Surmounting Cat-astrophes

If At First You Don't Succeed, Try, Try Again....

That is one of the philosphies which I truly subscribe to. I believe that there are few things more noble than perseverence and the human spirit.

So it is with a chuckle that I say that these are qualities which are epitomized no better than my pussy (I could have said "Cat" but then who would read my blog?).

It was in the wee hours of a Saturday night, when my 72-year-old Dad, seized with a bout of fatigue and sadism, decided to retire himself for the night without retiring the sofa to my ever patient cat, who, for a few hours, had been waiting with admirable forebearance nearby for my Dad to vacate the chair.

Maybe my Dad knew that too, and decided cheekily to frustrate my poor pussy (yes, I'm calling him that again). So he put various paraphernalia on the chair so as to impede the long-suffering feline. Imagine his surprise and disappointment when he saw what had happened...



But my cat is, if anything, stoic and uncomplaining, so he was not going to let a few contraptions underfoot prevent him from enjoying his repose at his favourite spot.



So there he was... Resting contentedly...

Until my Dad came out from his room to use the toilet and decided to watch a bit of television hereafter....He spotted little fluffy looking pleadingly but showed little sign of being moved as he shoo-ed the cat away and reclaimed his rightful spot on the throne...

But it was only a while before the old man felt sleepy again. But, cognizant of my cat's resourcefulnes and fortitude, he decided to see how far my pussy (yes, all you random word searchers, this is for you) would go. So he put an even bigger obstacle for kitty to surmount....



Most people would expect that latest setback to be an outright CATastrophe for kitty. And for a while, it looked like he felt that way too, as he retreated to a corner to ponder life and its blatant unfairness, looking patently rueful...




But No, this cat of mine does not cry over spilt milk, or an overturned chair, for that matter.

If you're going to be hard done by, at least go down, or out, fighting.... Here he is, hatching his latest strategy....

Notice the blaze of determination in his eyes?



"I think I've got it," he seems to be thinking...



"All right... On the count of three"...



"And upppp...."



"Ugh... Not too cool like this..."



"But hmmm....This is better...."



"If I just shift that paw a bit...."



"It's quite comfy actually...!"



"Let's see if I can lie down... I can!"



"A-aahh...Mmmph..."



I'm full of admiration for my cat. But my Dad just bought a few unopened durians home yesterday. If I were kitty, I wouldn't walk about looking too obviously smug...

An Experience Twice Re-moved

Been some days since the last post innit?

No, it's not that I have been recovering from the psychological trauma of blogging about my fall (literal, figurative, metaphoric or otherwise...)

It's just that once again, providence and a combination of factors have conspired to inhibit my prolificness as far as posting is concerned. You will, if you have been reading my blog, remember that my department had been in the midst of shifting premises because of a merger between companies. That, coupled with the fact that I inexplicably lost the USB connection device of my digital camera, meant that the propensity for good, quality articles was greatly reduced (or more reduced than it already was).

Things are better now however, as armed with a borrowed Memory Card Reader and a spanking new work space, I am now able to blog in relative comfort...ahem... during working hours.

But that was not before a frantic Friday the week before when the temporary 'Swing Area' which we had inhabited for three weeks resembled the American Embassy shortly before the fall of Saigon, as we tried to stuff everything that we had to bring with us into boxes and everything else into garbage bags...




Not that I was that stressed. Because of my designation, I am in a privileged position - I do not belong to any specific department. Or you could say I am a department of one, such that I do not have any collective files. No collective files = far less packing. So while there was mayhem all around me, I could kick back my feet and await the weekend long before my colleagues could. That strawberry was good, yes...



But in the end, we (my colleagues, with a little, very little, bit of help from yours truly) managed to neatly pack everything in anticipation of the movers..err...moving in.




Having done the seemingly impossible and compressed the seemingly uncompressible, the good department collectively heaved a sigh of relief. Until Monday, that is, when we had to speedily unpack that which we hastily packed.



This is my new work station [it's smaller than the last :( ] in it's semi-arranged state...



And this is what our fine management gave everyone in view of the fortitude with which we bore our inconveniences. That was so sweet - the gesture, I mean, though the chocolate wafers are really quite sweet (and very tasty too)...



Of course, because I do not have collective files to unpack, and because I cannot help my colleagues asI am not privy to the individual sections' systems of arrangement, and because (being busy unpacking) nobody needs my professional advice, I have yet another pocket of time where I can kick back my legs, enjoy the wafers and...err... blog during office hours...

Falling Down To Earth

I just read with interest the other day about how a karaoke hostess managed to survive a 12-storey fall. It reminded me of my own fall more than 15 years ago.

I was doing my National Service then and had 'booked out' for the weekend the night before. I had just gotten up after enjoying the first bout of adequate sleep to which I was entitled after a week at Pulau Tekong. I was still exhausted but happy and looking forward to meeting my girlfriend later during the next day so I could present her a small cosmetic ring which I had bought from Perlini's Silver. It was cheap but - I fervently hoped - symbolic.

As fate would have it, I was admiring the ring at the window when it fell out of my fingers and landed onto the sun-awning of the 3rd storey unit (I lived on the 4th floor), resting somewhere near the edge. Looking back (and I have looked back on that incident thousands of times), it was so easy to have gotten a feather duster or a longer instrument to nudge the ring off the sloping precipice and then go downstairs to retrieve it. I suppose, if I were to be honest, I was lazy and didn't fancy a walk down (and then up again) 4 flights of stairs (we then lived on the top level of a 4-storey walk-up apartment). Besides, I had, despite objections from my parents, always been climbing onto the awning to retrieve objects which had dropped onto it. Nothing had happened all those times, so surely nothing would happen this time....

********

In the book Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, there is a chapter dealing with plane crashes. In it, he shows that planes don't just go dramatically crashing out of the sky but that virtually all plane crashes are a combination and accummulation of small factors and circumstances that bring into being what would ordinarily be a very unlikely scenario.

- If it hadn't been raining before such that the awning was slippery
- If I had not been wearing socks to keep my feet, already accustomed to the hot and balmy nights at Pulau Tekong during weekdays, warm in the air-conditioned comfort of my room for that weekend, such that the grip of my feet on the awning was reduced.
- If the ring had fallen 5cm further away from the edge of the awning, making it possible for me to comfortably retrieve it with one hand while holding onto my window grille with all the fingers of my other hand.
- If the awning had been evenly slippery throughout, such that I would have not been convinced by the dryness of the spot where I first stepped onto that it was no more dangerous than usual.
- If the phone had not suddenly rang when when I had, in a bid to to reach for the ring, loosened my grip such that I only held onto the grille with a hooked middle finger.
- If I was not startled such that my weight shifted and one of my feet moved ever so slightly onto the most slippery part of the awning.

*******
I had never done bungee jumping or sky diving before so nothing prepared me for the feeling when I fell. The abiding memory is that all in all, it felt very fast.

Well, the first moment, when I went "Oh shit", felt quite normal actually, the kind of feeling one gets when one jumps off a table or a less tall structure. But all of a sudden, as if pushed by some invisible hand, I accelerated towards the ground at a speed which I had never felt while falling before, the ground hurtling towards me. Friends ask if I saw my life flashing before me but I just tell them that my dominant memory of my time in the air was that it was so fast. Darn. Even now when I recall the incident, I breathe faster.

Actually, come to think of it, even though I had verily intended to, I now don't want to relive too much of what happened after I hit the ground. I will only say that the impact was a jarring thud which - and this is getting familiar - was like nothing I had ever felt before and that while I knew straight away that something was wrong with my back, it was only around half a minute later that I felt a searing pain at my right ankle and another half a minute when it became unbearable.

I do not want to talk too much about how a crowd gathered and how my Dad, just driving home from work, having parked his car, saw a commotion, went to see what it was all about and saw his only son screaming in pain for help.

I had never before known why people sometimes asked to be put out of their misery. Make no mistake, I still think life is the most precious thing we have and I still do not think I would ever ask for that. But, lying on a bed waiting to be operated on at the A&E section of Alexandra Hospital, I don't think I ever looked forward more to surgery in my life. Such was the excruciating pain despite two pain-killing injections that all I could think of was going under general anaesthesia, so that I could get some relief, no matter how brief (I might have added "or lasting" but then as I told you, I am very pro-life).

I do not want to talk too much of the pain my parents suffered and I believe that even if I tried, I could never completely articulate it, because I do not believe I can even begin to quantify it.

************
For the record, I suffered a compression fracture of the spine at M1 (a technical description of the lumbar column somewhere down the middle of the spine). This, the doctor said, was a million dollar injury because despite the sensitive nature of the damaged area, it would heal completely. It was my right ankle which would suffer the most long-lasting damage. For those technically-inclined, or aspiring orthopaedists, I suffered a fracture of the lower tibia, the calcaneum and a severe fracture-dislocation of the talus, with ensuing avascluar necrosis. In short, my ankle was smashed - with irrepairable damage.

Most of the impact however, was subtle but psychological. I think that this was the first major incident in my life which so emphatically highlighted the universally known but oft-forgotten fact that sometimes in life, because of the choices you make, you do not get a second chance.

I think the fall was the first occurence which was to significantly shape the direction my life was to take, though most of the changes were non-physiological. I had, till then, been doing the 'right' things. I had always gotten good results, gone to the 'right' schools, mixed with the 'right' friends. I had engaged in the 'right' activities, watched the 'right' plays, the 'right' philarmonic concerts and said the 'right' polite pleasantries in doing so.

All that changed after the fall. Prior to that, I had always thought that no matter how daunting the problems seemed at any one time, everything would always be alright, return to normal and that I would continue on my path to success and live happily ever after. The fall made me realise how a split second could change all that, how sometimes in life, some things that we take for granted could be gone forever and never come back.

Maybe my girlfriend realised that as well, for a few months after the incident, she was to break up with me and leave for Cambridge to study medicine, never to return. I have to stress that a large part of it was because I was extremely moody after the fall - lying in bed all day for months on end does that to you - and impossible to speak to. But that didn't change the pain and anguish I felt at her departure.

It didn't help when I found that I would never run competitively again. A promising athlete in school, I had held the Raffles Institution 800m record, won medals at the National Schools Championships, represented Combined Schools and dreamt of running for Singapore at senior level. I began to see life from a different perspective and found it ironic that where once I could run so fast that few in Singapore could catch up with me, I found it cause to celebrate months after the fall when I successfully walked across the room unaided to get myself a glass of water.

After 21 days in hospital and nearly 5 months at home, I recovered enough to be able to limp without the help of crutches and too much pain. I was then sent to complete my National Service at the Military Transport Company at Pasir Laba Camp, seen by many as the backwaters of the Singapore armed forces. Imaginably, I took a while to settle there, this 'Air-Level' (that's the term they used for people who had 'A' Level qualifications), former Humanities Scholar from RJC who spoke grammatical English with good diction. This was in contrast to most of the other National Servicemen there, a lot of whom had stopped schooling after Primary 6, came from broken families, sported tattoos and smoked and drank as if there was no tomorrow. Some of them, though the same age as me or only slightly older, had kids because of an 'unfortunate incident' with the girlfriend. Incidents of servicemen going AWOL (Absent Without Leave) were frequent and as the Company clerk, I was tasked with typing out the charge sheets whenever an errant serviceman was caught and charged.

Indeed, it was during National Service that I learned that there was another strata of society in Singapore and more importantly, that while some of these people within it were recalcitrants who refused to do anything to help themselves, the vast majority of them were no worse than me, only less lucky. My fellow National Servicemen in the Company, drivers mostly (of trucks called 3-tonners, jeeps called Land Rovers, military mini-buses called..mini-buses and other road-going vehicles) were friendly, stoic, helpful, calm in the face of pressure and ever optimistic and happy, be it with their present circumstances or future prospects. They listened sympathetically to my 'sad' story, which given my mental state at that time, I rehashed to anybody who would listen, and gave me words of comfort, often extrapolating from their own experiences. They were also very willing to teach new languages - within months, I had learnt how to say 'vagina' in Hokkien, Teochew, Malay, Chinese and Tamil and had obtained my 'Certificate in Elementary Cussing'. On their part, they were amused at how I always managed to do a dirty cover version of the latest hit songs (the trick lay in having ready rhymes for key vulgar words).

We went on to have a lot of fun together though I turned down most of their invitations to go drinking and all of their entreaties to go to Geylang for some fun.

********
My deployment at National Service aside, the fall had other varying effects on my psyche. At first, I was extremely angry with my lot and at my girlfriend. I could not believe how she could abandon me and run off to Cambridge. I was angry with her for making her studies a priority, as opposed to our relationship. I was young and naive and unreasonable.

Be that as it may, I felt that the best way to show her she was wrong was to show her that the pursuit of educational qualifications was way overrated, that one did not have to go overseas in order to be a success. As such, I enrolled in a multitude of part-time courses. By the time I reached adulthood and before I entered Law School, I had obtained a Graduate Diploma in Marketing as well as a Bachelor of Business Administration.

It was only later that my perception, influenced by the fall, changed yet again. I began to wonder if it was worth going down the 'straight and narrow' road on the one hand and mercilessly pursuing success in the ratrace on the other if everything that one was familiar with could change because of a twist of fate, or in my case, the laws of gravity.

It was because of this that I had less recriminations exploring what many would label the 'dark side', the world of 'intelligent guessing'. I do not shy away from saying that I feel quite at home in a casino, that I can decipher and find meaning from the statistics of most horse racing publications, that I have means to tell you the scores of football matches played at any one time from Japan to Russia to Brazil to Azerbaijan (ie. anywhere). I can tell you the relative strengths of basketball teams in Europe and the top-ten players in the squash rankings.

Make no mistake. I am not saying I am proud of what I have experienced and what I know. I am just saying that I am not ashamed of it. Indeed, if pushed to a corner, I will say that from what I have seen even in the 'bright side' of the world, what with the office politics, the back-stabbing, the unbridled ambition and outright deception prevalant in some organisations and situations, the 'straight and narrow' path, the scene of the ratrace, might be an even more dangerous place to be, with as few, or even fewer scruples, in evidence.

What I want to say is that we all have had different experiences and these experiences, like it or not, have all played a critical part in the formation of our beliefs and values. I have digressed a long way from talking about my 4-storey fall but the gist of it all is that it is surprising how a small slip can set one on a vastly different path. My experiences have certainly been more myriad as a result of what at that point of time I deemed an absolute disaster. It has taken me this long to realise that if I have learned something from all of them, then maybe I fell for a reason. Maybe, in the wider scheme of things, I didn't fall at all.

A Fine Paige In My Book

"Oh hi, Lih Wei! It's great to see you again," said the extremely pretty girl as she waved enthusiastically.

"Now get to work!" she added as she passed me a black trash bag. "Let's clean up this beach!"

"Right on!" I said, with an enthusiasm that my parents had seldom seen when they ordered me (when I was a lot younger) and later suggested with a tinge of desperation (when I was older) to clean my room.

And hence began my participation in this year's fan outing organized by Paige Chua, Mediacorp artiste and lead actress in the recent Channel 8 Drama Series, The Score ("Wu Hua Guo" in Chinese) - with a jaunt up and down the beach picking up litter.

Now, I have never believed in hero worship nor been an advocate of the doting in idolatory that is bestowed on many a media celebrity, sports star or pop singer. I have never waited at a gantry or fan-barrier for hours, holding a placard hoping for a chance to come within range of an idol who barely knew I existed, if at all.

And while I have done none of that for Paige (well, not yet anyway), she is about the one and only actress whose career I follow with more than a passing interest and whose public events I try to attend so as to lend some support if I am in the vicinity. I do that because I find she is an exceedingly pleasant and earnest person whose outlook towards life I greatly admire.

I only knew of Paige last year when, after having been infected with latent tuberculosis, I was put on Isoniazid, a sapping anti-TB drug which induces depression in some, including me. In trying to cheer myself up, I happened to watch late re-runs of Chinese drama serials and found myself drawn to this pretty, tall and statuesque actress playing a police forensic specialist in Crime Busters.

When I looked for more information about her on the Net, I found her blog and was surprised to find that not only was it very well-written in English, it contained some very introspective ponderances which, apart from providing an unusual contrast to the usual pictures and updates on her public life, showed herself willing and unafraid to discuss some of the fears and vulnerabilities of her private one.

I also then found out about her avid involvement in charity and how, during each of the occasions set aside to meet and mingle with her fans, she tries to fit in some meaningful activity.

And so it was that while this year's endeavour was to do some beach-cleaning, when I met her in person for the first time last year, the aim was to wrap presents for under-privileged children. As luck would have it, almost all the others who turned up that day at the rendezvous point were young teens, leaving me alone to talk to Paige as we walked to our destination.

I was struck then by her easy-going nature and her willingness to talk about anything under the sun. But it was only in discussing a diverse range of topics, about her foray into the entertainment industry, her passion for travelling, her early days working in a bank, her involvement in sports and her slight partiality towards certain tenets of Marxism(?!), that one realised that there was an added dimension to her, a zeal and zip about the real-life Paige that the TV cameras would never adequately capture.

But for all her intelligence, the ability to shift effortlessly from articulate English to fluent Chinese, it is the little things that endear her to others - like remembering my attempts to dabble in some part-time acting this year and inquiring (while I was yanking a stubborn cigarette butt out of the sand) if I had any call ups for auditions. It is things like this that makes one feel not just a fan but a friend.

And while I hear that she has recently come in for some criticism because of her acting in The Score, I am in no doubt that her acting performances are the last thing that would alter my impression of her. For I have always thought that while a fan is an admirer of one's performances on the stage, field, arena, screen etc, a friend is a fan of one as a person, or, put another way, one's performances in life. To me, someone who, despite being good-looking, intelligent, poised and reasonably well-known, retains a humility and down-to-earth attitude, tries her best in all she does, appreciates her fans and gives back to the community whenever possible, is quite a fine Pa(i)ge in my book.



These, incidentally, are some of the pictures we took at the recent gathering at East Coast.

Horsing Around At Kranji

Those of you who read my introductory post will know that I intended this blog to be a mirror to Jac's. While she focused on the daily grind and the things that upstanding and outstanding individuals like here could do in their spare time, my blog aimed to delve into the shadier (seedier?) side of all of us.

It was with that in mind that a friend commented my blog was remarkably like Jac's, with far less quality pictures and worse writing. It had become a travelogue, and when it wasn't, it talked about all things clean and shiny - even my article on Pussies had cute pictures of my cuddly cats.

Well, I do admit that the past few years have seen my lifestyle change a fair bit, with the result that I do, some say, far too many prim and proper things, far too often. So, if you would accept my apologies for the overly long preamble, let's look at some vice now - or a 'viceful' activity (is there such a word?)

Nowadays, few people apart from my closest friends know that I once had a passion for, and still enjoy greatly, horse racing, the Sports of Kings. Far fewer would know that I once owned a share in a race horse and would, together with my friends, punt large amounts of money from the Owners Box at the Kranji Turf Club.

(As an aside, while I said in a previous post that my pussy cats were veritable chick magnets, nothing compared to owning a horse. Eg. "Hi Irene, would you like to adjourn for drinks and watch the races from the VIP section of the Club? I'll show you my horse too...)

The saying that "fast women and slow horses" are a lethal combination does have some truth in it. At least the "slow horses" part was correct. Because I never managed to attract any women, never mind the velocity, it was only my luck that I rode unsuccessfully and although there were no ruinous consequences, the halcyon days of lapping it up at the Turf Club are over.

But when the good people at Punters Way, one of the leading weekly racing publications, invited me to take up a package at the Casuarina Room, I jumped to it. To relive the memory of exclusive betting booths, ample buffets and free frow of drinks was too much to resist.

The Casuarina Room is actually a room at the top levels of the Turf Club overlooking the finishing line which can be booked for private functions, as it was on this occasion by Punters Way.



Here, one can either watch the races by peering out at the track from one's table or from the viewing gallery....




Or by watching close-ups on one of the many TV screens in the room.



This is the view we get from the viewing gallery....




This, the fine brew of which there was a free flow...



These, the freebies those great people at Punter's Way gave us...



Not that it mattered to me. I was too busy trying to make money.



And don't think I didn't...

A Moving Experience

Hi everybody, in the off chance that it matters to anybody, I have a very valid reason why I have not been blogging.

You see, my department is in the process of shifting premises. We were giving very short notice that we would be pulled out of our snug niches and transplanted to another building which the company had just acquired. That was not good. Because being a person unendowed with a penchant for neatness, I had allowed my files to accummulate on my desk. Having to pack them all at one shot was a daunting task....

Ok, this picture is one of my desk on a very bad day... Compare it though, with my colleague's in the background.



I was not the only one with problems though... In a matter of days, the entire work area starting piling with boxes and rubbish bags as all of us sought to do away with stuff that we never had time to jettison - and basically anything that we could do away with, so as to limit the amount of stuff we would have to bring along.





The plan was to move to a 'swing area' on the floor above while the new premises were being renovated and the finishing touches to what we were assured would be a spanking new workplace were put in.

While we wait with bated breath, it has to be said that in the swing area, I have a desk roughly the size of a classroom table - a reduction of up to 5 times my previous workplace. We are sat in a row next to each other, with a computer screen and various electronic paraphenalia preventing what would otherwise be an unimpeded view of the colleague sitting opposite us.



While this is great for camaraderie, for I work with a great group of people, it does make it harder to do certain things... Like, err.. blogging during office hours...

Looking For A Male Friend!!!

Ok, this is not another cheap gimmick or another plaintive attempt to garner readership.

This is a serious topic up for discussion, borne out of a talk I recently had over lunch with a colleague (my manager actually).

"Ugh... My best friend is on holiday. Jac's busy, ST is away on work and AA is tied up the whole week.... I've got nothing to do. I'm so bored!!!" said I.

"Wait a minute," replied my manager, as he finished his dumpling soup. "Aren't all of the above-mentioned girls?

"Err.. Yes. So what? Are you sexist?"

"No, no. It's just that most guys, when their girlfriends are busy, go hang out with their guy friends, like shoot some pool, down some beer. You know? And... The thing with having best friends who are female is that for some unknown reason, they all tend to be indisposed at the same time - and what happens when they get attached or married or what have you? So while that's more than enough close friends to have who are female, most guys have close guy friends as well, so that instead of having to look for alternative company within a category, they get to plow through a totally different subset of friends."

And that set me thinking. It is true that all my best buddies, platonic or otherwise (now, I sure wouldn't have to clarify this if my best friends were guys) are girls, or women. Even in the workplace, the colleagues, apart from my manager, with whom I lunch most often are female.

It's not by choice, but I guess I realised from a long time ago that I'm not really a 'Guy's Guy'. Don't get me wrong, I love sports, I crack dirty jokes as well as the best of them and I simply adore the aesthetics of the opposite sex. But I guess I'm also far too sentimental, I rue a lot and cry over spilt milk. I don't smoke, drink, dance and while I love admiring beauty when it passes by, I am not into 'conquests', one-night stands and the like. I am not a 'player'.

But perhaps more importantly, I actually listen to the issues which my female friends have, their identity, relationship, mid-life and sometimes existential, crises. I have, on more than one occasion, willingly taken a phone call late at night from a wailing best friend, persuading her that it was not the end of the world that her dream man had left her.

But isn't that what girls do - cry on one's shoulder - with their GIRLfriends? I'm sure they do just that but I guess that -as far as relationship issues are concerned - not only do I offer an uncomplaining listening ear, I also chip in with a very heterosexual male point of view. And I think it helps that I am unbiased too, judging by the number of times I have further berated an already disconsolate friend for her appalling behaviour, telling her that even after hearing only her side of the story, I think the breakup was the best thing to happen to HIM.

But that is only one side of the story, for I think my best friends are some of the most obliging, tolerant and understanding people. I also think that equally important, they are very, very cool. They may like to shop and take pictures of the food that they eat (why does every one of them do that?) but prissy and prudish this lot is not. They have (not all at the same time, of course) trudged with me in the back alleys of Malaysia, in the sweltering heat in Vietnam and through the undulating terrain in China. They mix it up effortlessly when it comes to dirty jokes and they cuss fluently in more than one language. Who needs guy friends when you have friends like this?

But I digress. Back to my original premise. If there are any eligible, single guys out there who like sports, ogling at, talking about girls (and occasionally more pressing problems like work, the world at large and world peace) and/or simply just chilling out in a pub with a live-band, do let me know.

I'd be happy for your company when (and only when) my present lot of best friends are unavailable. For I wouldn't substitute that lot for anything or anybody else, given a choice.

And to all my close friends who have listened to me whine, rage and complain all these years - and you guys (gals mostly!) know who you are - thanks so much!!!