Wading Through Time

The request came out of the blue. I'd sent samples of my writing to The Star, including something about time and an old clock. The editor of Starmag felt it was good enough for publication in the Heart & Soul section.

And so it was published - on Teacher's Day, no less. I can tell you that I owe my current mastery of the English language to my folks and not a few teachers. I suppose this can count as a kind-of thank-you to them.

I'd been feeling down after reading about some writers who'd become authors (one of whom had her first book pulped due to plagiarism), and that piece was the result. Making writing a viable career feels like a long hard slog, but like a shovel that keeps working, maybe I'll reach China someday if I keep at it long enough.

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Time takes no sides
first published in The Star, 16 May 2010

There's a clock that sits on my multi-shelved, self-assembled computer table. It came with me when I migrated to Kuala Lumpur. Mum bought it for me, along with other things, at Gama Supermarket in Penang.

It's an alarm clock but it has been mute for a very long time. The shop assistant who looked at it thought it could have been the continued use of full alkaline batteries.

For telling the time, however, it's still very useful. I have another alarm clock now, but its presence is calming, reassuring. It's been with me through a lot. College, mostly. But I think, sadly, that it became silent before I started working for a living.

The day I first started college should have been the day a boy became a man. Layers of dust and numerous batteries came and went, but the clock kept ticking. The boy, however, never really grew up. He probably spent too much time enjoying being a boy, or lamenting the passing of time – a strange irony – and not enough of it finding his way in life and preparing for it.

Mum's a lot older now, and in light of this the clock she bought me has taken on another kind of significance. Our time will be up someday, like the clock. The springs and whatnot will wear out eventually, even if they outlast us both, mother and son. And as I stare into the wake of those who have gone far ahead of me, is it too late?

"Time is on our side," goes an old song. Like those who sang it, that axiom is old, perhaps a romantic notion used to sell songs. Time takes no sides. It goes along its merry way regardless of who we are and what we strive for and accomplish.

So why should I be bothered about other people's accomplishments? Time to make tracks of my own.

In the infinite realm of possibilities, even time itself may end one day. Like the old clock in my room, that thought is strangely comforting.

Thunkin New

I did not supply the heading to this article, perhaps one of the best pieces I've done prior to my departure from The Edge.

"Thunkin New", Off The Edge, May 2010

I still consider Ms Clare Wigfall one of my best interviewees, and the replies she supplied here to be among the most interesting I've ever read. As a writer, I have some vested interest things such as the advent of the short story genre, Internet-driven changes in language and shrinking reader attention spans.

It took two days to research and craft the questions. Though some bits were trimmed, the final results are still good food for thought. I regret not having the time to read her short story collection yet, but I'm sure it'll be just as interesting.

Long Black Or Flat White?

It was at first a tiring, action-packed media hunt by Tourism Australia. I still couldn't believe that we emerged the winners of the grand prize. I will maintain that it was thanks to my ex-colleague's go-karting skills.

"Long Black Or Flat White?", Off The Edge, April 2010

The five days and four nights in Melbourne, 2009 were a vivid dream for one who has never left South East Asia all his life. I don't think I made the very, very best of the opportunity, but I'm glad of the attempts I made.

I'm proud of the photo of the wedding entourage; it was, like many things I encountered, unexpected, quaint and beautiful.

I walked almost everywhere within the Central Business District. Everywhere. Despite fears of swine flu I never felt so healthy and so refreshed. It was spring, and it was lovely.

I managed to save the notes I made when I was there. Someday soon I'll finally blog about this trip.

Flat white for me. Always.

The Great Unfinished War Tale

A long overdue piece on an unconventional novel from a Bosnian playwright - whose name gave the editor some trouble when she tried to spell it - darn Cyrillic characters.

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Out of the box

first published in The Star, 02 April 2010


The limited time I’ve spent with novels and storybooks convinced me that, for my tastes at least, plain narrative is the only way to go. Then came this tale of growing up amidst war from a Bosnian author and playwright that’s very unconventional and that stretched my literary muscles nicely.

How The Soldier Repairs The Gramophone is about young Aleksandar Krsmanovic of Višegrad who is given a “magic wand” by his grandfather, along with these words of wisdom: “The most valuable gift of all is invention, imagination is your greatest wealth.” Then the old man dies.

Although “the best magician in the non-aligned states” – and future painter of all unfinished things – is unable to bring his grandfather back, young Aleks tries to weave some semblance of magic into his daily life, and the events about to unfold.

His homeland, Yugoslavia, will be riven by war, and he and his family will escape it by fleeing to Germany. He will encounter a girl, Asija, whom he tries to rescue and, later when he grows up, tries to find when he returns to his hometown.

Caveat emptor, dear reader. This novel is work. All dialogue is free from quotation marks, something Aleks more or less explains in one chapter. The story of his life after grandpa features a cast of thousands, from family members to neighbours and soldiers and victims of war. Some have nicknames such as Walrus and Mickey Mouse. At times, it seems as though somebody else other than Aleks is narrating the tale.

It gets stranger towards the middle, as narratives give way to letters, poems, lists and transcripts of messages left on answering machines. Pretty much a huge, messy jumble of text – not something that one can flip through and “get” without effort, like the more conventional, linear novels elsewhere.

As far as I can tell there are no cues such as, “Aleks and family leave Yugoslavia”, or “Aleks returns home”, and many chapter titles are as long as those in Lim Kit Siang’s blog. You can’t tell whether something is happening in the present, past, or even in a dream. Perils for the inattentive reader – or reviewer – trying to connect the dots.

Despite the novel’s shambolic structure, though, one can find a kind of poignant, folksy touch in the way Aleks interprets or makes sense of everything that’s going on around him, even as he witnesses history in the making.

A couple of tucked-away gems – to me, at least – is the observation of how similar war-torn Bosnia and Somalia are in the 1990s, except for the “short-haired, black children” with guns; and, in response, an uncle provides some brutal honesty: “We don’t have any oil either. That’s why the Americans aren’t helping.”

If you don’t skip the author introduction, you will notice that, like Aleks, the author was also born in Višegrad. Which explains the vividness in the descriptions of town life and the River Drina that’s so prominent in the story. Could “Aleksandar Krsmanovic” be the author’s alter-ego?

Yes, I would recommend this to anyone who wants to expand their literary horizons – a peek over the wall or the top of the box where the grass may be greener, or just a different colour. While I did get how the soldier (kind of) repaired the gramophone, I never quite found out if Aleks was finally reunited with the girl he tried to save. Perhaps Aleks and the author are one and the same: a creator of unfinished things, as this novel seems to suggest.

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How The Soldier Repairs The Gramophone

Saša Stanišić
Translated from the German by Anthea Bell
Phoenix
277 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7538-2473-3

Going Places For The First Time

Even though I was sharing a byline, this only looked easy to do. The hardest part was the research.

"Spring blossoms": Top ten places for cherry blossom viewing
in Going Places, March 2010

But I learned that hanami, or cherry blossom viewing, is not just a Japanese pastime. Pretty much any cluster of cherry blossom trees is a good spot to unfurl the tarp, empty the picnic basket and shock-and-ow the neighbours with that portable karaoke box...

Caffeine Getaway

The Ipoh duck restaurant was great. Coffee Ritual was less so, mainly because to much time passed between my last visit and the day I finally wrote about it, so the ardour for the place had cooled down somewhat. Poor Alex was pulling more than her weight when editing this piece...

I've gone back there once or twice, but there are fewer reasons nowadays for quiet coffee rituals.

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An intimate Coffee Ritual

by KW and Alexandra Wong

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 13 February 2010


Alex practically shoved the address down my throat. "Here." She had discovered it while waiting for her notebook to be reformatted at Digital Mall. Not wanting the usual fast foods, she had looked around and spotted the corner shop at the end of the road.

She did a pretty good sales pitch, oohing and aahing over voluptuous latte, scrumptious sweet crepe, refined gourmet coffees at "proletariat prices." But she didn't have to mention the pricing.

She had me at "gourmet coffee."

My name is KW Wong, and I am a certified coffee-holic. Which was why I made a beeline for Coffee Ritual as soon as Saturday rolled around.

It didn't take long to spot the café, though finding a space for my car took considerably longer. There is a reason Section 14 is also known as Parking Hell.

On the outside, it looked pretty modest. At the shop-front, a standee tried its best to tease potential patrons with pictures of some of the delights to be found within.

As I entered through the nondescript front door, I noted a fleet of coffee paraphernalia lined the racks by the front door. A porcelain-bodied coffee machine was mounted on one side of the magazine cabinet, while coffee-themed paintings hang on the walls. After flipping through the menu, I decided to go with Alex's recommendation — café latte, and the sweet crepe, which purportedly featured premium Haagen-Dazs and Berkeley's ice-cream.

My latte arrived in a tall glass with a crown of creamy foam above a thick layer the colour of chocolate malt. I took a sip. The milk had been expertly steamed, its natural sweetness cushioning the palate from the coffee's more aggressive, bitter aspects. If I were a cat, I would purr with approval.

I took a bite of the sweet crepe. The still-warm parcel enfolded a stream of sweet custard, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and generous lashings of chocolate sauce. Crispy at the edges, the texture turned chewier as my teeth edged towards the swollen centre.

I quickly reported to base. "Verdict: coffee tastes like your tongue is in a bed of silken sheets, in a room that smells of the finest Arabica brew."

Her reply: "I gather you approve?" My coffee craving was temporarily sated, replaced by a new curiosity. I walked over to speak to a gangly bespectacled gentleman who was fiddling with a grinder — the boss I presumed — to find out more.

"Why Coffee Ritual?"I began with the obvious.

"Because the preparation of coffee to a ritual must be religiously followed for the perfect cup," he smiled. Turns out he sourced and roasted the beans himself, and tries different brewing methods on occasion. "Artisan" is not a word to be tossed around lightly, but I couldn't think of a more apt description for the owner.

Parking hell or no parking hell, I've become a regular, and developed a healthy partiality for the single origin gourmet coffees. For the uninitiated, these beverages are prepared with freshly ground beans using vacuum-powered siphon brewing, resulting in a liquid that has little to no residue.

What would interest coffee connoisseurs though, is this: the assertive Sumatra Mandheling's earthy, smoky notes are reminiscent of its source's rich, volcanic soil. The smooth, subtly aromatic and refined Colombian Special is hugely popular; after drinking one straight, even casual drinkers can feel the change in a cup of Colombian Special after adding one, and then two sugars. The bosses themselves drink single origin coffees neat and recommend that clients do the same. (Psst, rest easy, nobody will throw you out for coffee crimes.)

Sorry… I've gone on and on about the coffee, to the neglect of the packed menu that offers a decent selection of teas, as well as an extensive range of pastas, sandwiches, pies and salads as well as Asian favourites. Combine selected items to form a three-course value meal with starter, main dish and dessert. Hint: the nasi lemak is particularly popular. As for me, I am just glad that we found this unexpected oasis.

For a little peace and quiet from the madding crowd, few things beat the tranquil sanctity of a private coffee ritual.

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Coffee Ritual

35, Jalan 14/20, Section 14
46100 Petaling Jaya
Selangor

Now the site of Anjappar Indian Chettinad Restaurant

Premises have moved to Jin Yi Coffee Ritual at 68-M, Jalan SS21/39, Damansara Uptown, 47400 Petaling Jaya. Now sells only coffee-making equipment.

1Republic/1Nation

Whatever brickbats come One Republic's way, I can't deny that a number of their songs are the bomb. Lately though, there seem to be a One Republic song for any occasion, never mind if the lyrics might suggest something else.

Occasions such as our country's political turmoil, and the silencing of the masses, even those that are appealing for reason. And unless a blogger makes a career of sticking it to the government (you know who you are), it's unfair to hang him or her out to dry over several postings that "might disrupt public order".

While I'm prone to tut-tutting at the antics of our Generation Z, there's a small part of me (that will disappear when I turn 35) that still has something to say.

Hello world, hope you're listening
Forgive me if I’m young, for speaking out of turn

I don't criticise for fun, and I don't think many of us do that. If an injustice is the result of possibly questionable, less-than-transparent machinations of a corporation, political party or government, speaking out against it is perhaps the least damaging thing we can do. To criminalise responsible dissent for the sake of a few fragile egos is damn irresponsible, and the kinds of messages that sends flies in the face of all we have been taught all these years.

A generation struggling to know themselves and find their place in this world shouldn't be bogged down by these ethno-religious games these old-timers are playing. After all, how much currency does colour and creed really carry nowadays? Being more white or less black doesn't make one less of an idiot when one's stupidity is in full flower.

There’s someone I’ve been missing
I think that they could be, the better half of me...

So a high-ranking Malayan commie is still loose. So there was a race-related riot in that summer of '69. For me, it's water under the bridge. My concerns: racial and religious extremism; the economy; global pandemics; the climate; and an increasingly unstable, and perhaps violent world that's becoming less friendly, and less human.

We may be obliged to inherit certain things from our forefathers, but for myself, I would rather not inherit their emotional baggage. Not when it keeps me from living my life and fulfilling my dreams.

It speaks a lot of our civilisation when there are leaders who burnish their credentials by teaching its flock to fear and hate The Other, simply because of who they are. Worst of all, is how some of them are getting away with it - as if they have someone's tacit support.

It's no different back home, where our elders appear to be digging their heels with regards to politics, governance and administration, too obsessed with numbers to care about the rabid ideologues poisoning our straining socio-economic fabric.

What of the young, who have to inherit, grow up in, and cope with such a toxic environment? How will their dreams take root and grow?

...I get lost in the beauty of everything I see
The world ain’t as half as bad as they paint it to be

But I see some hope in the way Perak turned out. If the Opposition is serious about working with the ruling state government for the state's sake, and if the government reciprocates, perhaps old dogs can learn new tricks, as they might say. Who knows? A new brand of politics to replace the old might be born out of what many see as an unfair judgement, if it all turns out right...

...If all the sons, if all the daughters stopped to take it in
Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin...

I'm also encouraged by the show of support for Daphne Ling with regards to this case. Why should charity be kept within one's communal or religious circle? And what better way to break down barriers than to disregard them and just reach out to help a fellow human being?

It might start now... Well, maybe I’m just dreaming out loud...

It must be a relief for everyone that whole communities didn't go berserk when houses of worship were attacked. However, we've been treated with the sight of the extremist fringe's collective assholery - perfect examples of the kind of leadership we don't want. The kind of leadership I don't want.

Who wants your special privileges, your sacred spaces and your tax-payer-sponsored hand-outs? If this is what you've become after 30-plus years of that, I'm not sure I would want them, either. As if they would save you from flu pandemics, recessions and climate change.

So hear this now, Come home, come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you for so long, for so long

So stop this nonsense. This country is bigger than "us", than "The Other". It's bigger than Chin Peng, May 13, PKFZ, Anwar and Zulkifli Noordin. Definitely bigger than Dr M.

We don't need to join that squabble in the sand-box to "give a damn". There must be another way.

There's got to be.

...right now there's a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known... ever known...
So come home...
____________________

"Come Home" by One Republic
Dreaming Out Loud (2007)
Mosley Music Group, Interscope