Timing Cry

Time was not linear. Far, far from it. Time wrapped in on itself, converged and entwined and embraced events and feelings and moments, then danced away into separate gleaming, shining, precious strands that stood alone and resonant before merging again into the vast stream.

The Preserver rested and dreamed, and time wove itself in and around and through him. Memories fluttered through his mind like gossamer-winged insects: a word that shattered centuries, a thought that changed the course of a civilization. Individuals whose insights and aspirations and even greed and fear turned seemingly inalterable tides of destiny into something new and fresh and hitherto inconceivable. Moments where everything teetered precariously on a crumbling brink, where something as intangible as an idea would send everything hurtling into oblivion or pull it back to safe, solid ground.

Each thought, word, deed, life was a mere drop in the vast ocean of time, constantly merging and separating to merge again. The concept would challenge some minds, the Preserver knew; but his mind had been destined to hold such contradictions as things being separate and having no separate identity. Grasping such elusive concepts was what he was born for.

Over all these thoughts of words and lives and ideas floated a terrible urgency and fear. Time was not linear; time was shifting and changing. But there were patterns that floated to the surface, their interwoven strands so clear and strong that even the dimmest minds could grasp them. Inevitability? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Again and again the pattern appeared in the swirling waters of time and destiny and luck, submerging and manifesting with a cold precision that made even the Preserver quail.

All the knowledge he held was precious; every memory, every sound, scent, sensation, voice, word, thought. All were vital to his being.

But this knowledge, of the pattern that had happened so often before and was about to happen again–ah, this was what made the Preserver more than important to his time.

It was what made him indispensable.

He opened to what was out there, every second that ticked by in its nonlinear, unique majesty challenging him to close in on himself, to not expose himself to the pain of the debris caught in the swollen river.

He could not allow himself such luxuries.

Not when the horrific knowledge of what had come before, and what was certain to come again, polluted the waters of time in his psyche.

He summoned all his energy, and sent forth the cry.

Of Skis, Guitars and Guns

I guess being on the road can be a harrowing experience if one lets it. For me, the 24 hours travelling time I clocked yesterday weaved by easily. It is amazing what the loneliness and solitary mood escorting me at the outset can be a rousing force to put a ceasefire to my lonesomeness. I met about three to four different characters throughout my journey - people whom I never would have thought I would know in my life.

On my first leg of the journey, I sat beside a couple who was returning to Sweden. We warmed up to each other almost as soon as I took my seat. We mostly talked about vacation spots particularly in Bali and they kept mentioning how beautiful and nice KL was. They briefly visited KL just a few days ago and wanted to return for a longer trip next year and asked me for some recommendations. I broached the subject of visiting Sabah and they were convinced, I hope they see it through. We even shared a common interest for skiing and I now know the spots to go to if I ever visit Sweden. These were very polite, humble and nice people. They asked about my job and purpose to New York, I even found out their first grandchild was born a week earlier and they can't wait to see him. They even shared a little about their marriage - marrying at the age of 20! When we parted at Arlander, it was with a sense of apparent friendship. They kept on reminding me how beautiful KL is, and how great and friendly its people are.

I met another interesting character on my way from Stockholm to Newark. Here was a lady who just got married a couple of weeks back and was missing her husband so, so badly even though he was just 20 rows behind us. I found out that she manages 3 local rockbands in Sweden and her husband discovered the 3 bands and also co-managed them with her. She is more on the administrative side and her husband more to the talent discovery and song production side. She let me hear some of the songs they produced and although I do not understand most of the words, the tune was very nice. I liked it very much. They were going to Brooklyn to visit the husband's family after their marriage and we talked a little about meeting the right person of your life and doing the things you love with the person you love - there can be no greater joy, or at least one of life's greatest joys. And these two were hardcore rockers that came complete with the tattoo and piercing package. They were dating for 17 years before tying the knot.

The final character was by far the most interesting. I met him at the arrival in Newark airport. He was my driver. During the trip to the hotel, we began our conversation with the usuals - weather, journey, time, vacation spots and the likes. Eventually I learned more about him. This chap was formerly in the army and was an army detective during the Vietnam wars. He was stationed there for 2 years and completed his tour of duty in '68 just before the US pulled their troops out of there in '69. He then enlisted in the police force and then became a detective in the NJPD. This career of his lasted 27 long years and he has been to many parts of the world and seen many things. He was asked to join the NYPD but declined many times for reasons he only wish to leave it as - he loves life. He spent the next 17 years in semi-retirement as a limousine driver. His grandson is enlisting to become a member of the NYPD and he owns a house in a small island in the Bahamas where the water is only 48 feet from his house. He is divorced, does not speak freely of his wife and children and has strong reservations against the current leader of his country.

I finally arrived safely at New York and realized that meeting these people truly has added to my perspectives in life. But recalling all these people I met along the way and the conversations I had with them - I can't help but see the irony in all that has happened to me or around me the past 24 hours or so. Some people are too refrained in living their lives, some has too many open-ended outcomes, while others use sincerity as a weapon to smother the doubts in their hearts. We are all knowledgeable in our own ways and using it to assist us in the best way to live our daily lives. It is not our job to judge others for what they think, do or feel.

The paradox of an informed society is that over a period of time, it is susceptible to bias towards the same sources that project powerful information.

The Other Glass Story

I could only sit still in silent sympathy as I watched him digest the news of the passing of one of his closest friends. The abridgement was overwhelming and his staggered silence was the greatest testament of all to his loss.

The passing of one individual that day rattled the entire household and unnerved us all. It felt like He took away something or someone that was part of our lives in one instant and then expunged all emotional connection and relation that was ever existent and replaced our temporary void hearts with that of blissful ignorance. At least that was how I felt...

The suddenness was unsettling, epsecially towards him. I feel for him because to be at such an age now where you have fewer friends and even fewer true friends, this loss is significant. Plans for the entire day were cancelled in exchange for self-imposed mourning. Walking down the lonely path of remembrance was what he needed as he viewed flashbacks after flashbacks of his own vivid hallucinatory images of what once was and what it could have been.

I pitied him even more so as I approached him. The creases and wrinkles on his face was deeper and more defined that afternoon, filled with deep apprehension and sorrow. There was nothing much I could do, or say...as I walked away. I knew he was embracing this loss and strengthening himself up. It was the only thing he was in control of, his feelings.

As I comtemplated on this turn of events, I realized how old he has become and how fragile he is becoming. Time which was once a measure of wealth has now become a gauge for longevity. The permanence of his existence and purpose in this world are now measurable, distinct and variable. I knew he felt like what if it was him instead.

And I can relate to his feelings. After all, the person in question was a man of great stature with enviable humility. He was one who despite his achievements overseas, remain a very down to earth man and to be in his presence was to be humbled by him. A person who placed his family first above all else, a man who provided unceasingly and abundantly and a friend who cared unconditionally and indiscriminately. It is also because of all these traits that he was highly valued by his company, widely known for his commitment and dedication beyond his scope of responsibilities.

When I looked back at the man sitting downstairs, I see so much resemblance in both and I feared the worse. I can only pray and hope to Him that he will start to realize that he is still working too hard for his age and he should start to let go, first by learning to trust others and then loving himself more. It would be such a pity for one to work so tirelessly and provide ever abundantly only to not able to enjoy the fruits of your own labour and nurture your legacy in the end. That man left behind a wife and a daughter and I sincerely pray for them to be strong in weathering the life ahead.

At the end of the day, I thought to myself that life is not so much about getting the highest paying job or the most rewarding job or the best track to career supremacy. Working should be viewed as a way of life, not living your life away with it.

I could only imagine that family's loss when I think of the things that their father would have wanted to do with them still, the marriage in which he wished to walk his daughter down the aisle with, the grandchild he had hoped to carry one day and knowing that at the end of his tenure on earth one day, he could finally rest satisfactorily knowing that his life was not measured by the number of breaths he had taken but by the number of moments that took his breath away. I sincerely wished that for him for he was such a fine man. But often in life, we do not get what we want, sometimes not even what we wanted for others.

It is cruel...

I will never look at certain things the same again because seeing one man who has already done it, and living with one who is doing it is not an easy task. As much as how we are all taught to believe that everything happens for a reason and God always has plan for everything, I could easily as well look at my life in a perspective of a half-full glass rather than a half-empty glass.

But there is another side of this 'glass' story that few of us realize. Imagine holding a glass filled with water. It is not about how heavy the glass is or what is the weight of the water inside. The key lies in how long do we hold this glass. It is easy to hold it for a few meager minutes but as the duration lengthens and the minutes become hours and the hours become days (if that is even possible), the act becomes tougher until it reaches impossibility. It is simply the longer we hold it, the heavier it becomes.

Looking back at our life and how we balance it with our work, holding this same glass of water reminisces the way we handle our work stress. If we carry our burden all the time and bring home our stress for the most parts, sooner or later this uncompromising weight will come crashing down on us. We have to learn to put things down for awhile like resting the glass of water after a few minutes only to carry it again, and again and again. When we are refreshed, we can continue on carrying the burden.

Work is never ending but our life will end one day so learn to let things go everyday and never carry it home. You can just easily pick it up tomorrow.

As to the bereaved family, I pray for them strength and hope that they do see the only way to show others that they are strong is to be weak in their hearts, but stay remembered...

Penury of Credence

It felt like the crucifying crushing of a thousand perfidious stakes through my heart. It felt like the overwhelming pressure of the paltry waters drowning in the ocean depths of hypocrisy. It felt like vindictive suffocation from the duplicitous air of unyielding intellect. And it felt like the misplaced trust of an unfaltering stanchness on an emotionless rock of affectation.

I lived through these senseless adages in a day that was filled with perpetual pleasantness until the hammer of adjudication fell in one fleeting motion of reversed affability. There was no way I could have envisaged the coming of the corporate onslaught. A circuitous blow from one of your own is usually not expected. It was almost evocative of a friendly fire literally behind enemy lines. Suffice to say, I was unprepared from the result of coming up short in my wildest imagination department.

We sometimes sell ourselves short of our own expectations in order to meet the unrealistic demands of others. I then wonder how could I have allowed myself to be placed into such an uncompromising situation to begin with. To live with this given obduracy is to condemn yourself into reviling reproach.

With recent events snapping into place in a series of perspicacious puzzle, I cannot help but be contented in the discernment of my own vocation. The acuity acquired is astute and inestimable. Hence for now, I shall immerse myself in the unrelenting forbearance of elucidating waters.

The proving grounds which I have so often and consistently whet upon will now serve as a reminder of how perilous and precarious it can be at times of unremitting adversity. The order of the day is the penury from which all my source of destitution stems from. With this in mind, I know that the custodians of my trade maturity has only so much to offer in terms of enduring enthusiasm in revealing the road to perdition before me.

It is very hard to live through such proxies day-in and day-out but I know the resilience lies within me as I try to shirk the belief that I am already at the edge of my patience and tolerance...two words among the very few in my life from which I borrow all my credence from.

And as I move onwards with both eyes affixed onto the finish line, I learn that life as I see it, is not painted with colours...but by colours of knowledge, choice and absence where we attach our faith onto. Sometimes we see the colours, sometimes we gain and lose some knowledge, sometimes we observe the choices, sometimes we recognize the absences...

And sometimes in life we do not get things the way we wanted, but we gain extra knowledge of what others wanted.

The Devil Is In the Details

In five days, the crusading contingent from Old Trafford will take on the expedition of the season. These seeking souls will be presented with a providential prospect of re-writing the history of football for the land which they hail from - England; and the charismatic club they humbly serve - Manchester United.

These gallant knights from the proving grounds of Carrington Field will embark on a valiant quest to invade the Roman fortress of Olimpico, wherein await the Catalan knights from the Camp Nou and their horde of Spanish culers. But how did it all began? Where did it all turned for both clubs? What were the stones that shifted in order for this momentous event to fall into place?

It all began about a month ago on a fortuitous night during the campaign to raze the Emirates where United - led by Sir Alex Ferguson, produced an awesome and overwhelming attacking display to destroy Arsenal. Park Ji-sung's opener was a result of fate and preordained fortune coupled with the faux pas of a young individual by the name of Kieran Gibbs - whose name will be remembered by the United followers for a while.

At that point in time, the United contingent went delirious. They knew the prospect of Arsenal getting three to go through was so remote to be beyond comprehension. But if United's opener came courtesy of good fortune, their next was the result of sheer audacity and bold impudence mixed with soaring ability.

Ronaldo scored a crackling freekick from 41 yards. To even think of going for goal from the spot would be dismissed by most as rash and imprudent. As Ronaldo stepped back and waited, ready to unleash his missile, Almunia knew what to expect. Indeed, it could be argued that from such distances, Almunia should not have been beaten. But as Ronaldo let loose his projectile - with venom and vigour, infused with his bodily spite and malice, and watched his shot dip and flicker, Almunia was powerless to prevent it from ripping into the net.

The rest for that night was history. As Sir Alex's men capered in exultant glory and cavorted in triumphant glee, he ordered them to tone down their merriment out of respect for the conquered combatants. It was the only mercy the Red Devils showed all night. Yes, not the chivalrous knights of Old Trafford but in truth, the fiendish Devils in disguise. The victory however, came with a price.

Darren Fletcher - one of the most honest men under Sir Alex's command, was red-carded in that battle. He was the only casualty from that fateful battle and will now miss the invasion to Rome and the siege of Olimpico.

His was the result of an unfortunate decision by the match referee in the form of a war priest whose blessings for the champions before the conflict and deliverance during the scuffle ensued in an error of tidings and injustice.

However costly this casualty was, Fletcher will be remembered as United's martyr on the day the history books were opened to be re-written. The rulling must stay as was etched in the stars. The decision of the referee should be final no matter what as it would destroy the very fabric of football reality should a red-card decision in a match of such magnitude proportions be ever reversed.

In a way, it is like opening Pandora's Box if you can challenge every decision. When you rule that it is not a red card, you are also saying it is not a penalty, and therefore not a goal. What do you do then? Start changing the results of matches afterwards? It almost feels like heresy in football. It would destroy the very foundation of decades of match rullings.

As harsh as it was, it is not an excuse and the Reds will go marching onto the Roman plains in five days. United have a date with destiny and under the tutelage of Sir Alex himself, will take on Barca hoping to come out victorious but not unscathed. Difficult and impossible decisions will be made, strategies and tactics will be revised and retried, knowledge of the enemy will be hungrily extracted and no soul will be left untouched by the deciduous inquest of the Red Devils.

The key to success and the devil, is in the details...