Shameful Confession?

Homosexuality is a very difficult topic and has been the subject of many discussions and debates in many blogs that I have visited. I find it interesting that homosexuality is a sin in religions. I'm not very well-versed on the reasons for it being a sin, although I have heard plenty from the people who claimed that they've studied the holy books.

For example, one of the reasons given to me was that if homosexuality is condoned by God, then the human race will gradually become extinct because reproduction can't happen. However, I haven't myself study those holy books to verify the truth of the matter. At any rate, I think that was a lousy reason because although I don't have the statistics, I'm absolutely convinced that the vast majority of the human race are heterosexual. We have plenty of opportunities for reproduction there.

I'm a non-believer of religions, but even if I were a believer, I doubt that I can accept that homosexuality is a sin, regardless of what's contained in the holy books. For I'm convinced that in most of the cases, homosexuality is not something that anyone can control—it is something one is born with.

If God is truly loving and forgiving, I think He would not punish any of us for something which we are born with, and beyond our control. I'm not playing God here; and I can accept that I may be wrong. If, for example, I were born a retard or mentally-challenged, is it then my fault if I can't understand religions? The answer, I was given to understand, is no, it's not my fault. And I would be excused!

However, homosexuality is a bit different from a retarded person. The mind is sane and in all other aspects, the person is normal. The only problem is that he or she is attracted to the same sex as opposed to the opposite sex.

It has been argued that homosexuality is not something that is beyond control, unlike someone who's insane. One can refrain from having sex with anyone of the same gender. A lesbian, for example, can still have intercourse with a man and produce offspring. I suppose there is some truth in that, but the heart is empty. The heart of a homosexual person can only love a person of the same gender.

It is very easy for the vast majority of the human race to look at the minority homosexual people and say that they are sinful for being homosexuals. They would say that the gays should control their tendencies; that they are in fact not qualified to experience love. And even if they did fall in love, they should not act on it!

That is why when a young Malay, Muslim man made a daring confession that he is gay, the comment from the Mufti of Perak was:

"Since he acknowledged himself to be a Muslim and a Malay, he should not have made such a confession... In truth, he has derided his own dignity and Islam in general." [The Star]

I think it is easy to say that it's all in the mind; that gays should resist their feelings! But it is easy to say if one is not oneself experiencing it. Maybe if the Mufti himself were gay, he would have a different opinion about being gay, I don't know. For only then will he be in the position to know what exactly is going on in the mind and heart of a homosexual.

The Frozen World

It's probably psychological, but have you ever found yourself in one of those situations when you're rushing for something important, and it seemed like the whole world was conspiring to slow you down? Everything around you seemed to have frozen! The bumper-to-bumper traffic jam which took a million years to move an inch; and when you arrived at the many traffic lights, all of them were red? And then when you have somehow escaped from the traffic jams, everyone around you seemed like they're absolutely determined to drive as slow as possible?

Well, today I experienced one of those moments. And it was quite a challenge!

And of course as Murphy's Law would have it, of all the time in the world, that was the one time when I was running low on diesel. So off I went to the nearest fuel station, only to find an exceptionally long queue. I waited patiently and saw all my hair gradually turning white in the mirror. Finally, it was my turn!

It was a self-service station, so I had to frantically wave from the pump to the attendant at the cash register who was busy playing with her cellphone to start my pump flowing.

After I was done filling up diesel into my tank, I walked over to the cashier to pay. I asked for a receipt, and she began the Herculean task of writing out one. I stood there watching her in action.

This was the receipt:

It was perhaps a mere few seconds' affair, but, y'know, when you're rushing, it felt like she took an eternity to sign the damn receipt. Amazing the amount of strokes in some people's signatures. I'm thinking if they're not careful, they can make me lose my head—I may just end up killing somebody because of seeing those kind of signatures!

Walkman

Recently, I bought a neat Sony walkman—the Zappin NWZ-W252. The above is how it would appear when attached to the USB stand. But when in operation, only that green portion (mine is black) will be attached to the ears. There are no wires hanging around, so I kinda like it.

I tried my walkman a couple of times, and ended up running with it during the recent Penang Bridge International Marathon. I was worried that I would be struck by lightning on the bridge during the thunder storm, but luckily that did not happen. And yes, it is also water resistant.

Dr Peter saw the walkman on my ears during the race, fascinated. After the race, he bought one too, saying that he wanted to "reward himself for his efforts", referring to his success in beating me! He chose a white-coloured walkman.

Today I went running again at the Likas jogging track. It was already quite dark when I arrived at the track. Dr Peter was also there. So I ran together with him. Both of us had our walkmans on. But because of habit, we were still talking to each other as we were running.

I wonder what did the rest of the runners think about these two old men shouting to each other about the Hong Kong Marathon.

By the way, I clocked my fastest 10-lap (approximately 10km) workout today, finishing in 52:35. I'm thinking if I tried hard enough, I might be able to achieve even better times. But for now I'm very happy to reach this new frontier.

Blind to Details

Some people are not born with the natural tendency to be meticulous in whatever they do. Essentially, they are blind to details. I have a number of those creatures in my office. Occasionally, when I find spelling or grammatical errors in a draft report, I would challenge some of them to spot those errors. And I am often amused to see how they would labour through the few paragraphs in a single page for hours and hours. Yet after spending perhaps half a day on that single page, they will not find the forsaken error!

Whenever there is a need to write typo-free reports—and I am obsessed with typo-free reports—these are the people I can't depend on. Not in a million years! They are blind as a bat. It doesn't matter if they have done the same thing over and over again for decades. They will never learn; they are simply hopeless! And so don't expect them to know what's the difference between ADVICE and ADVISE; PRINCIPAL and PRINCIPLE; YOUR and YOU'RE.

Last Friday, the sports club threw a farewell party for Ibrahim Ujar, a valuer in our company who decided to move back to West Malaysia, since his wife who's working for the government has been transferred to one of the states there. It was a simple tea party with some egg tarts and soft drinks and a farewell cake.

Some of those fellows decided to write a fancy message on the cake. And this was the result:

Challenge yourself to this simple proof-reading task. Can you spot anything wrong in those few words on the cake? Mistake can still happen even though we're only dealing with 4 (FOUR) freaking words!

Speech At A Funeral

Some time ago, I attended the funeral of a friend's mother who died of old age. If I'm not much mistaken she was way past 80 years old when she died.

I felt a little awkward to find myself in a church after many years since the last time I set foot in one. It was a Catholic church, and I noted that things have not changed much since all those years ago. The singing and occasional standing up and sitting down again. Then the sermon from the priest.

And then came the part when my friend took the mike to deliver a speech about his dead mother. I think it was the only part of the service that I actually paid much attention to. And I must say that it was a wonderful speech, worthy of an expert orator. He started with her childhood and upbringing in the village; how she met and then married her husband. The happy and full life she had had; her richness in love from all her children and grandchildren. Truly, it was a touching speech—I did not even realise the minutes that passed.

When the speech was over, we moved into a queue, leading up to the coffin where we could all get a glimpse of the dead woman to pay our last respect. As we left the coffin, we passed a line where all her children and grandchildren were standing—some of them fighting to hold back tears—and gave them words of encouragement and condolences.

Recently, I received news from mom in Vancouver. She said the doctors found a cyst in one of her ovaries, and they wanted to perform a surgery to remove that ovary. But actually, later I found out from my half-sister that, far from a cyst in her ovary, she had a tumour in her uterus. The doctors decided to remove the entire uterus and both ovaries. What seemed like a minor thing at first turned out to be something quite major. The doctors were unsure if the tumour was cancerous, but they put it as a 50-50 chance of cancer. Things were quickly looking grim. And I began making preparations to fly to Vancouver if things turned for the worst.

And then I thought of the worst-case scenario. I'm a realistic person, and prepared for the worst. After all, we will all become old one day, and the time will come for all of us to die. If it has to happen now, I will be sad, of course. I think 67 is still too young to die, and if I had it my way, I would love to see her celebrating at least her 75th birthday.

Then my mind began to wonder, and I experienced a bit of fear of her death. It will be a bit complicated to get all of my siblings over to Vancouver for the funeral. And the speech—yes, the speech! As the eldest son, I would want to be the one giving the speech. And I know I will have quite a bit of good things to say about mom.

And then my mind wondered a little further. Dad hasn't been well this lately too. He has survived 2 heart attacks, of which he had a quadruple bypass for the second one. Today he is still smoking like a chimney and does not control his diet. His blood sugar is constantly above the healthy level; his eyesight is worsening and his legs are frequently swollen. He's a diabetic, you see.

I wondered what it would be like at his funeral when the time comes? I suppose there will still be that speech-giving part, of which I will be the one to deliver. Suddenly, I was horrified when I realised that I don't have anything good to say about the man! He is the most selfish man I have ever known. Maybe it's best that Audrey handles the speech thing, 'cause I'm sure she's better in cooking up lies for the sake of a good funeral speech.

In the mean time, I have received news of a successful surgery from Vancouver. But the storm is not over yet. The doctors are sending the tumour to the cancer lab for further tests. Results should be out in about a week from now. Preliminary observation suggests that it might not be cancer after all. But if it is, then chemo will have to follow soon. So we are keeping our fingers crossed.

The Busy-body World Policeman

It's quite amusing when you come to think of it, but a fair number of people just can't stand some developed countries like the United Kingdom and the United States of America. A good example is our very own former Prime Minister, Tun Dr Mahathir Bin Mohamad. Try and visit his blog and then search for any of his many posts about the USA. See if you can find any one of them in which he has something nice to say about the country and its leaders. Chances are, your search will be in vain. But try to search anyway. Who knows, by a stroke of miracle, you might just find one!

Actually, many other people are unhappy with the USA. The country is often perceived as a busy-body who appoints itself to be the world policeman. All too often, it minds other people's business, especially those countries where it has either direct or indirect interests—whether politically or financially.

The American Government has been known for its involvement in disputes in the middle eastern countries. In some cases, its involvement is military in nature; in others it initiates economic sanctions against a country etc. When it perceives a particular country may become a dangerous military force, it may try to convince its allies to set up economic sanctions; or even launch a preemptive attack on that country. Indeed, the American Government is the best example of the world policeman!

The thing about people in general is that when you admire someone so much, whatever that someone does is perfect in your eyes—even if it's not! When that someone wears an ugly dress, you will somehow think it's a beautiful dress; that ugly sunglasses so cool. Even when Britney Spears sings through her nose, her voice may sound so good to your ears.

However, the opposite is also true—when you hate someone's guts so much, whatever that someone does must be no good—even if in reality it is good!

Therefore, the next time the USA sees trouble brewing in the yonder, it should just leave them alone. For if it tries to be a busy-body, people will be quick to criticise it! It is much better to mind its own business. Maybe even let the trouble go out of control, thus causing the loss of many lives.

And then somewhere in other parts of the world, there is bound to be some people who will plead with the USA to get involve to try to solve the problem.

Penang Bridge International Marathon 2010

The Penang Bridge International Marathon, which was held on 21 November 2010, is the toughest marathon I've ever joined so far. But I suspect there must be many other tougher marathons in the region. After all, this was only my fourth marathon.

In my excitement, I wore non-matching shoes for the trip, and I only realised it when I was already in the cab on my way to the airport. It became something quite fashionable, and I provided a bit of entertainment for the rest of the runners in my group from KK.

Most of us got to know each other through the adiNation runs on many Sunday mornings, and therefore were more accustomed to seeing each other in running outfits. So it was not surprising that when we met the other runners at the airport, Mia's first sentence was "Hmmm... somehow they look different when not in running outfits." And soon that particular line became the most popular sentence for the day. Almost everyone who turned up at the airport said it almost in verbatim. We had a pleasant fellowship at the departure hall.

It was well past 8pm by the time we checked in to our rooms at Eastin Hotel, which was just about 5-minutes walk to the start line of the race. Mia and I decided to go and collect our race packs before going for a late dinner. After dinner, we went back to the hotel, unpacked, had a shower, and then went to bed at around 11pm. But soon after that, it rained heavily, which was a bad sign for us marathoners.

The next day we spent most of our time hanging around Queens Bay Mall. I wasn't into the window shopping thing—never have—so apart from filling up my stomach, I spent most of that Saturday in the hotel room. Since the race would start at 2am the next morning, we went to bed at 6pm (yes, paranoia is a terrible thing), but were not destined to get any sleep at all that night. After tossing around in bed for several hours, we were finally up at around 11pm. We dressed up and then waited till about 1:30am before meeting the rest in our group at the lobby on the ground floor.

Dr Peter, the "Tormentor" arrived with his family the night before when we were already in bed. Although he, too, did not get much sleep, he was all smiles and ready for the race.

We walked to the start line and waited for a while before the arrival of the Chief Minister. Soon after his arrival, we were flagged off. I saw some familiar faces in the crowd. I tried to stay close to Dr Peter, who was in turn running with the 4-hour pacers. I must say it was quite a comfortable pace at first. But by the 9.5km point, just as we were approaching the mighty bridge, I was already feeling a bit of tiredness creeping in. It was quite obvious that there was no way I could have maintain that pace throughout the 42km. As we climbed the initial slope of the bridge, I decided to reduce my pace for fear of overusing my energy too quickly.

The climb to the middle of the bridge was quite pleasant, but by then I have already lost sight of Dr Peter. Immediately after that it was a gradual down-going stretch, and I was able to increase my pace. It was still some kilometres to the end of the bridge, but when we reached it, the turn was a series of going downhill, making a big underpass loop before climbing up again for the return leg. And then just a few minutes after that was a signboard showing 23.7km, which was obviously wrong. From a past experience I had in this event, I knew that a lot of things could go wrong. I ignored that sign and continued running

And then the thing I dreaded most happened. I felt cramps developing in both thighs, and I began to wonder what more could go wrong for this race. Not long after that, we reached the turning point for the half marathoners, and then suddenly I had people all over the place. I felt like there was a big conspiracy to prevent me from running my pace. Everybody seemed so determined to block my path.

As I was grumbling to myself, I was suddenly distracted by the drops of water from the sky. It began to drizzle, which was fine with me. But then the drizzle quickly developed into a full fledged rain; and then became a torrential rain with winds blowing from the front. Needless to say, I ended up dragging what seemed like buckets of water on my feet, but actually it's just my size-10 shoes fully filled up with rain water.

My cramps developed further as I approached the middle of the bridge, and it soon became clear to me that I would not finish the race. I tried compensating my thighs by giving more work to my calves, those too developed cramps very quickly. At the middle of the bridge I finally slowed down to a walk and entertained the idea of throwing in the towel, thus making this the first ever marathon that I would not complete. Ambulances were passing by with sirens on, and it made me wonder if some other people have fainted.

Arriving at a drink station, amongst the water in plastic bottles and cups—this must be the one race in the whole of Malaysia which only provides 95% water, and perhaps 5% isotonic drinks—I saw some curious round items which appeared a little like buns which hardly anyone would dare to touch.

I fought my cramps and decided to continue for another 1km. And then another, and another. By the time I reached the end of the bridge in Penang, blisters were already developing in both feet. But strangely, apart from a bit of biting pain, my mind was still mainly occupied by the cramps in my legs.

Proceeding a little further, I came to the turning point of the half marathoners, where I think some volunteers from the St John's Ambulance were stationed for window dressing purposes. These were stations meant for self-service only.

And then I surprised myself be deciding to continue with the race. As I was limping along that road, I saw Kevin running from the other direction on his return leg. A few minutes later, I saw Dr Joseph. And yet a few minutes later, I saw Dr Liaw.

Then came the first dreadful flyover. But actually, it wasn't as bad as I had expected. However, when one is suffering cramps and exhaustion, even a slight climb can be very punishing. As I was climbing the third flyover, I finally saw Dr Peter coming from the opposite direction. I called out to him; I said, "Hey, doc, just to check, did we bet on a baby lobster?" He responded with a broad smile but said nothing.

Soon after that third flyover, runners finally arrived at the turning point marked at 33km. There was a water station and some unripe bananas arranged nicely on a table.

Although I was still suffering pains in my legs, I was no longer limping at that point. I continued with a very slow pace, slowing down to a walk every now and then. On that return leg, I saw some of my friends from KK approaching the turning point. Andrew, Dr Helen and her brother. Then I saw Pamela in white outfit. And I saw Claire still going strong.

Approaching the 35km point, I knew that I would finish the race after all. And that was quite a relief. It would have been a shame if I couldn't finish this race, after all the trouble of getting here!

Maybe I was inspired by the pleasant thought of finishing the race; maybe it was the exhaustion; maybe it was because of the darkness; maybe it was the wanting so much to end the torture, but I was so glad to come to this signboard (although it was still dark when I saw it during the race):

It meant only another 2.2km to the finish line. With renewed determination, I increased my pace. I would at least run the last 2km like the Kenyans! I was determined to finish strong! I ran and ran and after 12 minutes, did not see the finish line. I was at the verge of fainting of exhaustion when I came to another signboard showing 39.4km! You should have seen me then—I honestly felt like wanting to cry! Only much later did I realise that the signboard I saw earlier was a speed limit sign, god dammit! That forsaken board almost cost me my life!

With the little energy left in me, I continued running. That last 3km was truly an amazing test of endurance and mental strength, especially after spending all my remaining energy in Kenyan fashion.

But that was still not the last. As I approached the last 2km towards the finish line, there was the entire herd of the 10km runners coming from the opposite direction. And these kids knew nothing about running ethics. They were all over the place. Some were talking on cellphones. The full marathoners were left with hardly any space to squeeze through. In the condition of enduring cramps and exhaustion in the legs, we had to make sudden stops and changes of direction to avoid the oncoming young runners who were mostly blind and couldn't see the runners from the opposite direction. It's either the organiser was stupid or the kids were stupid, but the net result was that the full marathoners had to pay the price.

You can imagine my elation when I approached the final roundabout leading to the Queens Bay Mall. And right at the turn, I ran into a jay walker who was happily crossing the road with his golf umbrella. No one seemed to know anything about crowd management, you see. That was the last straw that broke the camel's back. I shouted "Aiyah!" so loud that I must have attracted the attention of everyone within 1km radius! Then I ran the final 500m or so to the finish line, crossing it in 4:46.

As I crossed the finished line, I was greeted by Dr Peter with a broad smile. He had finished the race 8 mins ahead of me. A truly worthy opponent who trained so hard for this event, and who deserved every second of his victory. I shook his hand, and there and then, in front of thousands of people, bent my knees and bowed down to him, accepting my defeat! I would have gone all the way down on my knees, except that I wouldn't have been able to get up again in that condition!

I knew that Penang would be a tough route, but I didn't expect it to be this tough. Only Mia improved by about half an hour to 5:52; an admirable achievement. The rest in my group all failed to improve on our times.

Special congratulations to Claire Andrew for completing her first full marathon, having been through so much trouble to get herself to the starting line; and to Pamela Fletcher who also completed her first full marathon, except that she kinda overdid it by biting her medal for a photo pose, only to chip off a bit of the gold-coloured coating!

Without any doubt, a nightmare race for me. But I'm so glad to have participated in this race because of the friendship and fun I had with my Sabahan comrades. If I must, I would do it all over again!

Was I happy with the organiser? Not at all. I think they have a lot of room for improvement. Would I come again? I think I surely would. I would like to come again to conquer this race—not so much of winning it; rather to run an enjoyable race. That would be something to look forward to.