007 Vs 107

Earlier this morning, a friend said I still look groovy. What’s the hip word these days that has replaced the 60’s word for cool and hip? He came back with “suave”! Haha, suave is a word that brings James Bond, 007, into my mind. I’m far from that, first of all, I don’t even own a tuxedo. I told him 007 would never trip himself on the carpet whilst walking in a casino, that would be the opposite of suave. Besides, I have not visited a casino for yonks. Whereas Bond is a frequent roulette player. In my dreams, I see myself as a super duper hero, flying faster than Superman, more lethal than Wolverine, with more bulk than Hulk, even towering over Thor. But, I’ve never dreamt of myself as 007.

I’m 107, a friend said at lunch today. He is an old buddy, a classmate in primary school. Enthusiastically, he announced he is 107. 107, 72, he proudly repeated. Ah, he meant his blood pressure. For some of us in our sixties, our bp and ldl levels are topics for thorough, in-depth discussion. In the sixties, we were virile hot-blooded teenagers. In our sixties, it’s no longer how hot our blood is but how high our blood pressure is.

The last time I met most of these friends, we were sixteen year old youths, chasing away errant monkeys or dating beautiful Thai girls at our regular haunt, the Youth Park. Now, Youth Park is for the aged, a place my old mates now frequent to practise their Tai Chi, no sight of any young girls. Sometimes, these friends are shooed off by errant monkeys, we realise now who the alpha males are. It’s no longer the monkeys who are scared. No 007’s amongst us, I am sorry to add. You’d see James Bond bond with beautiful women, you’d see him jump over walls and chase after bad guys. I asked my friend how the wound on his right elbow came about. Did he ruffle with some bad guys or scuffle with some gangster? Nah, his wife, next to him, said he merely tripped himself whilst jogging around the block. The only chasing he does these days isn’t after baddies or beauties. That, we leave to 007. Our 107 only chases after aeroplanes because he’s often “delayed”, never once did he admit he was late for his flights because of his poor time-keeping. Once he was late because of diarrhoea, and then he became even later because he forgot his phone. Have you ever heard of 007 suffering in a bathroom with stomach pain? Maybe he did, but I think he was fighting someone in a bathroom and got hit in the stomach, in Casino Royale. Well, our 107 can lay valid claims to having stomach pains too in a bathroom.

We all know 007 drinks his martini shaken, never stirred. 107 however, is a non alcoholic drinker, after all, he’s unstable on his feet even without a drop of alcohol. His favourite drink is coconut water, a liquid so similar to our blood plasma that it can be used as an intravenous drip. During WW2, British and Japanese soldiers were given coconut water intravenously as saline solution was scarce.

Oh, there’s also one difference between 007 and 107. I’ve never seen the former’s Aston Martin still with original plastic intact, protecting his expensive car doors from blood spillages.

Urghhling, he warned me not to mention that. I guess I’ll have to catch the free bus next time.

p.s. the only imagined similarity I can think of between 107 and 007 is their love for “tannau” salted fish, and so, they may have met each other in the shop.

Agent 107 loves his ‘tannau’ salted fish

IF Stalls By The Food Stalls

Penang, my birthplace, is still a street food paradise. Once upon a time, its beautiful pristine beaches and unrivalled leisurely tropical lifestyle made it the Pearl of the Orient. Today, there are many cities that vie for that title. Shanghai with its old French Quarters, Hong Kong, Manila, Saigon, Goa, Colombo in Sri Lanka all have reasons to claim to be The Pearl in Asia. Why the pearl? What makes a pearl beautiful, valuable and sought after? Is it the rarity of a natural pearl? Pearl divers purportedly are saying they are almost extinct. Its value is dependent upon the size, shape, colour, surface quality and nacre quality. Even before the Middle Ages, pearls were cherished for their beauty and rarity. Eventually, pearls symbolised power, most European royalty and aristocracy were often painted wearing pearls. Even Christianity used pearls as an attribute for chastity and purity. In the 17th century, the Dutch master Vermeer loved painting his subjects with pearls to depict wealth and power. Arguably the most famous pearl isn’t Penang, but the pearl worn by the girl in The Girl with the Pearl Earring.

But, what’s indisputable about Penang is it is still the street food paradise of the world. I arrived in Penang with a cocky confidence of a very disciplined Intermittent Fasting practitioner. During a recent three week holiday in Europe, I travelled from London via Amsterdam and Copenhagen to St Petersburg. Much of that holiday was enjoyed in the Viking Jupiter, a luxury cruise ship that presented the most delectable meals from breakfast to late suppers. Yet, this IF guy was resolute right through, never did I waiver or submit to the temptations from the ship’s kitchens. The strict regime of IF was so important to me that nothing and no one could weaken my discipline. I observe IF strictly for health reasons. After 18 months, I no longer have a weight problem and neither do I have a waistline to worry about. To the constant chagrin of my fellow travellers, their teasing and harmless mocking could not tease me out of my cabin to join them for breakfast.

When I arrived in Penang three nights ago, I was absolutely confident I would continue with my IF routine. Fasting for 16 hours leaving a window of 8 hours to eat, isn’t punishing when it is so beneficial for my health. It’s a lifestyle that I’m now totally accustomed to and in fact, enjoy. Importantly, I feel good and I look spritely for my age. Many of my friends and even friends’ friends have declared that they too are giving IF a try. This alone has made me feel good, that I have imparted something good to others. Prior to IF, I did not think there was anything I know in health matters that I could promulgate and share, let alone influence.

But I got to admit my self belief in my rock-solid absolutely unshakeable willpower was irrational. It took a mere 24 hours to shatter the mirror in my mind. We often look at the mirror and don’t see a true reflection of ourselves. Either we are too critical and we blame the devil for it or we are too lenient and we see the angel that we are not. I have lost my swagger. I have lost that absolute belief in myself. Penang broke me. It broke my will well before it was time to break my fast. There are simply too many amazing food stalls here that dish out the most delicious temptations that somehow my steely resolve cannot fight. Last night, a mere morsel of Penang Hokkien Mee was enough to render me a mere mortal. IF stalls whilst the food stalls of Penang are near me.

A Coconut For A Coconut?

It was a relief to step into the condominium a friend has kindly let me use during my short holiday in Penang.

The sweltering heat of the mid afternoon sun had sapped much of my energy, turning my freshly ironed shirt into a sweat sponge. After a cool long drench under the rainforest shower, I was eager to act out the visual image I had whilst being soothed under the gentle waterfall. In the movies, it would be quite the expected scene in a tropical paradise to have Keanu Reeves in a dapper black suit similar to the one he wore in The Matrix, sipping chilled coconut juice straight out of a freshly cut green coconut. By his side is of course a Hollywood blonde siren in a revealing white cotton dress. The superstars are being served by a coloured person in a white jacket. If we could read the coloured person’s mind, he would most likely be thinking, oh why can’t I be Keanu Reeves; why can’t the gorgeous blonde lying by his side be mine instead? A brown man thinking or wishing he’s white inside, would be called a coconut, since the coconut husk is brown on the outside and its flesh inside is white.

My reality on a hot humid afternoon in Penang is not quite like that. After my long cool shower, I smelt clean and would have been maybe even alluring, had I bought the Calvin Klein cologne to match my Calvin Klein underwear. The young green coconut I bought from Gama had a pre-cut top. Just press it down and slip in the plastic straw that came with it, right? In the movies, Keanu Reeves wouldn’t be seen with a plastic straw, it would be senseless for him to risk upsetting his bevy of women fans, many of whom would surely frown at anything plastic except their boobs, maybe. But, I struggled with my coconut. Gently pressing the pre-cut top would still displace the juice onto the kitchen bench. I can’t risk dirtying my friend’s sparkling kitchen. There’s no chance of finding a chisel or a hammer in the condo. All I had was a butter knife. Has anyone tried cutting away the top of a fresh coconut with a butter knife? Ten minutes of chiselling away at the coconut, the only fluids that poured was my sweat, not the coconut juice. By this time, my CK underpants were soaking wet, so I dropped them onto my ankles and stepped away from them. My just-shampooed long hair, the only thing I have that’s similar to Keanu Reeves’, his hairstyle in John Wick, had begun to feel like a wet mop. Glancing at the mirror next to the lounge, I realised in my stark nakedness, I resembled a tropical monkey, except the monkey wouldn’t have struggled and sweated as much to get to the coconut flesh.

Nah, I’m no monkey, but was I the coconut trying to get at my coconut? The good news is I managed to use the butter knife as a fulcrum and slipped the straw in. Thank goodness it’s a plastic straw, it would have been impossible to squeeze a metal straw flat enough to push it in.

I must make a confession here since I wouldn’t be confessing to my generous friend who owns this condominium. I’ve thrown away his butter knife, it’s horribly bent. I am sure he won’t know it’s missing. Urghhling.

Muelsing Isn’t Amusing

The wool of a sheep around its bum has the tendency to retain faecal matter and urine thereby attracting flies. To prevent parasites from infecting their flock, Australian farmers practise muelsing, the controversial removal of wool-bearing skin of the sheep around its buttock. I’ve been mulling why nature doesn’t protect the sheep naturally from flystrike. Why does it require the intervention of urghhlings to exact such agony on the sheep in order to protect them? It’s deplorable that we take advantage of animals, make them work, and yet torture them instead of appreciating their sacrifices in serving our needs.

Mulling over Mueller’s report on Trump would also be a rather alarming task. Forensic psychiatrists at Yale University, some of whom represent the World Mental Health Coalition, assessed Trump’s mental capacity from the 448 page report and concluded that President Trump failed every criterion for rational and reality-based decision making capacity. Their strong recommendation is to remove Trump from war making powers especially his easy access to nuclear weapons. His recent mental instability, recklessness and impulsive decision to attack Iranian assets almost sent America to the brink of war with Iran. That was immensely frightening to the world and should serve as an urgent wake up alarm for everyone.

Perhaps the solution is muelsing, not of animals but of the madman in the White House. Now, that’s not an amusing thought. Or, is it? Urghhlings, please avoid history from repeating, do not allow one madman the access and authority to destroy global peace and jeopardise the lives of millions of people.

Ysabechhum Not Ydbachhum

In Arabic, Ysabechhum means Good Morning, whereas Ydbachhum means Kill Them! A Palestinian labourer didn’t spell it wrongly when he posted a selfie next to his tractor, on Facebook wishing his friends a Good Morning. In his case, Artificial Intelligence got it wrong and sent the Israeli forces to arrest the poor bloke. A good reminder to all school children out there, pay attention during your spelling lessons! It may just save your life one day.

My sons were again asking me why I didn’t properly anglicise their names, especially knowing they would be growing up in Australia. I reminded them our surname was actually given to us by our old colonial masters, the British who ruled Malaya and Singapore from 1873 to 1963. It was some nincompoop Brit who failed to spell our family name correctly. And now we are stuck with it unless someone is resolute enough to change it. A name spelt without a vowel is simply too difficult for the western tongue to say let alone announce on stage. And so, my sons who are musicians have always had to put up with their names being badly enunciated on the radio or on stage ever since they were six years old. Why didn’t I give them names that are easy to spell and easy to remember e.g. Lang Lang and Yo-Yo. They aren’t being reasonable, how was I to expect they would have a career in the performing arts? If I did, I would have renamed them Elvis or Sinatra.

In the not too distant future, parents will have an easy job of naming their children. Big Data algorithms will discover through our biometric data what makes us excited and happy, and with 5G and super computer power, external computer systems can hack into our digital world and know what our desires, interests and preferences are. AI will know us better than we know ourselves. AI will definitely know our children better than we know them, having access to their Google or Baidu searches, Facebook, Twitter, Wechat, Whatsapp and Instagram accounts. AI would tell the parents, at a price, what careers will be ideal for their children. And if AI calculated that a child has the right aptitude and attitude to be a concert pianist or cellist, it could supply a short list of new catchy and more importantly, appropriate names for the parents to rename their children. Maybe Lang Lang the Second? Or Yo-Yo Two? Urghh, that would take the angst out of parenthood, wouldn’t it? It would be AI’s fault if their name was spelt wrongly.

Diagnosis Of Gnosis

The memory of last night’s reunion with friends and relatives, one of whom I hadn’t seen for 43 years, still occupies my mind. We met at the Tang Restaurant, the name should have been a reminder to me to hold my tongue and avoid the discussion of sensitive topics such as religion and medicine. Knowledge that I do not possess, experiences in these fields, I absolutely lack. But, my dear friend was perhaps overcome by his emotions to finally reconnect with me. He was less restrained than me, eagerly wanting to share the gnosis of his religion with me. During his “sermon”, I noticed my chopsticks were busily picking on the delicious morsels of divine Tang cuisine whilst my friend was enthusiastically imparting his religious knowledge and experience of the divine, forgetting to use his chopsticks as the food disappeared from the lazy susan. Eat, eat, my dear friend, I attempted to drag him back to the real world from his Gnostic world.

Gnosis, an old Greek word for knowledge of Hellenistic religions and philosophy was later used by early Christians to mean personal knowledge of the divine.

My friend carried on almost breathlessly about how religions required the slaughter of animals as sacrifice to atone for one’s sins. It wasn’t until God sent his only son down to earth to die for our sins that animal sacrifice was no longer permitted. I bit my tongue on this one, and was proud not to point out that Hebrews 10:11-2 contradicted God’s intention. The ancients still permitted animal sacrifices except they were no longer any offerings for sin. Instead I blurted out that I was dismayed to learn that God saw the need to sacrifice his only son to atone for our sins. If it’s wrong to sacrifice the lives of animals, how can it be right to sacrifice the life of a human being, especially his only son? I was relieved my friend didn’t hear my remarks. Well, if he did, he didn’t show me any annoyance. He was already on to the next subject, why the Bible dictates that women cannot be pastors. In 1 Timothy 2:12-14, Paul did not permit a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man, she should remain silent. For God made Adam first, then Eve. Therefore, the woman must be subordinate to the man. “God designed men to lead”. The second reason Paul offered was that Adam was not deceived, Eve was and she became the “transgressor” (1 Timothy 2:14) Again, I was proud to bite my tongue and refrained from arguing that if man was designed to lead, why did Adam fail to control Eve from committing the first sin. After all, it was only an apple, not irresistible like the delicious slivers of steamed cod we were picking with our chopsticks.

Cardiognosis means knowledge of the heart, in Eastern Christianity and Roman Catholic theology, it is a view that only God knows the condition of one’s relationship with God. As we were being served the sinful dessert, our discussion was being hijacked by the more raucous friends at our table. They were clamouring over one another debating about cardiac arrests, strokes and statins. My ears pricked upon hearing the talk about bad LDL cholesterol. The bloke next to me was especially knowledgeable, he sounded like he would have been a great physician if he hadn’t chosen Industrial Engineering in university. He had been quiet all night until the discussion turned to the right or wrong of taking statins. Suddenly he’s on fire, blaring loudly about the dire consequences of not knowing our cholesterol levels. Hey mate, I interrupted him. Why do we conclude that cholesterol is bad simply because 70% of cardiac fatalities show a high presence of LDLs? If we say that in 70% of arson cases, we see the presence of firemen and fire engines, would we similarly conclude that firemen and their trucks are the cause of those fires? 60% of our brain is made of cholesterol. 90% of cellular cholesterol is found in our endothelial membrane. Our body makes cholesterol because it needs cholesterol. The fact that our body doesn’t waste cholesterol tells us it is a precious resource. Every LDL cholesterol sent to repair any inflammation in our body is returned to the liver by HDL cholesterol. Why do we therefore disrupt the efficient dispatch of cholesterol by our body? Why do we think we need to reduce our LDL with statins? Because studies supporting the use of statins from decades ago concluded that high levels of LDLs detected in cardiac patients point to cholesterol as the culprit? My mates laughed at my logic, they found my analogy ridiculous. Let me repeat: blaming LDLs simply because they are heavily present in cardiac patients is akin to blaming firemen at the scene of arson attacks as those causing those fires.

What wasn’t disputed is the need to change our lifestyle to reduce inflammation. Exercise, adopting a healthy diet, practising Intermittent Fasting to encourage autophagy and promote cell regeneration. What’s debatable is the sensibleness of taking statins let alone questioning their effectiveness. What’s also indisputable about statins is the many side effects. Muscle and joints pain, rash, muscle loss, Type 2 diabetes, liver poisoning, memory loss, leading to Alzheimer’s and dementia.

Urghhling, I heard them call me, as we bid one another good night and promised we will not wait for another 43 years till we meet again.

No Sis, It’s Osmosis

Osmosis, that’s the word I couldn’t recall. I’m in Kuala Lumpur! It feels like home even though I’m still a fair distance from Penang, my birthplace. To welcome us, my sister-in-law made us a bunch of rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves. She knows our penchant for bachang ( in Hokkien) or Zongzi, in Mandarin. She has raved for years about how delicious her Zongzi is, her adoring and very biased husband praising them as the most delicious and incomparable Zongzi ever.

Finally, I got to sink my crooked teeth, (recently described by my dentist as in immaculate condition) into one of her famed dumplings. OMG, she wasn’t blowing her trumpet at all and he didn’t “blow cow” 吹牛 either. Hers is the best! And then, the inevitable happened. I needed to find out how to make these delectable heavenly dumplings, to prise from her the well guarded recipe. Using a disarming body language and a disinterested voice, espionage skills learned from the spy novelist, John Le Carre, I managed to tease out the truth, even before my cup of tea turned lukewarm. I had the same recipe except for one thing. I didn’t remember my High School Physics. The secret is all about osmosis. You need to add salt to the water before you boil the Zongzi, otherwise the salty flavours inside will flow out of the dumplings. Simple Physics, no in-depth analysis necessary of why her Zongzi is rated so highly.

Her secret recipe ( not fully disclosed ):

Ingredients

Bamboo leaves for wrapping Zongzi
String for tying Zongzi
Pork meat with some fat ( cut into bite size)
Chinese five spice powder
Chinese mushrooms
Sun-dried prawns
Chinese sausage, 1/2 bite size
Duck egg yolk
Garlic and Shallots
Pinch of salt

Pot of boiling water: Add salt and pandan leaf

Precogs And God’s Dogs

In my early teens, I was bashful and contemplative in public but brash and argumentative when alone, talking to God. Growing up in a strict and disciplined Christian Brothers’ school environment, it was natural that there were conversations about God. And there were many conversations with God, although He contributed zero input to any topic and remained silent to any of my questions. Maybe He did but I mistook them as my ideas? Nah, there were too many discussions and arguments that couldn’t be reconciled, He simply didn’t say a word. Whenever I opened my heart to him and shared with him my innermost thoughts and deliberations, he never showed up. Too busy, I suppose. Who was this inconsequential, scrawny bespectacled boy anyway? Why would the Almighty be distracted from incomparably important quests and conquests to tend to an insignificant boy who may or may not believe in him?

In the early 1970’s, I read about people in Hong Kong eating the brains of live monkeys. Their cruelty and callousness was too much for me to swallow. At the time, I had gone off meat, after my pet chook was turned into a main dish for a Chinese New Year party. A personal choice, being a pescetarian. Those who choose to be omnivorous have an absolute right to eat animals, as long as the killing was as humane and stress-free for the animal as possible. To partake in a meal in which the dish is still alive and screaming isn’t right nor can it be a right no matter what the argument is. At the height of my consternation and distress, I asked God why He allowed such awful cruelty to happen. He gave us free will? How far does He allow free will to be exercised? Absolute and limitless? Even humans have the wisdom to allow freedom but with some constraints attached. We value free speech but detest hate speech. We are free to exercise our right to free speech so long as we do not engage in speech that will provoke others to inflict harm on people due to their race, colour or creed. Why would God allow total free will without any safety clauses?

The all-knowing Almighty God would know that a crime was about to be committed before it was actioned. He would know the monkeys were about to be scalped and realise without a sliver of doubt that their brains were about to be exposed well before the cook even took out his saw and kitchen knives. And if God happened to be too preoccupied with some major disaster at the time, he could have dispatched his guard dogs to stop those who were about to commit the hideous act. Those were my ideas at the time, and I vigorously debated them with God. The cook had free will to open up the skulls of live monkeys. The diners had free will to eat the monkeys’ brains. But, there wasn’t any need for God to allow the suffering of the monkeys to occur. As soon as it was established beyond any reasonable doubt that the crime would soon be committed, God’s dogs could have been dispatched to capture the culprits.

The movie “The Minority Report” came out in 2002. The theme of the movie cast my mind back to the “eat monkey-brain” episode of my life during which God’s dogs would police the world and stop crimes against animals before they happened, stamping the undeniable existence of God. In the movie, three Precogs could look into the future and foresee any crime well before it is committed. Would-be criminals would be arrested before any harm is inflicted on the public. It was a world free of crime therefore, stamping the undeniable existence of a powerful authority.

I was so pleased with myself for coming up with such a fresh idea years before Steven Spielberg made the movie. Today, I wanted to find out who wrote the story, but was crestfallen to discover the story was written by Philip K Dick in 1956!

Motive, Give To Receive

All the major religions have the same theme. We reap what we sow. This message has been drummed into us. The motive to give is so we can receive in return, hopefully with interest.

The concept of Karma is well understood, originating from Buddhist teachings. Our intentional actions chain us to Samsara, a cycle of never ending rebirths and therefore suffering. Good moral intentions lead to good rebirths. We have to do good to receive good. To free ourselves of Samsara, the Buddhist eightfold path shows us a way out of this otherwise eternal damnation.

In The Upanishad Vol 2, Hinduism teaches us this: And as is desire so is his will. And as is his will, so is his deed. Whatever deed he does, that he will reap.

In Judaism, Job 4:8 They that plow iniquity and sow wickedness, reap the same.

In the Bible, Galatians 6:7 For whatever a man sows, he shall reap. The one who sows to please God, from God will reap eternal life. If you give, you shall receive back even more.

In the Qu’ran, Yusuf Ali Surah 2: they shall reap the fruit of what they did.

Why did all the deities and prophets in the history of mankind reach the same conclusion, that urghhlings require a reward before they will intentionally act for the good of others? That we must be be promised a negotiated settlement first or reap a personal benefit before we heap good actions on another? We reap what we sow. But, is that a universal teaching? Or could it be that this is the ugly nature of the urghhling, well recognised and accepted by all deities and their wisemen? I suppose the question I ask is this; is it God’s law or is it God accepting it is Nature’s law that we need to be incentivised to do good? The Law of the Jungle dictates that only the fittest survive and thrive. Is it true that this vital genetic code is embedded in us, the selfish gene is the unfortunate burden we must carry? For without it, we shall “perish”? Maybe the enlightened Buddha figured it out 2,600 years ago, to escape Samsara is to perish? After all, isn’t that Nirvana? Life is suffering. To reach nirvana in order to end suffering, we need to end the selfish gene. It is the selfish gene that creates the desires in our minds which causes suffering. The bases of desires are greed – excessive desires, delusions and aversions. Contentment and complacency are not compatible with the Theory of Evolution. It is desires and our drive to satisfy our desires that promote our survival and reproduction. It is also the same insatiable appetite for more desires that cause us pain and suffering. That is the problem with lust or greed. They are not evolved to deliver us happiness, contentment and peace. They do not ennoble us and make us wiser. We have to adopt the right mindset and intentions to free ourselves of desires. Live out the right intentions with the right effort, right speech and right mental focus – mindfulness and concentration. That is The Eightfold Path. So, can we urghhlings give, without any selfish motive? Expunge the selfish gene.

Contentment, That’s Contentious

The intent is to be content. Attitude of gratitude, as an old schoolmate reminded me today. He is richest when content with the least, Socrates apparently said. Contentment is a product of our attitude towards our circumstances. And when we are mindful of what we have rather than what we don’t have, that delivers thankfulness to how we feel about our circumstances. When I look out of my dusty, water stained windows, do I see the need to clean them or do I see the unkempt garden? The roses need pruning, the mandarin tree is hungry for its winter dosage of citrus fertiliser, the snow pea seedlings need to be spread out? Thankfully I remind myself I have a garden. I suddenly hear the happy songs the birds sing, I can even imagine the busy white butterflies that visit here in Spring. Winter isn’t so cold anymore, the dark clouds no longer hide the sun from me. It is how we think that brings us happiness. For me, it’s also about thinking that everyday is a Friday. TGIF, as we exclaim every Friday! For many, Fridays is a ledger of life. They worked hard all week, Friday is a pay day, not necessarily in monetary terms but a reward nevertheless. They have a weekend ahead to celebrate life, seek fun, joy of sex, whatever. Since a year ago, I began to think of everyday as a Friday. Was it Lao Tzu who said ” Health is the biggest treasure, contentment the greatest wealth and faithfulness the best friend”? Or maybe it was Buddha. A quote that rings long and loud for me is the one attributed to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn ( had to google for spelling), he said “we are happy as long as we choose to be happy”. Happiness is a state of mind. In my pursuit of happiness, it’s when I pause that I find contentment.

But, contentment is contentious. Ten weeks ago, before I started blogging, I consciously and mindfully told myself not to harbour any expectations. It wouldn’t matter if no one reads my blogs. It will not disturb me, nor should it, if my words fall on deaf ears and my ill-developed and sometimes impulsive opinions do not distract or disturb. For me, blogging is a selfish act. The audacity of putting down in writing my thoughts and ideas is less frightening with the resignation that they will be too uninteresting to garner much attention from readers. I would be foolish to be hopeful for any reaction, even ones laced with acidity. Blogging inculcates a discipline of deliberate focus on the topic, and forces the unending quest to search for better vocabulary. A very good medicine to help ward off Alzheimer’s. Prior to blogging, newly discovered words were forgotten within minutes. The minutest distraction was a subtraction to my words library. I am already reaping many benefits from this simple hobby.

Contented with a low readership, I carried on writing, with Thoreau’s butterfly on my shoulder. But, one day Liu Xin caught my attention and my blog about her debate with Trish Regan earned “stratospheric” hits. Subsequently, Sophie’s Choice broke the record, being the biggest hit for me. With that, contentment is replaced by commitment to improve, a new endeavour to savour another bigger hit. Contentment is my new resentment, I’m now scrambling for more content! Seriously, this is contentious.