright blue skies, I climbed the steep stone stair cases of the temple, sat in quiet contemplation on top of intricately carved stones, marvel at the carvings on the nagas that have withstand the corrosion of time and nature, and felt the wind on my face as it passed through the pavilions and galleries, the same wind that have soothe the kings and monks of many centuries ago. Yet, the image that left the deepest imprint, the experience that was most indelible, was my encounter with the two boys in front of Angkor Wat.