By Azlan Mahmud
The silence of the almost pitch black night was broken occasionally by the howling winds that blew across the city river, creating ripples and small waves that were enough to rock the docked ferry. Ahmad said a silent prayer as he led his wife and three children down the slope towards the jetty.
They were in a foreign country, where Ahmad was pursuing his doctorate studies. It was the fasting month, and they had just broken fast at a friend's place. To get to their rented home, they had to take the ferry across the city river, something he and his family had done many times before. This was the first time, though, that they were rushing to catch the last ferry home. Terawih prayers had ended later than usual.
"You sure you want to go back? It's going to rain heavily soon," shouted Malik as he ran down the slope towards Ahmad and his family.
"I'm afraid I have to! Got lectures the next morning," answered Ahmad, raising his voice to be heard above the winds. Malik nodded and volunteered to help his family get on the small ferry.
"Hurry up, mate! We've got to get going before the storm comes!" shouted the burly ferry operator. The waves were now starting to get stronger.
Ahmad nodded and started to help his youngest daughter on first.
"Slowly, Niza."
The small girl smiled at her father, and slowly put a step on the ferry.
Just then, a big wave hit the ferry, pushing it away slightly from the edge of the wooden jetty. But the gap was enough.
Niza fell through and sank into the murky waters.
"NIZAAAAA!" The scream of a terrified father rose above everything else. Malik rushed forward, as did the ferry operator. Ahmad tore off his shirt and prepared to dive in to save his daughter.
"Don't do it, mate! You'll sink too!" shouted the ferry operator as he tied a rope to himself. He knew that if anyone else jumped in without an anchor in this weather, he would sink too.
But Ahmad did not hear him. All he wanted to do was save his daughter, and precious seconds were ticking away.
Malik was torn between his friendship and the sanity of not letting Ahmad jump in. The waves grew stronger as large droplets of rain began to fall. Malik knew Ahmad was not a good swimmer. He held him back.
"Don't! You'll never make it! We'll have to wait for help!" Malik could see from the corner of his eye that the ferry operator was now radioing in a distress call. Anger engulfed Ahmad.
"Let me go! Niza's down there!"
Malik felt a punch land on his face, which sent him rolling backwards towards Ahmad's wife. She was now sobbing uncontrollably, with two other children huddled close to her in fear.
"Don't mate! Let me go! You'll drown!" said the ferry operator. He ran towards the farry, took off his shirt and dived in, his rope acting as a safety harness. But Ahmad wouldn't listen. He was preparing to dive in himself, when Malik, again, held him back.
"Don't be crazy! You'll die!:
Ahmad turned and swung another punch at Malik, who managed to avoid it this time. Malik knew he had no choice. He punched Ahmad squarely on the face, sending the distraught father down onto the sandy grass. His wife ran towards him and held him as she wept.
"Please don't, abang! Please don't leave me too!"
And with that, Ahmad cried.
The thunderstorm broke.
Malik turned to look at the violent river as the ferry operator dived and came up a number of times, frantically searching for the little girl. Sirens could be heard approaching the riverbank. A small crowd started to gather.
Tears flowed down Malik's eyes. He wondered if he had done the right thing.
They found Niza's body the next morning, a hundred meters from where she had fallen. It's not eight years since that fateful night, and Malik has not met Ahmad of his family again. But one day, he bumped into Kak Shima, Ahmad's wife. She recognised him and said "Hello".
It's been a long time, she said. And the inevitable question of where Ahmad was came up. Kak Shima smiled, a resigned smile. Tears started to well up in her eyes.
Ahmad passed away three years ago, in a car accident. He had never forgiven Malik for what he'd done that night, although Kak Shima understood the young man's actions. And with that Kak Shima left, leaving Malik standing alone by the roadside.
"Yes, Kak Shima," he had felt like saying. "I've never forgiven myself too."
Sent in to Starmag
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
"Information, Please"
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighbourhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. While amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, and finally arrived at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlour and dragged it to the landing. I climbed up, unhooked the receiver in the parlour and held it to my ear.
"Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
After a click or two, a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information".
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my Geography and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She helped me with my Math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security that I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.
Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialled my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information". I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I come back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information". I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hand up, she added, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
From Starmag
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. While amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, and finally arrived at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlour and dragged it to the landing. I climbed up, unhooked the receiver in the parlour and held it to my ear.
"Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
After a click or two, a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information".
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my Geography and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She helped me with my Math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security that I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.
Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialled my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information". I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I come back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information". I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hand up, she added, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
From Starmag
Creed For Women
A woman should have ...
One old love she can imagine going back to and one who reminds her how far she has come.
Enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to.
Something perfect to wear if the employees or date of her dreams should want to see her in an hour.
A youth she is content to leave behind, and a past juicy enough for her to look forward to retelling in her old age.
A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.
One friend who always makes her laugh ... and one who lets her cry.
A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family.
Eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honoured.
And a feeling of control over her destiny.
Every woman should know ...
How to fall in love without losing herself, how to quit a job or break up with a lover, and how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
When to try harder and when to walk away.
That she cannot change the length of her calves, the width of her hips or the nature of her parents.
That her childhood may not have been perfect, but it's over.
What she will or will not do for love, or more.
How to live alone, even if she doesn't like it.
Whom she can trust, whom she cannot, and why she shouldn't take some things personally.
Where to go ... be it her best friend's kitchen table or a charming motel in the countryside when her soul needs soothing.
And what she can or cannot accomplish in a day, a month and a year.
Sent in to Starmag by Sharmini Suguman
One old love she can imagine going back to and one who reminds her how far she has come.
Enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to.
Something perfect to wear if the employees or date of her dreams should want to see her in an hour.
A youth she is content to leave behind, and a past juicy enough for her to look forward to retelling in her old age.
A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.
One friend who always makes her laugh ... and one who lets her cry.
A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family.
Eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honoured.
And a feeling of control over her destiny.
Every woman should know ...
How to fall in love without losing herself, how to quit a job or break up with a lover, and how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
When to try harder and when to walk away.
That she cannot change the length of her calves, the width of her hips or the nature of her parents.
That her childhood may not have been perfect, but it's over.
What she will or will not do for love, or more.
How to live alone, even if she doesn't like it.
Whom she can trust, whom she cannot, and why she shouldn't take some things personally.
Where to go ... be it her best friend's kitchen table or a charming motel in the countryside when her soul needs soothing.
And what she can or cannot accomplish in a day, a month and a year.
Sent in to Starmag by Sharmini Suguman
Put On The Purple Hat
A woman looks in the mirror at various stages of her life.
Age 3: Looks at herself and sees a queen!
Age 8: Smiles at Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty/Belle.
Age 14: If it's one of those PMS days, she sees fat/pimples and screams, "Mom, I can't go to school looking like this!"
Age 20: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - but goes out anyway.
Age 30: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - decides she doesn't have time to fix anything, so she's going anyway.
Age 40: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - says "At least I'm clean" and goes anyway.
Age 50: Looks at herself, sees "I am", and goes wherever she wishes.
Age 60: Reminds herself of all the people who cannot even see themselves in the mirror anymore. Goes out and conquers the world.
Age 70: Sees wisdom, laughter and ability; goes out and enjoys life.
Age 80: Doesn't bother to look. Just put on a purple hat and goes out to have fun with the world.
Sent in to Starmag by Dennis Chee
Age 3: Looks at herself and sees a queen!
Age 8: Smiles at Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty/Belle.
Age 14: If it's one of those PMS days, she sees fat/pimples and screams, "Mom, I can't go to school looking like this!"
Age 20: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - but goes out anyway.
Age 30: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - decides she doesn't have time to fix anything, so she's going anyway.
Age 40: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - says "At least I'm clean" and goes anyway.
Age 50: Looks at herself, sees "I am", and goes wherever she wishes.
Age 60: Reminds herself of all the people who cannot even see themselves in the mirror anymore. Goes out and conquers the world.
Age 70: Sees wisdom, laughter and ability; goes out and enjoys life.
Age 80: Doesn't bother to look. Just put on a purple hat and goes out to have fun with the world.
Sent in to Starmag by Dennis Chee
Diamonds in the Rough
By Juliana Phang
The nondescript group filed in slowly. "Ah ... looks like the doldrums for the next two days," I hummed silently to myself as I observed my newest batch of trainees streaming into the room. The nine executives were from various corporations in the region.
I never cease to marvel at the pipe dreams of corporate bosses: within 48 hours, the office sluggards they send will be changed, chameleon-like, into corporate champions. Yep, and with an additional bonus of guts and gall to bring about mind-boggling changes to their respective companies.
As they settled down, in shuffled a slight, hunch figure who reminded me of the Hunchback of the Notre Dame. She walked in hesitantly and gave me a shy smile. From afar, she looked like a victim of osteoporosis, a bone affliction of older citizens. To my surprise, as she drew nearer, I realise Ms Hoe was very much younger than I had surmised.
As we introduced ourselves, one of the participants turned around fully to face me. I realised with a jolt that she had a reddish, unsightly birthmark that covered more than half her face.
I wondered why she didn't attempt to hide it with make-up. Why hasn't she gone for plastic surgery to get rid of that hideous thing? But if she was ashamed of the sprawling mark, Lisa didn't show it.
As with any meeting of Eves, during tea-break, the topic turned to marriage. More out of curiosity than courtesy, I asked the ladies if they had any intention of getting married. My little mind had already formed the foregone conclusion that notably two of them were not likely to attract suitors. And even as the question left the tip of my impetuous tongue, I was afraid they would find it offensive.
However, Ms Hoe turned to me and quietly remarked that she would, but for her spine problem of 20 years. Her spine had started to curve when she was in her twenties. She had consulted various doctors, bone specialists, therapists and even chiropractors, and done extensive research on the Internet. But sadly, there is no known cure.
Silence. Knives, forks and spoons were poised in mid-air. You could hear a pin drop in the dining room.
I cleared my throat and helpfully blustered, "I feel sad for you."
Ms Hoe turned and looked at me steadily, with her calm dark brown eyes showing something akin to compassion. "There is nothing to be sad about. I will have to live with it the best way I can." And I thought she was the one in need of pity.
She shared how she had to give up badminton when the pains started to wrack her twisted body. The doctors could only prescribe painkillers to ease her suffering. But over-dependence on drugs was not something she wanted for the rest of her life. Instead of drowning in despair, she gamely took up qigong, an ancient Chinese form of exercise for self-healing.
Whenever she went out, people would stop and stare and make unkind remarks. Was she bitter about it all?
"Why should I be bothered? I have not committed any crime or sinned such that God should punish me with this. If He sees fit that I should go through life as a hunchback, then I will ask for strength, not deliverance."
I bumped into Ms Hoe again as I entered the ladies' toilet later. She was applying lipstick, preparing for a session of individual presentations. The moment she saw me, she surreptitiously put the lipstick behind her back. I pretended I hadn't noticed. However in my mind's eye, I suddenly realised that she, like all women, desired to look beautiful.
I discovered this unassuming lady was also a manager and a shareholder of the company she was working inl Yet she did not pull her weight around despite the fact that she had subordinate in the same course. Instead, she constantly praised his abilities. She focused on others' strengths, not her own weakness.
Lisa revealed that she was engaged and would soon be marrying a wonderful man.
Engagement? Marriage? Husband? Was I hearing right? So many of my friends who were better endowed in the looks department were still desperately searching for Mr Right. How in the world did she do it?
Eventually, I realised her secret. Instead of being self-conscious and bitter over what fate had dealt her, Lisa was the life of our group. She made us laugh with her witty comments and contributed to all the discussions.
I once sagely mentioned how we so easily fall when faced with calamity. Lisa tut-tutted: "Oh, what a negative was to face life!" And that coming from a person who, I thought, needed all the positive thinking we could possibly muster!
Lisa didn't need any cover-up for her disfigurement. I'd swear that as I spent more time with her, the birthmark seemed to fade. She radiated enthusiasm and a zest for life. In fact, she was actually very pretty. She had a smooth and even complexion that millions of women would die for. And she had a nice figure to boot. She was involved in various sports despite her heavy work schedule. She talked excitedly about her latest passion, bowling, and proceeded to educate me, a novice, on the finer points of the game!
Sometimes my trainees call me sifu. In Cantonese, it means teacher of the highest order. But as we gave farewell speeches and exchanged thank you notes, I felt less of a sifu and more like a fool that day. Who, indeed, was the real teacher here?
I was there to teach them how to perform better in their work, but the tables were turned. My trainees taught me more than all the management books in the world could. I taught them how to be better employees but they taught me something more important in life - how to be a better person.
Thank you, Ms Hoe and Lisa. I will always remember you when I walk through the valley of shadow and self-defeat. May your courage and fortitude be my guiding light whenever I am tempted to curse fate and dwell in self-pity.
And may your concept of real beauty that shines from within as opposed to the world's standards of perfection be with me through the ravages of time. God bless you both; you are like diamonds that shine in the dark.
From Starmag
The nondescript group filed in slowly. "Ah ... looks like the doldrums for the next two days," I hummed silently to myself as I observed my newest batch of trainees streaming into the room. The nine executives were from various corporations in the region.
I never cease to marvel at the pipe dreams of corporate bosses: within 48 hours, the office sluggards they send will be changed, chameleon-like, into corporate champions. Yep, and with an additional bonus of guts and gall to bring about mind-boggling changes to their respective companies.
As they settled down, in shuffled a slight, hunch figure who reminded me of the Hunchback of the Notre Dame. She walked in hesitantly and gave me a shy smile. From afar, she looked like a victim of osteoporosis, a bone affliction of older citizens. To my surprise, as she drew nearer, I realise Ms Hoe was very much younger than I had surmised.
As we introduced ourselves, one of the participants turned around fully to face me. I realised with a jolt that she had a reddish, unsightly birthmark that covered more than half her face.
I wondered why she didn't attempt to hide it with make-up. Why hasn't she gone for plastic surgery to get rid of that hideous thing? But if she was ashamed of the sprawling mark, Lisa didn't show it.
As with any meeting of Eves, during tea-break, the topic turned to marriage. More out of curiosity than courtesy, I asked the ladies if they had any intention of getting married. My little mind had already formed the foregone conclusion that notably two of them were not likely to attract suitors. And even as the question left the tip of my impetuous tongue, I was afraid they would find it offensive.
However, Ms Hoe turned to me and quietly remarked that she would, but for her spine problem of 20 years. Her spine had started to curve when she was in her twenties. She had consulted various doctors, bone specialists, therapists and even chiropractors, and done extensive research on the Internet. But sadly, there is no known cure.
Silence. Knives, forks and spoons were poised in mid-air. You could hear a pin drop in the dining room.
I cleared my throat and helpfully blustered, "I feel sad for you."
Ms Hoe turned and looked at me steadily, with her calm dark brown eyes showing something akin to compassion. "There is nothing to be sad about. I will have to live with it the best way I can." And I thought she was the one in need of pity.
She shared how she had to give up badminton when the pains started to wrack her twisted body. The doctors could only prescribe painkillers to ease her suffering. But over-dependence on drugs was not something she wanted for the rest of her life. Instead of drowning in despair, she gamely took up qigong, an ancient Chinese form of exercise for self-healing.
Whenever she went out, people would stop and stare and make unkind remarks. Was she bitter about it all?
"Why should I be bothered? I have not committed any crime or sinned such that God should punish me with this. If He sees fit that I should go through life as a hunchback, then I will ask for strength, not deliverance."
I bumped into Ms Hoe again as I entered the ladies' toilet later. She was applying lipstick, preparing for a session of individual presentations. The moment she saw me, she surreptitiously put the lipstick behind her back. I pretended I hadn't noticed. However in my mind's eye, I suddenly realised that she, like all women, desired to look beautiful.
I discovered this unassuming lady was also a manager and a shareholder of the company she was working inl Yet she did not pull her weight around despite the fact that she had subordinate in the same course. Instead, she constantly praised his abilities. She focused on others' strengths, not her own weakness.
Lisa revealed that she was engaged and would soon be marrying a wonderful man.
Engagement? Marriage? Husband? Was I hearing right? So many of my friends who were better endowed in the looks department were still desperately searching for Mr Right. How in the world did she do it?
Eventually, I realised her secret. Instead of being self-conscious and bitter over what fate had dealt her, Lisa was the life of our group. She made us laugh with her witty comments and contributed to all the discussions.
I once sagely mentioned how we so easily fall when faced with calamity. Lisa tut-tutted: "Oh, what a negative was to face life!" And that coming from a person who, I thought, needed all the positive thinking we could possibly muster!
Lisa didn't need any cover-up for her disfigurement. I'd swear that as I spent more time with her, the birthmark seemed to fade. She radiated enthusiasm and a zest for life. In fact, she was actually very pretty. She had a smooth and even complexion that millions of women would die for. And she had a nice figure to boot. She was involved in various sports despite her heavy work schedule. She talked excitedly about her latest passion, bowling, and proceeded to educate me, a novice, on the finer points of the game!
Sometimes my trainees call me sifu. In Cantonese, it means teacher of the highest order. But as we gave farewell speeches and exchanged thank you notes, I felt less of a sifu and more like a fool that day. Who, indeed, was the real teacher here?
I was there to teach them how to perform better in their work, but the tables were turned. My trainees taught me more than all the management books in the world could. I taught them how to be better employees but they taught me something more important in life - how to be a better person.
Thank you, Ms Hoe and Lisa. I will always remember you when I walk through the valley of shadow and self-defeat. May your courage and fortitude be my guiding light whenever I am tempted to curse fate and dwell in self-pity.
And may your concept of real beauty that shines from within as opposed to the world's standards of perfection be with me through the ravages of time. God bless you both; you are like diamonds that shine in the dark.
From Starmag
Lessons from the Ark
Everything I need to know about life, I learned from Noah's Ark:
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
Eleven: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
Eleven: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.
The Best and The Worst
Most destructive habit:
Worry
Greatest joy:
Giving
Worst pastime:
Criticism
Best award:
Appreciation
Greatest loss:
Loss of self-respect
Most satisfying work:
Helping others
Ugliest personality trait:
Selfishness
Most endangered species:
Dedicated leaders
Our greatest natural resources:
Our youth
Greatest shot in the arm:
Encouragement
Greatest problem to overcome:
Fear
Most effective sleeping pill:
Peace of mind
Most crippling disease:
Excuses
Most powerful force in life:
Love
Most dangerous person:
A gossip
Most incredible computer:
The brain
Worst company:
Privilege seekers
Best company:
Holy men
Best thing to be without:
Jealousy
Worst thing to be without:
Hope
Deadliest weapon:
The tongue
Two most power-filled words:
I can
Greatest asset:
Faith
Most worthless emotion:
Self-pity
Most prized possession:
Integrity
Most powerful channel of communication:
Prayer
Most contagious spirit:
Enthusiasm
Most beautiful attire:
A smile
By M.L. Lou, in Starmag
Worry
Greatest joy:
Giving
Worst pastime:
Criticism
Best award:
Appreciation
Greatest loss:
Loss of self-respect
Most satisfying work:
Helping others
Ugliest personality trait:
Selfishness
Most endangered species:
Dedicated leaders
Our greatest natural resources:
Our youth
Greatest shot in the arm:
Encouragement
Greatest problem to overcome:
Fear
Most effective sleeping pill:
Peace of mind
Most crippling disease:
Excuses
Most powerful force in life:
Love
Most dangerous person:
A gossip
Most incredible computer:
The brain
Worst company:
Privilege seekers
Best company:
Holy men
Best thing to be without:
Jealousy
Worst thing to be without:
Hope
Deadliest weapon:
The tongue
Two most power-filled words:
I can
Greatest asset:
Faith
Most worthless emotion:
Self-pity
Most prized possession:
Integrity
Most powerful channel of communication:
Prayer
Most contagious spirit:
Enthusiasm
Most beautiful attire:
A smile
By M.L. Lou, in Starmag
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