Three days ago, I decided I shall not share my blogs with The Mrs again…. well, for the immediate future anyway. Not that it would bother her, she has never said my opinions matter anyway. She accused me of writing stuff “without checking” my facts. It was a bad day for me – earlier that morning, a son had similarly castigated me for sharing unreliable advice on how to test ourselves for the coronavirus. “It seems fake news is more contagious than COVID-19”, he basically made me admonish myself. “Then all the more reason to carefully choose reputable sources for information. Especially if you share it.” I tried to defend myself by justifying the article sounded logical for someone who isn’t medically trained. “Come on, ba!” was the reply. It’s not the “come on” you hear in a sports match where the player barracks himself to try harder. Like “Jia Yu”. No, his “come on” was of the cynical type. Like “don’t be an idiot”. “It might sound logical but your logic might not be sound.” Case closed. I lost. The Mrs was so proud of The Son. “He’s so smart and sensible,” she quipped. The realisation that people think I am at best sloppy with what I write or share, or at worst, that I am shonky with fake news is hard to swallow. This hurt my ego, especially coming from people closest to me. It rocked my world again. For much of my life, I did not look at myself in the mirror. The Mrs had said on a few occasions it was my huai-ren (bad person) looks that make people question my honesty. That rocked me. The honesty was expected but not the brutality. I was ill-prepared for that. “Your demeanour and facial features (it is true she may not have used the word bad) are best suited for roles as a bad-ass buffoon in kungfu movies.” Mind you, not as the villain opposite the hero but as one of those who briefly appear in the set before being summarily terminated – she made it clear that was what she meant. “You’d be one of those kicked in the arse and viewers won’t even notice”, she said acidly. For decades, I did not bother to check myself in the mirror. What was the point, right? It did not matter if I looked scruffy or unshaven. I did not even own a comb. It was not until I aped my sons and tried out the expensive hair salon in my neighbourhood that I began to look after my hair. That was about three years ago. “If they can afford an expensive haircut, why can’t I?” It was a question for myself and when the answer came screaming into my mind loud and clear, I made an appointment with Hiro, the Japanese hairdresser there who would later become my hero. He told me I’d look good with long hair. He undid his bun that day and told me to grow my hair long, like his. He told me to look into the mirror and to give it a few months before deciding if long hair did not suit me. He made me look at myself with my own eyes. That day, I thought The Mrs was wrong. My looks are not that bad. But, there are days when I think The Mrs is right – that I have that mean bad-ass look. The “thu-fei” or bandit. I began to like that look. There are surprising advantages when I wear that mean look. Old ladies vacate their seats for me, without me having to ask! The Son bought me a wooden hair brush soon after I had learned to tie a bun, and he said his colleagues thought I looked great for my age. Some days, I think I do not look that insignificant. Viewers would notice me if I got my ass kicked, I assured myself. How I look was never important to me. “Never judge a book by its cover” – but that turned out to be such bad advice. I had that inner confidence, that rock-solid belief in myself. Besides, there were many who believed in me – those who signed up to own a franchise in my business, for instance. But, I was wrong to ignore my looks. I was foolish to consider hair conditioners as unnecessary expenses. Hair conditioners were something I brought home from hotels. I never believed how I presented myself to people mattered. They ought to look for the substance within rather than the surface. It was true. How I dressed or looked did not matter to me but I should have realised it mattered to them! I may have my self-respect but I forgot I needed their respect too. I have my “inner confidence” but I ignored the fact that I needed their confidence in me too. I may be right to think that my looks are irrelevant to a successful business but I was foolish to forget they wanted to follow someone who looked successful. How I did not present myself to people mattered. In the end, the franchise collapsed. I blamed it on a world-wide financial crisis, but the truth may be closer to home. Maybe, my business format failed because people started disbelieving me. Maybe they lost confidence in me when they saw me next to someone with a gold Rolex watch, or someone who flew business class, or someone who drove a Merc or Porsche. I thought as a team member I should look as average as them and wore the same uniform. I carted stock in shopping trolleys to the shops as would any of their casual workers. I drove a twenty-year-old copper-green Pajero which had a badly crumpled rear bumper that never needed fixing. At times, I looked like a nobody, or worse, like an old trolley boy. If I were asked for my advice about the importance of looks today, my answer would be an emphatic affirmation that how a person presents themselves matters. Do not believe those who say “It’s what’s inside that counts!” Looks may be superficial but they are certainly beneficial to convey a nice impression – in job interviews, sometimes the first impression is what gets us into the next round. For someone in the performing arts, how they present themselves may determine what opportunities come their way. “Looks attract but we cannot hide our personality. It is our personality that shines through.” I persuaded myself. In the long run, looks do not matter, that is true. But for many of us, we won’t get to talk about the long term when we can’t even get past the first door. Unfortunately, the world today values instant gratifications, quick success, and influencers teach us to look great and sound fabulous. Many gain their confidence not from their own abilities but from how they look and what accent they apply. A professional appearance buys respect in the workplace. Proper grooming and immaculate dressing often deliver self-confidence. We like what we see and others begin to believe in that image we project. Maybe we ourselves start to believe in our new look – we boost our self-confidence and the feel-good factor in turn lifts our mood and makes us pleasant to be with. Maybe we become nicer and our positivity attracts others. Who can deny that an attractive appearance with a positive attitude is not an advantage?

Maybe that “everything is great” feeling was foreign to me. It caused me to be sloppy. Maybe I became too sure of myself and I let my guard down. It brought out another ugly vein from within me. I used to rely on my inner qualities. Diligence, accountability, responsibility, reliability, trustworthiness, productivity and organisational skills to name a few. Guarding my credibility was a priority. Pa taught me to say my word is my honour and a handshake is not a form of greeting – it is an inviolable agreement. But ever since I started looking at myself in the mirror, I started to believe our looks matter, a lot. Personal hygiene and personal grooming are two key factors to how well we present ourselves to people. Look good, feel good and life will be good. I changed my wardrobe. Out went brand names such as an old favourite Kitten Car Care leather jacket or the fake Lacoste polo shirt from Thailand. In with British India cotton shirts and BOSS cardigans and shirts. I started using Aesop shampoos and conditioners and L’Occitane body milk. But, did I not check my facts before I write? Surely not. I asked The Mrs. “Show me, where did I get it wrong?” Fact-checking is vital, for anyone who values their credibility. Even for a non-professional writer like me. I do not earn a single cent from the one hundred and fifty thousand words I have written. Why bother to fact-check when there is no fat cheque coming my way? Could it be that I want to be accurate just to satisfy my ego? Just so I feel good about myself? So that I look good in others’ eyes? This is what happens when we are pre-occupied with how we look and attach importance to what people think of us. No, I have decided to stop looking into the mirror – I have learned to be comfortable with my “inner confidence”, warts and all. That, I have fact-checked.

I often cop severe criticisms for thinking aloud. It takes guts to ponder and ask questions in one particular WhatsApp chat group I belong to. Belong. That’s such a reassuring word. It conjures in my mind a sense of being accepted, welcomed and it informs me I have earned some entitlement as a member of the group. But, that sense of entitlement is incorrect – try and exert a right to think out loud in that group and the axe will fall swiftly on those who dare. I am anointed the annoying one. The one who asks annoying questions, about anything (including religion, even though I know it isn’t wise to). The one who is most likely to crack old dad’s jokes – it makes me a rather disagreeable fellow. The one Red Devils’ supporter who openly criticises their supposedly talented millionaire players. My friends have therefore good reasons to pick on me. They think when I think out loud, I speak without using my brain. They conclude I’m the empty vessel, making noises without proper deliberations. On a few occasions, their comments have been scathing and hurtful. “Why don’t you think with your brain?” A voice from the North asked. I’m called many names, such as NATO, no action, talk only. A well-disguised word for a blowhard, a blusterer. Boisterous and pompous without any solution. One even calls me a eunuch, presumably insinuating I don’t have balls, that I am gutless. Maybe that’s a bit unfair. They don’t all dislike me. Ban for one isn’t like that. I’ve known Ban since Standard 1C. We were seven and growing up fast. Somehow with Ban, I had to grow up faster. He once told me his initials do not mean bullshit. By the time we were eleven, we had already formed the Dynamic Duo. He was Batman and I was his sidekick. In truth I was his psychic, I knew who he was going to fall in love with well before he realised it. How did I know? Easy. He loved all of them, such was this Romeo. During the day, I spent much of my time in his house when we were not out gallivanting on our bicycles. Correction, during meal time to be precise. I was there so often that they must have felt I was part of their dining room furniture. It was from then on that I learned to appreciate free meals. Meals given free of conditions – without obligations and without expectations that I had to pay back. Meals free of invitations. Somehow they just assumed I’d stay for lunch or I’d turn up for lunch. It was a habit formed – I’d just follow Ban home. I was not a relative, yet was very much part of his family. I loved his mum, she was “auntie”. She often rambled in her foreign dialect with no regard. She just knew I’d understand her. Her Heng Hua dialect may be somewhat similar to hokkien if we compare just the pronouns. Auntie’s accent was foreign and her words, indecipherable. Yet, I understood her well. “Shit shit” meant “eat, eat”. She taught me not to fear foreign languages. I have become so proficient in many dialects that I sometimes confuse people. In hokkien, “wa bei” means I bought it and “e bei” means he or she bought it. When asked where the algaecide for my pond came from, I told my sister her husband bought it but somehow she insisted I told her it was from eBay. But with auntie, there were never such frustrating misunderstandings. I always knew she meant sit down and “shit” when she placed food on the table for us. I can still visualise her rocking a little from side to side when she walked. I thought it was the excess weight she was carrying around her waist and legs that made her waddle. But having witnessed the same gait The Mrs had, I now realise auntie suffered from bad hips too. Ban’s dad was “Ah chek”, or uncle. Also from Putien, he managed to lose most of his Heng Hua accent. A very kind gentle man who rode his bicycle to work – a salesman of a spare parts business – he was never without a smile. He would always stop and say a few words to me. He gave me his time. The most precious thing we have. Somehow, I had the wrong impression he was very old. I suppose my little nieces would think I’m very old too. It would not surprise me if they think I leave a trail of dead skin wherever I go. They burst into tears when their eyes meet mine though, old and harmless I may be. I suspect it’s my Rasputin hairstyle that frightens them. But not Ah Chek. He was the opposite of scary. A Chinese Santa with a prominent gold tooth filling actually, such was his kind and generous demeanour. I am again reminded of the word. Belong. Ban’s folks made me feel that. I was part of their family. That is the most amazing gift we can give someone. To treat a person like they are family. To make them feel they belong.

Ban and I grew up together in the tropical paradise that was Penang. Both cubs, we became Boy Scout leaders. I was the one with the triple white stripes first. Ban got his after me. That’s my way of saying they sacked me and appointed him as Troop Leader instead. But I got the recognition and promotion before him. Annoying, but an undeniable fact. He was raging with testosterone well before me though. His sister’s Honda Life gave him a new lifestyle – I was his navigator – the front passenger seat was reserved for me. I never knew what it was like to be sardined with six others in the back seat. Some were bashful young teenage girls whose shyness and inhibitions were likely cured after one session in his car. I don’t think anyone could have remained reticent after an intimate car ride in Ban’s car. He had an acute predilection for the windy roads from town to Tanjung Bungah, swerving abruptly as he manoeuvred the bends like a Formula One driver. I was too embarrassed to look at how the backseat passengers would have clung to one another during the exaggerated swerves. It wouldn’t be too difficult to imagine the chaps accidentally pressing their bodies onto the girls. No one ever protested about the rough rides. Except me. Ban became SuperBan after that one incident. He had to have skills like Superman’s, I remember noting in my mind. He denied he was suicidal the way he hurtled side to side, hugging his Mini along the windy road to the beach town. His girlfriend had a tiff with him and he took to drinking that day. I went to lend him my ears like a best friend would but I think I left some of my guts somewhere along that stretch of road, so scared I was of dying in a car crash that afternoon. But SuperBan’s driving skills shone like only a superhero’s can. We survived unscathed but not unscarred. He was scarred by his first lover’s jilt and hopefully by the guilt I poured on him. “You could have killed us!” I screamed at him after that episode. “But we didn’t!” He protested. “You should trust me!” He added. “I do but I don’t know the other drivers. How good are their driving skills?!” I thought out loudly. Back then, I was allowed to think aloud. 

Murray has taught me how to be a better human being. I have learnt so much from him since he came to stay with me three weeks ago. My son is away in Hokkaido on a skiing holiday. So, I grabbed this opportunity to bond with Murray – not that I had the choice to decline the offer. My son simply left him with me as he whisked himself into the cab. We have become inseparable pals, so special has been the affinity we have for each other. I have even set my alarm clock 30 minutes early so that we have more time together. Without exception, when I wake up every morning, I would rush downstairs as soon as I complete my daily routine in the toilet. We are pretty much each other’s shadow. He not only accompanies me to work, he spends his whole day in my office! After work, on our way home, we would stop by the reserve opposite my house. There we would have a stroll together and I would tell him how my day was. Sometimes there are good news, but more often, it is the stress from work that I impart on him. I would pour out to him all my frustrations with unreasonable customers. Murray is such a great listener. I have re-learned the art of listening from him – he does not ever interrupt me when I speak, and he is not the argumentative type. He is totally not judgemental. Unlike many around me, he simply goes with the flow and accepts my point of view. Sure, undoubtedly he will see things from his own perspective but the respect he has for me is abundantly clear. He allows me to vent out my stress without once standing on my customer’s side.

What a champ – that is real friendship. Unconditional. I suppose he knows how ridiculous my customers can be. Before my business went online, we were a brick and mortar business which followed the trend in the 1990s and expanded via a franchise system. At our peak, we had 17 stores, all based in shopping centres. The advent of online retailing into the mainstream of Australian households from 2007 saw a paradigm shift in the behaviour of consumers. The Global Financial Crisis struck in 2008 and it became apparent soon after that the concept of having retail stores in shopping centres was no longer viable. Thankfully we started our venture into online retailing in 2006 selling on eBay. Our online sales were growing steadily and this allowed us to close unprofitable stores and consolidate. Our website was turned into an e-commerce store in 2011 and today we are a pure-play online retailer. It was an arduous 20 years in retail, serving customers of whom many were merely tyre kickers, there to enjoy the air-conditioning on heat wave days or heating on cold wintry nights. I was polite and subservient from behind shop counters, often biting my tongue to secure a sale. It was the time spent in retail that made me see the ugliness of human beings. Earthlings definitely became urghhlings through terrible retail experiences. Their lies, the manipulation, the petty thefts, the physical threats – that was just from customers. Shopping centre landlords were equally bad if not worse – the lawsuits, the forced expenditures on expensive shop fit-outs, their backdoor deals with trade unions, their greed, their crippling rents. The following decade has seen me serving customers from behind computer screens instead. They are still urghhlings, uglier actually; people are ruder, as dishonest and extremely impersonal behind their computer screens. Urghhlings can be really vicious with their unfair and unfettered online reviews. They behave like they enjoy the opportunity to bring down a business with exaggerated half-truths or distortions and lies from their keystrokes. Their chance to exert authority on social media much like how a parking inspector relishes his job when he issues you a fine. He knows he is both judge and executioner and there is nothing you can do about it. They behave more foolishly too behind their screen. I normally avoid describing someone as foolish, but in my daily dealings with the public, I see too much dishonesty and unreasonable behaviour when people hide behind a screen. Being faceless and nondescript, they become emboldened as they heap abuse at us. They can be as odoriferous as a basket of rotting fish, really. They would buy seat covers for their quad bikes and expect the bike with it. They would enquire about the sidesteps of their car and ask how many kms it has done. When their parcel goes missing, they would expect compensation even though they opted out of insurance for loss in transit. In the reserve, I would share with Murray all that and more. He listens, always intently. He does not insinuate some of the problems could have been my own doing. He unwinds my tensed up nerves. He heals me and then we go home. I should have met Murray a long time ago. There is so much more I have learned from him. For instance, the way he greets me in the morning is unquestionably the best way anyone should greet a friend or spouse. He exhibits unrestrained pleasure when he sees me walking down the stairs. Yes, the guest room downstairs is now his domain. It would not matter if I greeted him with ruffled hair and teeth unbrushed. It would not matter if I had just expelled some overnight flatulence and the ensuing trail had followed me downstairs. It would not matter if the night had been humid and my body stank of garlic and turmeric. Murray would greet me good morning the same – exuberantly. He literally jumps with joy. He is so endearing; this is his way of welcoming a friend, every morning. Why not? Better that than the way The Mrs greets me. She is usually startled by my sudden appearance as I walk into the kitchen from the garage. “Aiyuh! Why don’t you make a sound before you enter the house?” With eyebrows furrowed and a voice as tangy as a half-ripe grapefruit, that is how she welcomes me home after a long day in the office. Whereas Murray makes me feel valued like a deity and cherished like fresh air when he greets me. I have learned this and I too, am beginning to greet people enthusiastically. Hopefully, The Mrs will feel I am finally treating her like my God.

Rain or shine, Murray and I would go for a morning run. Well, it has not rained in the past three weeks, so we have not missed our daily morning exercise yet. What I have missed is UEFA Champions League football. I would have been lazing on my couch the past two mornings, watching Europe’s best footballers play if not for Murray’s strict discipline. He must have his morning run. I hate jogging, so I walk instead and throw balls at Murray like an Aussie fast bowler to strengthen my arm. Before Murray’s regimented discipline, I could manage only 3 dips at a time. Yesterday, I could do 20. My son encouraged me to do dips, as they strengthen my upper body. A couple of blokes almost half my age at work cannot even do one. So, I am mighty proud of myself; it does not matter if I have maybe counted wrongly. Murray’s affinity with me has reached a new level. Sometimes, words are no longer necessary, such is the intuitive rapport and understanding we have with each other. A gentle nudge or a tap on my hand will tell me he is enjoying his meal with me. Without asking, I will quickly top up his dish with his favourite serving of Atlantic Salmon or minced pork balls. My son reminded me Murray is on a no-salt diet but I found out he is actually quite partial to the occasional “tao yu bak” or braised belly pork in dark soy sauce. Unlike some of my friends, he does not need a reminder to eat his greens. He loves fruits too although he is prone to reject those bruised by ants or gnawed by garden mice or possums. He is a guest – I cannot tell him he is being fussy. We do not throw away home-grown organic fruits.

Murray finds my life boring. He is naturally fun-loving and mischievous. When I cannot be disturbed at work, he would rather nap than find a hobby to keep himself occupied. He does keep the staff on their toes though – he would show his discontent with them whenever they come into my office and bother me with inconsequential matters. A bit embarrassing really, I wonder if he makes them feel “chased out” of my office. But, he is right. They should be able to “problem-solve” without me by now. Quite often during the day, he would drop subtle hints that we should go for a walk around the block. The office workers in the neighbourhood find him extremely attractive. And adorable, I think. One lady even called him a spunk and asked for his name. I was surprised the gorgeous young blonde did not ask for his number, the way she was eyeing his taut torso and touching his back. I have learned so much from Murray. When a super attractive lady asks for my name next time, I shall remind myself to act like Murray – puff my chest out, stop slouching, stand strong and straight, and be very attentive with genuine confidence. But, I will need to pretend I have his beautiful round eyes and wear a sweet smile.

After dinner time, the next best time of the day is of course TV time. Murray gets excited during action movies – the sound effects easily manipulate his mood. He is not one for movies that have lengthy dialogues. He would rate movies with implausible twists and turns harshly – not that I would watch such movies myself. I suspect he is an animal lover; movies with dogs and horses make him jumpy – he would be on the edge of his seat right through such movies. He is courteous and understanding. He knows not to bother me when I need my “me time” to write. So, he uses his “me time” quietly by lazing on the leather sofa. It is almost 9 pm – I should stop writing and take him out for a pee. Yes, Murray is my son’s dog. He learned the word “heel” when he was a pup. “Heel, Murray!” That means he is to walk directly next to us and at our pace. He knows not to drag the leash by walking slower or faster. Thank you, Murray. I have learned to heel as well. When we heel, we show respect and obedience. We start to listen rather than argue. We begin to offer genuine affection for those we care for. We demonstrate reconciliation which is usually accompanied by an apology. When we heel, we surely heal any conflict in our relationships. When we heel, we actually heal ourselves. Let me remind myself. To heel is to heal.