How Happy Am I?

You Are 100% Happy

It's unlikely that you know anyone happier than you. You know how to be happy, no matter what life throws at you.

Really...? Nah... you're kidding right? Am I THAT happy? Ha ha ha ha... oops...! Damn! (Laughs again...)

How Happy Are You?

Harriet's Quilt

	This story is a general work of fiction in 7 parts inspired by a reading of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Although the main characters are fictitious much of this story is based on actual historical figures and events. Reader’s discretion is suggested.
	HARRIET'S QUILT - PROLOGUE

15th January 1863 My dearest Harriet, The time has come when a man must take up arms and fight for what he believes in with what he has. The Union Army is finally accepting us niggers in the fight for the freedom of our kind. We may be free, living here in the north, but there are many of our people still struggling as we did at Missus Douglas’ and Mister Jones’. I know you feel the same way I do and are with me in this fight for our emancipation. Not to worry, I know I will see you and them boys again when this is all over, I can feel it. Your husband, Jim. P.S. Give them boys a smack on the heads that they don’t forget their pa.

The Chances That Happen.

Chances are... and they do, for some people. But how often can it be used before it loses its credibility. Here, I would like to test its envelope.

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It is amazing how many times things have happened to me on a coincidence, you know stuff that happens to chance upon you. Oy! If I get a dime for all the things that I �chance upon�, I'd be a multi-millionaire and the banks would have a schvitzing good time counting them coins!

But then the thing is, how many times can you use the term �chance upon� before it becomes a clich�, subsequently fade into inconsequence before finally decomposing into a sad excuse and euphemism for really being a busybody who is everywhere at the same time (ahem)!

However, in my defense, I have to say I am lucky and have chanced upon good mentors in my life, especially in my current tertiary education. One such character whom I really have to give credit to is a certain lecturer who has sparked and indeed fired my imagination and passion for the love of English literature and its beauteous use of the language.

So, a round of applause please, all students past and present of P. W. - the one who goes all out in her capacity to ignite the passion and use the flame to light the zeal for literature in you. I am sure you know who you are.

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In a most recent case, I was critically disparaged another lecturer for being irrelevant and off tangent in my thoughts and conclusions drawn from my literary readings. I was further condemned by the same person that I have total disrespect for the lecturer, my classmates and even the context of the novel. All that and I was even said to be disruptive in class.

Furthermore, I was asked rhetorically if other lecturers have told me of this issue. It was said to be troubling issue since that module was a fourth-level (final) one. Wow! I never saw this coming, especially when my past contributions were met with enthusiasm and applause. Such implications and that entirety coming from a conferred professor then, must be something to be reckoned with, yes? My diagnosis was bleak. But one must always stay positive and maintain an optimistic perspective.

Unfortunately, as it happens, where chances often do, I was totally distraught and I got suspicious of my own ability to study and even read literature and my weekend then was completely ruined, clouded by the ominous remarks. As such, I had to approach an alternative voice; kind of like seeking a second opinion when one is diagnosed with cancer.

Sensing the depth and profundity of my despairing ailment, it was decided that a sit-down session was called-for and urgently so. The appointment was arranged but life always has things happening, and chances are, they do.

I chanced upon an opportunity to have a talk again with the concerned doctor who was '�troubled� by my ability (or in his view, lack thereof) to read literature. The shocking diagnosis came - I was told that I should not bother myself with the earlier remarks. In fact, broader issues that I often bring up in class are encouraged since it opens the scope for discussion so long as the �irrelevant� ones remain as verbal ones and my written work is always backed up. In fact, it was concluded that obeisance and adherence to rules never breed creativity.

Here we have a head scratching situation, was the good doctor wrong with the first diagnosis or was it an emotional outburst that should be heard with a pinch of salt? It was time for a serious second opinion.

On the appointed day for sit-down session of the second opinion, the second doctor was informed of the paradoxical double-diagnosis by the first doctor, and was caught scratching the head too. But in any case, I was given a thorough check and the second doctor gave me a �thumbs up� analysis - I am curable, in fact I seem to be in the pink of health. However, just to be doubly sure, I was given an additional prescription of preventatives - namedly, a single does of Positive Perception and Vindication (co-administered by other doctors), 20 tablets of Confidence Boosters, 15 capsules of Correctness Assurances and a bunch of other supplements to be taken as necessary for me to get on with my literary life.

In life, we are presented with all sorts of chances and we are especially grateful for the positive ones that happen upon us. In this case, I am appreciative and grateful for the serendipity of a wonderful literary doctor, whose prescription, I am happy to add after a week's dosage has kept any likely cancer cells from growing. In fact, the preventative prescription has made the newly vindicated patient a bit wiser with a positive prognosis reported, so to speak.

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P.S. If you �happen to chance upon� this entry, do try to spread it around too. You know who you are and we know you are not the shy kind...

Serpentus Hypocritus

We know they exist. But it is still shocking to find them in your midst and in your reality. I am talking about the two-headed snakes - aka the Serpentus Hypocritus.

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Grandma sat down in the cool evening air, fanning herself as she patted on the downcast grandson and began her tale. �The forest lived a great community of animals, all living harmoniously together. Amongst them was a serpentine creature with two heads. It goes about ensnaring the other creatures with its beautiful words from one head and when the unwitting animal gets charmed by its waxing lyrical and gets near enough, it reveals the other head with fangs and snatches a deadly bite from the victim.�

Wide-eyed, the little boy cried, �But that's so cruel! Why weren't the other animals warned?� Grandma smilingly assured, �Ah... but that all right, because there are always repercussions to such badness...� and soothingly enticed the boy in patience and with a curiosity to continue with the story.

�One day, while on its daily route to ensnare new victims for its supper, it came across a small puddle and caught a glimpse of its own image. The charming head began to work its magic on the mirage and unwittingly draws itself closer to the pool of water. When it got close enough, the fanged head sprang out and bit its other head off. Powerless without it ensnaring charming head, the serpent lost its bait and the remaining ugly fanged head was revealed for all to see. As all the animals steer clear of the strange creature and its vicious mouth, it soon perished on the forest floor, forgotten by the history of the land.�

His troubled brow soothed by grandma's cooling fan, the boy whose head rested on her lap and fell asleep, vindicated by the culmination of the cruel creature. And grandma smiled reassuringly down on him and wiped away the perspiration on his forehead.

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Yes. Hypocrites. That was a parable referring to these malicious creatures. They are here, they are real and they are everywhere. But what is shocking is when you find it in someone whom you have been associating with. Someone who tells you how one simply enjoys working with you and how much fun you are... and then you learn that one is saying the exact opposite behind you back?

For example, �Yes, I know AA can't stand to work with you but she's just like that, you know, moody.� And then conspiratorially continues with, �but you are ok, I enjoy working with you.� Smiles.

And then with AA, one says, �Yes, I know BB can't stand to work with you but he's just like that, you know, difficult.� And then collusively continues with, �but you are ok, I enjoy working with you.� Smiles.

Well, what does that do to your stomach? Churning? Or is that last night's dinner I see on the computer's keyboard? Yes, it's sick isn't it? But then again, as I said, it's here, it's real - let's not be na�ve. However, it is still disgusting to know that there's one close in your midst.

However I am always reminded of the allegory my grandmother told me to pacify her troubled grandson who got it from a classmate in school - the karma of the two-headed snake.

Every Quilt Tells a Story...

�You see these different patches of cloth?� my grandma asked, running her hands across the patchwork quilt she made for me, which I have been using for the longest time. I nodded. �They are the different kinds of love that your mama and I have for you...�

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click to see bigger pic

I had a patchwork quilt embroidered and pieced together in a theme of blue and mauve. I've used it since I was a kid till I was about nine. I was always fascinated by the various patterns on the tessellated warmer. My grandmother, in her deftness stitched the rectangular pieces of printed cotton into a three feet by four feet cover backed with another piece of fine, soft cotton.

�This blanket is like our love for you,� my grandma revealed, �it covers and protects you, always, never leaving you.� Entranced by the idea, I rubbed and snuggled up to the quilted blanket. �It is always there to comfort you, like the blanket that keeps you cool on a hot night and warm on a cold one.� And indeed, it does. The soft cotton wicks perspiration away on a warm night, maintaining a comfortable coolness while I slept, but on a cold night, the fine weave and strong stitching of the double layered quilt keeps the cold draughts out.

The quilted bedspread was indeed a miracle of love. And I have come to realize the deeper implications of the quilt as a metaphor for the affection and love my grandma and mama has for me.

It is a multifaceted affair that is ever present and ever loving. It is not demanding but ever-giving without judgment but only advising and hoping for the best. It is there to offer the best of what one needs without asking.

�See here...� my grandma continued as she pulled along the untrimmed edges of the quilt, �quilt has no borders, no frame, like our love for you, no limits, always stretching and stretching and always there, no suspicion, no limits...�

I never doubted that.

Coffee and new friends.

Click to see bigger pic.

Who would have thought that hanging out at a café can be so rewarding and that coffee tasting would be so much fun?

It was Friday and after my usual one-hour swim, I headed to my favorite study spot in the city. Yes, as ironic as it may seem, the most conducive spot for me to study and contemplate on my assignments (as well as other issues in my life) is a café in the city.

As all of you know, I only ever visit Starbucks® for my caffeine fix. It could be a preference for their cool, clean lines and friendly interiors as oppose to another one famous for their ‘cozy’ and ‘woody’ corporate theme. Plus the fact that I was once served warmed milk when I specifically asked for a mint infused chai drink.

Anyway, I have been such a regular at this spot that I am now on first name basis with the ‘partners’ (aka baristas) at the store. And while I was there that day, one of the managers came over and invited me to a coffee tasting session at 7 in the evening. Since I was going to be there till late reading my novel (a school text) and ever the adventurer (with an eye on the fine print on my insurance) I decided to accept the invite and join in the fun. After all, who can turn down free food and a friendly sharing session?

Coffee shared at the session. Click for more info.

After three rounds of spraying French-press brewed Espresso, Italian-roast and French-roast coffee onto our tongues, rolls of caramel éclair, hazelnut chocolates and words like ‘smoky’, ‘nutty’, ‘heavy-bodied’, ‘low-acidity’ thrown about later, we were all high and laughing with each other on a caffeine buzz; not to mention coffee-wiser.

Incidentally, I would recommend those coffee above to be drank without milk or sugar and taken with good quality nuts or dark chocolate. It will bring out the smoky, dark roasted flavors of the Latin-American beans.

Later that evening at about 10 p.m., I decided it was time to go when I was done with half the book I was supposed to read. While saying my goodbyes to the ‘partners’ and thanking them for the wonderful session earlier, I was invited to another coffee tasted session. “Hey, why not? I’m always on for a little education...”

Paraphrasing a #1 bestseller self help book, it’s good to always show yourself friendly – it’s a people magnet that gets you acquaintances if not actual friends.

Here's a clip of the place I like to hangout...

Killer Tourist Attracting Shoes

Click to see bigger pic.

Travelling on the bus, on my way to Suntec City, I caught sight of an Oxford Dictionary entry for the definition of "killer shoes". I always thought my pair of Kenneth Cole is a workout for the calf muscles, but after today, looking at that pair of platform(?) shoes (or are they weapons of mass destruction that has been eluding the Bush administration?), I have to think again. I guess I now have one less thing to complain about.

Anyway, on arrival at Suntec City, there was a convention that had just concluded and a horde of foreign delegates were mingling at the lobby area, near the sheltered bus stop. I am not kidding when I say that lady with her killer shoes managed to turn more than just a few of the foreign delegates' heads.

Oy! Talk about a walking tourist attraction...!

A Universal Dilemma

Love is a universal dilemma.

It gives pleasure as much as it can cause pain.

There is the triangle, the unrequited.

There is the gay man in love with straight man.

there is also the straight woman in love with a gay man.

Love is a universal dilemma.

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Ziggy - performed by Celine Dion

Still.

STILL Love Of any kind Is still love. Who are we? To judge Its sanctity. Legality. Beauty. Pulsations. Pure sensations. Of blood That rushes through My veins. Is it not the same? As the warmth that courses yours? What Is yours pure? Righteous? Superior? So that it may deem mine Vulgar? Contempt? A diamond Many faceted. Is precious From any side. Love Of any kind Is still love.   -- Vincent Immanuel Pang

Motivation is the key.

It's not that men don't like to do housework; men just need to find the right "motivation".

A Cleaning Agent that goes "all the way".

Wow! What a way to get your house cleaned - with tea and a studmuffin, heh heh!

Brokeback Football

Riding on the waves of the Academy Award® winning, gay-themed Brokeback Mountain, many TV shows, advertisements have been making spoofs and cashing in on the crest of its success. Here's one featured in Mad TV - Brokeback Football.

It's Better This Way

It's Better This Way the room creaks with a deathly silence the weak sun fails to chase away darkness I call out to the blanket of blizzard the cold frosty emptiness of white answers I held out my warm embrace for you the strong wind blew and you slipped away we missed each other on a parallel you walk on higher planes and I fall beneath it’s better this way, I’ve been here before this pace I’m used is always just useless walking on moving away from each other we see but fail to notice ourselves; us   - vincent immanuel pang

What does it all mean?

Someone left a Definitive Religious Book at my neighbor's door the other day. It may appear a simple, well-meaning gesture, but I pondered the implications of such an act.

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My neighbor, A-po* is a rag-and-bone collector. It's more of a decision to work by circumstances than by choice.

Her only daughter is a manic-depressive and is thus unable to hold on to a regular job. Unable to maintain a regular office employment and unwilling to try alternatives like hawker assistants and such like, A-po has no choice but to concede to her daughter's quirks and support herself and pretty much her over 40-year-old daughter by collecting recyclable materials to be sold.

It's not an easy job, having to move about at her old age, carrying all those trash cans and heavy cardboards, not to mention doing it at odd hours of the day - we are talking blazing noon-day sun and pneumonia-inducing pre-dawn hours. She has to get to these stuffs before her 'competitors' do, like the other old lady in the neighborhood and the council's collecting unit.

All of us neighbors know of and understand her predicament. Whenever we have and are able to, we would leave our recyclables at her doorstep. Even when neatly packed and stacked, the stuffs often resemble a veritable Mont Blanc. Undeniably, it is a fire hazard, but everyone of us just help to watch out for her, after all nobody who has a heart would lodge a complaint to the town council.

Sometimes, on rare occasions, we would find a shopping bag with food necessities like milk powder and other assorted canned nourishments on her doorstep. It is a useful gesture, but we seldom do it as neighbors, since we never know how A-po might take to this act.

However, the other day, I noticed a Definitive Religious Book wedged into the tight compartment between the iron gate and the wooden front door of A-po's apartment. I was puzzled by the implications of the ambiguous, ambivalent gift. As much as it is definitely a well-meant gift, one cannot but consider the connotations inherent within the object.

The two ideas that immediately struck me were:

If the person had assumed that A-po is not a believer is the implication then that her 'predicament' is an affliction of or from the Almighty (assuming that this entity exists)? Or is A-po's or indeed any unbeliever-at-large's 'situation' or 'affliction' a result of one's unbelief?

On the other hand, if the giver had assumed A-po as a believer, than the implication would possibly be, �hey, there is something wrong with your faith, better check yourself�. If that is the case, may I suggest to that giver to check oneself instead, since by that very gesture, one had made a judgment and assumed a forbidden position - that of one's Almighty.

I often wonder if certain religious sects and beliefs require the acceptance of faith so absolutely that one must deny one's intelligence or even limited intellectual processes. Incidents like this make me reconsider the question. In this instant, denial of mental processes meant implications of outright insults to three parties - the receiver, the believer and the beliefs.

What an ironic twist indeed.

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* A polite colloquial term for �grandma� and also used as a general term of respect to address a person of age.