Lord Guan, Go On

Reading an epic novel is a big challenge for me now. What is required is time (lots of it), attention to detail, good healthy eyes and most of all, an unfailing memory. Early in my life, I think I was too eager to acquaint with the few ‘epics’ that my brother left lying around. I was too young and naive to understand the concepts and politics, yet I soldiered on thinking I had the high brow to absorb everything I read. Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and Gogol’s Dead Souls and Diary of a Madman were read by the time I was seventeen or eighteen. Tolstoy’s War and Peace, crammed full of human suffering, l lost, unfinished, I think. There were hundreds of characters in those stories, that a brain such as mine simply could not store all their names and idiosyncrasies. The most vivid picture I got from them was the bitter cold Russian winters but even that, I am no longer sure. Maybe I got that in my head from watching Dr Zhivago. But, one thing is for sure; the rouble is the name of one currency I do not have trouble remembering.

Recently, I finished reading The Water Margin. It is a story of one hundred and eight heroes of Liangshan Marsh, and many more who did not join the brotherhood. Which means a lot of names and characters. During the past week, I have been weakened by the winter flu and so, it was easy to tell myself to neglect the garden. Neglect the rowing exercises. Neglect the early morning Qigong routine. Maybe I have been telling my body to delay its recovery, so that I have every excuse to shorten my working hours, and retire to my bedroom early. There, I have been squirrelling away my energy and waking hours to race through the novel. On the weekend, I started on Three Kingdoms, a not-to-be-missed classic wonderfully translated by Moss Roberts. Again, hundreds of heroes and villains, usurpers and wannabes. Russian names may be long, but Chinese names sound too similar! And each character will have a minimum of three names! A real name, style name, and sobriquet. My hero in the book is no other than Zhuge Liang. I have mentioned him a few times in the past. Having lived in Australia for over forty years, I forgot the name that appears first is not the first name. Zhuge (pronounced Chu-ger) a double surname, Liang his given name, and his style name Kongming. As if these were not enough to tell us who he was, he gave himself the nickname, Master Sleeping Dragon or Crouching Dragon, from a stretch of hills near where he lived, Sleeping Dragon Ridge in Xiangyang. A hero with four names! Whilst reading these two books, I urged myself to write about a childhood friend, whose life has been as turbulent as red sprites during thunderstorms. Yet, it is equally true to say his is a life that is fully lived, colourful and filled with a full spectrum of human experiences. Please allow me to laud Lord Guan. Go on, I hope he will invigorate you as much as he has inspired me.

Red Sprite, lightning above turbulent thunderstorm clouds

When I read about Lu Da in The Water Margin, I thought amongst my friends, Lord Guan is the perfect hero that most resembles him. He was also known as The Fat Monk. A popular character, he first appeared in Chapter Two of the novel. Killing the butcher who forced a pretty girl to be his concubine and then tricking her of all her money, Lu Da went on to be a great hero of the marsh. Lord Guan bears many of Lu Da’s physical attributes. Both big with big strides and monstrous jumps. Lord Guan also possesses a towering frame, massive thighs, and a big face with a generous nose, bushy eyebrows and fat ears. A gentle giant, he has big smiles whereas Lu Da wore a fearsome military look. Lord Guan has the presence of a happy and contented monk, often helpful and caring but never mendicant. I chose the name Lord Guan for this friend because his namesake was also a hero in the Three Kingdoms, a historical novel attributed to Luo Guanzhong. There, he was also a giant of a man, with crimson-coloured phoenix eyes, and brows like nestling silkworms. With a rather imposing stature and breath-taking presence, he with Zhang Fei declared their absolute faith in Liu Bei and all three prostrated on the ground in a peach garden and became blood brothers. They annihilated the Yellow Scarves, a dominant rebel group which although defeated hastened the collapse of the Han dynasty some thirty odd years later. But having been reminded of my friend’s life story, I am convinced he is a man of much more depth and substance than Lu Da and therefore more suited as the leader of the band of brothers I am writing about. My Lord Guan has tasted the full gambit of what life has to offer, from the bitter fruits that he spits out instinctively to the sweetest and juiciest rewards that he enjoys in the privacy of his abode. Lord Guan should be compared more with Chao Gai, the leader of the brotherhood! Lord Guan, go on!

Guan Yu aka Guan Gong, is today revered as The God of War by Taoists and Buddhists.
Lord Guan aka Guan Yu, courtesy name Yunchang

Chao Gai was the obvious leader of the marsh, the votes for his leadership were unanimous without any abstention. What makes a good leader? I suppose, first and foremost, one ought to be born with leadership qualities. A leader is born but of course can be made too. Chao Gai was the village chief, generous and hospitable to everyone, including visitors to the village. He was particularly fond of making friends with heroes, people with like-minded virtue and ethics. He had great influence over his people. He was very fit and strong, disciplined and never neglected practising with his halberd. Lord Guan possesses such qualities too and he is also a long-time Qigong practitioner. His honesty is beyond reproach; his generosity always present, and his virtue unshakable. He believes in reincarnation and it would be the least startling if indeed Lord Guan turns out to be a reincarnated Chao Gai. “But there is no evidence of reincarnation,” I said. “Of course there is!” He swiftly replied. “Why does a newborn know how to suckle a breast?” “And why are some born blind or deformed? Karma! It’s their punishment for having lived a bad life in the previous one!” He answered his own question before I could even raise my hand to respond. Very rarely do I find a truer friend, and a more just man than him. He doesn’t resile from an agreement; neither does he renege on a promise. He will be the first to step up and apologise for any wrongdoing. Lord Guan, go on, show us your mettle.

Born from a Penang mother and an Ipoh father, Lord Guan possesses a towering personality. In school, he symbolises the horse – magnificent, handsome and fast. His sobriquet, however, is The Bear, some see him as the huggable and adorable one, but for me, I sense The Bear is also powerful and indefatigable. Decisive, intelligent and fair, his reasoning is never that of a pedant. Lord Guan, go on, show us you’re irresistible and irrepressible.

Lord Guan finds durians irresistible!

Lord Guan’s parents were match-made during the Japanese Occupation of Malaya. The maternal side, worried about the Japanese taking their daughter away for nefarious reasons, quickly pushed her to the arms of Lord Guan’s father. Lord Guan’s grandfather was from China who left his wife and family in Guangzhou to seek his fortune in Ipoh. He married a local woman and had seven sons and one daughter with her. During the Second World War, Grandpa Guan’s sundry shop business suffered from the frequent extortions and unpaid rations by the Kempeitei. The business collapsed and he died soon after the war was over. Lord Guan’s father was suddenly entrusted to maintain the whole family household, despite being ranked No. Four son. He started out as a daily rated census taker and subsequently joined the civil service a few years later because he could speak and write in English – a rare ability amongst his peers during those early years in Malaya. A family household does not mean one family – in today’s terminology, it is a household of many families. With his salary he sustained not only his own growing family but also had to support his younger siblings and their immediate close relatives. Lord Guan’s grandmother insisted that her fourth son should help all of them as they were her own sisters’ and brothers’ children. Lord Guan’s mother was the one responsible to make ends meet even when it seemed impossible. She had to keep a tight rein on the younger ones besides her own growing number of children. Money was tight but Lord Guan’s mother kept a tighter fist on household expenses. Those were difficult days in Ipoh, when even a grain of rice mattered. “Stop looking at the salted fish, your meal will be too salty,” I imagined she said. There was never enough on the dining table. Lord Guan’s grandma was a part time mahjong player and helped chipped in the household expenses when there were winnings. But, odds of her losing were always higher.

When Lord Guan’s grandma passed on and her siblings and extended family left after completing school, Lord Guan’s father transferred in 1961 to Penang for career prospects – the other reason, never mentioned, was the couple ached to leave the sad affair of their eldest daughter’s passing a few years earlier. Making a livelihood in a new place was like making a new life. Lord Guan enrolled in the same school as me. Basketball, football, camping, Cubs and then Scouting were his main focus when in school. We got on famously right through the first eleven years in school as I too enjoyed the same activities. He did not join me in Form six but stayed back to repeat his fifth Form. “Upper five” meant a year of watching his peers move ahead of him. He could only look forlornly from afar as some of his mates started courting the pretty girls in Lower six using puerile tactics. Envious of some of them leaving for overseas studies, he had the option of being a trainee SIA pilot or repeat the same subjects. “Mom decided for me against my father’s wishes,” he said. The following year, he left for the U.K. The rolling hippy scene there was such an amazing attraction for the teenager but the gloss was quickly dispelled by the cold reality that “the majority of the Brits was a poor lot.” He completed his degree from Polytechnic Manchester in 1982 and joined a Singapore semi-government company to work. There, he lasted two years before “better prospects” lured him to Kuantan.


In 1986, a near-death encounter at Karak Highway taught him some important things about life. His car was a total write-off in the rotational collision. “I was going round the bend when my car decided to spin around a few times. “I could clearly see what was happening and whilst trying to counter the centrifugal forces, I was screaming profanity in slow motion.” His car was spinning in the wrong direction and he could see his car catapulting towards the guard rails that hugged the cliff edge. When he regained consciousness, he thanked all his gods and lucky stars that he had crashed into the cliff face instead. Surprisingly, he had only sprained his wrists. That and a big bump on his head were bragging rights to prove his death-defying escapade. “Everything goes very painfully slow if you aren’t due to die,” he concluded. “So, what was the message you took away from that?” I asked. He smirked and said, ” As in Wall Street the movie, it told me one must enjoy life to the hilt, live life full of possibilities – you never know when it will be all over.”

A second death was predicted by fortune tellers in 1995. It was another crash, but this time it came in the form of the 1997 Asian financial crash took the wind out of his sails and wiped out his whole world. He sank into a financial abyss, so deep there was only darkness. “Bankrupt, you mean,” he corrected me. His honesty stunned me. If I were a bird, I would stop knowing how to fly, and if I were a fish, I would stop knowing how to swim. “Thankfully there were kind people like Ah Chuan and others who helped me in so many little ways,” Lord Guan said with a deep sense of gratitude. “The road to recovery is always tough and from all the spiritual teachings I encountered, I learned that the natural self shall be our beacon,” he said. Lord Guan had his glittering career swept away from under his feet. Through no fault of his, he lost everything when the financial crisis gripped much of Asia. Economic bubbles and crony capitalism from lax American money supply meant the whole thing was set for a major calamity. Countries with currencies pegged to the increasing US dollar saw their GDP plummet as their exports became uncompetitive. The crisis brought down the 30-year-rule of President Suharto. Asian sharemarkets crashed and unfortunately, Lord Guan was then a high-flying remisier with big-time clients. Some jumped from tall towers and others reneged on their contracts. Saying it in a way that would displease their ears, “they avoided him like he was a carrier of a deadly virus.” Lord Guan was left with massive unpaid contracts. During the few years before the crisis, his broking firm was setting profit records. Taxes on the previous years’ profit were outstanding and becoming payable by the time the financial tsunami swept away everything he owned. Lord Guan was so virtuous and honest he did not siphon out monies or squirrel away hard-earned savings for his young family prior to the crash. “My common trenching business in Penang was being owed monies which could never be recovered. Margin calls and rotating deals ensured I was buried totally in losses in the tens of millions,” he continued. There is an old saying, “No point killing a battered horse when the horse can still be useful,” – his stockbroking firm continued to use him to trade with his corporate clients until the Tax Office sued him for outstanding taxes. The tax officers did not care that he had massive losses to claim deductions against the prior years’ profits.

Lord Guan considered running away. Penniless and unemployable, he was useless to his family anyway. The couple could not support their family anymore. This is the worst nightmare scenario for any parent of little kids. His super loving wife who never considered abandoning him, decided to try her hands on direct marketing, and he on selling credit cards and later, insurance. Lord Guan’s name was black-listed everywhere, all he could really do was be her driver and gofer. His name was not only unusable, it was a barrier to a job. “To go out and seek job opportunities, I had to live on RM10 a day, an allowance from my mother – bless her soul – she still saw something in me,” he said. A great friend saw his predicament and offered him a sales job selling pottery. His sales was shitty and he couldn’t keep the job. Then one day, an ex-client offered him a sales job for commercial electronic door access and CCTV systems. From sales, he became a technical support staff and eventually he came out and worked for his wife in her own CCTV business.

During his “second death”, his friends brought him to see not one but a few monks, and Indian and Chinese fortune tellers who all separately concluded that he was supposed to be dead. “It was total darkness, there were no stars in my life chart and the total absent of light, according to their calculations and readings meant death. Strangely, they all had the same conclusion. They were dumbstruck to be reading the fortune of a dead man. Somebody up there must have done some horse-trading using whatever little merits Lord Guan had to help him live on during the total darkness.

The fallen suffers a life which is worse than death.

Beh Chooi Guan

With a feeling of absolute worthlessness, hope also abandoned him. Nothing to his name and nothing positive to look forward to. Almost daily, there was mud and shit hitting the fan for him to face and the innuendos and whispers continued for years. Ostracised by some of the so-called friends. Blacklisted by financial institutions and labeled a bankrupt with no bank account to his name and no credit card to depend on. Being bankrupt means you cannot own anything and you still have to make however small contributions to help settle some of the debts. For government debts, there can be no deals done. What is owed has to be fully paid. They won’t look at the following year’s losses to cancel what was owed – “they will extract blood even from stone,” he said matter-of-factly .

“I’m so sorry you went through all that darkness and stress,” I said. Life can be so unfair and unyielding. “You’re amazing to climb out of such a dark deep hole,” I revealed a new-found admiration. Lord Guan’s heart-wrenching story is the real story of great success at the echelon of corporate life being struck down by events too big to predict. A truly black swan day that would have brought anyone to their knees. That he climbed out of it after decades scraping in the bottom searching for scraps, without bitterness and recriminations, deserves utmost respect. That is the mark of a truly virtuous man. After the darkness which lasted what felt like an eternity, he began to look after his body like a temple and cultivate his mind and heart like a productive garden. “Live life to the fullest. Don’t assume you’ll get a second chance,” he advised. “Everything will run its course, and remind yourself of the old adage when you’re at your lowest, things will only get better,” he spoke with profundity. “Life should be kind to you by now,” I suggested. “When you see me fly to distant places, you will know I am free like a soaring eagle again. But for now, I am the old horse running free on the grasslands.” I liked the picture he painted for me. Either way, he is contented and uncomplaining. “What is the real story here?” I asked. With the briefest pause, he said, “There is always someone else who is worse off than you if you decide to turn your head behind to help.” Lord Guan, go on, we salute you. I think Lord Guan is a worthy man to join Blue Eyes, Wu Yong, Four Eyes and The Cook in their brotherhood. Lord Guan, go on, you are their natural leader.

From The Angle Of An Angel

When I read about Song Jiang in The Water Margin, I could not help but admire his filial piety and his big heart of gold. He is the hero who I must write about, I told myself. Song Jiang, as described in the book, was a most charitable man. He never refused to help anyone who asked him for money. He assisted those in distress and raised anyone who had been crushed by their circumstances. He was also known as Welcome Rain or Timely Rain, for his positive influence on people was akin to falling rain on parched lands. He was instrumental in saving Chao Gai, the eventual leader of the brotherhood, and three other leaders including Wu Yong, from certain arrest by Imperial soldiers. Later, he also saved Wu Song the barehanded tiger killer in Jinyang Ridge, from a gang who caught him when he fell into a stream so drunk that he couldn’t get out of it. Song Jiang had great leadership skills and it was no wonder that they appointed him Second Leader to replace Wu Yong after he refused the top post in deference to Chao Gai. One day, Song Jiang got into trouble when he reached out to help a medicine seller. A tenacious brigand who thought only with his fists and axe was offended by Song Jiang’s audacity to help the medicine vendor despite his warnings not to. After fleeing from his attacker, Song Jiang was rescued by a pirate, the elder brother of Zhang Shun. Zhang Shun was a muscular fellow who could swim as well as a fish and stay in the water for seven days at a time. Zhang Shun was fearless and unbeatable in the marsh. It was both Song Jiang and Zhang Shun who caught my imagination to write about my friend Four Eyes, a living angel, in this chapter.

Four Eyes is as dark-skinned and athletic as Song Jiang. He has all the virtuous qualities of the hero too – compassionate, charitable, accommodating and generous. A powerful swimmer just like Zhang Shun, the girls were attracted to him like octopus to coral. Why octopus, you may ask. With an inspiring physique like his, I imagine the girls would have used their arms and legs like tentacles to feel his powerful and perfectly-chiselled muscular body. On the weekend as I was watching My Octopus Teacher, it amazed me to see the female octopus clamouring all over the bloke’s body with her sensitive suckers. I could see that the snazzy hunk’s well-defined body would have had a similar effect on the English girls when he went over to the UK in 1979 for his ‘A’ Levels and then for a Polytechnic degree. “Ah, English girls,” he sighed. He did not have to remind me of the story of a housemate who, upon seeing other housemates had gone out shopping and left them alone in the house, asked him if he wanted to go to bed. Four Eyes innocently told the beautiful blonde honey with the alluring pony-tail he was contented to read his book as it wasn’t quite bedtime yet. Four Eyes was our school Sportsman of the Year in 1975. He represented his country in the Schools’ International Swimming Meet in Jakarta that same year, and waterpolo in the 1977 SEA Games in KL. In the UK, he became known as the Amorous One when his name tag at a fancy dress party had the first two letters, G and L, blotted by some spilt red wine. “How on earth did you splash red wine on yourself?” I asked inquisitively. He said he would tell me on the condition that I do not disclose it to anyone. All I will reveal is it has something to do with an amorous female octopus. No word of a lie!

FF

Talking without thinking is like shooting without aiming.

Marcel Gan Mah Seang

“It is too late to say sorry to someone you have hurt unintentionally with your words,” Four Eyes’ dad drummed into him. “Words,” as Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said in Le Petit Prince, “are the source of misunderstandings.” Four Eyes learned that long before I read it in that charming little book. His dad, Four Eyes Papa, bought two sets of Encyclopaedia for him and his five sisters and a brother to use. He would make sure they looked up the words for themselves rather than be spoon-fed. “If you take the trouble yourself, you won’t ever forget,” he taught them. Four Eyes Papa was a Thai national, born in 1921; his father was the District Officer of Kantang in Southern Thailand. Well-to-do, their meals were served on gold-rimmed porcelain plates and they drank from pure silver cups. Their mansion was a shining example of opulence and their private verdant garden was quite exotic, with Chinese weeping willow and Japanese maple adorning the path to a rotunda that was furnished with intricately-carved teak outdoor furniture. Four Eyes Papa was smuggled out to Penang at his mother’s insistence to avoid him being conscripted to the Thai National Service. His mother, originally from Penang, still had a sister there. It was arranged that the sister would adopt Four Eyes Senior as her own. That was how his name changed from a Thai name, Pratip, (surname unknown) to a Chinese name. Four Eyes Papa was a smart man, blessed with an abundance of wisdom and common sense. He was a qualified accountant at age 15, a time when many of his peers were equipped with low literacy skills. “He must have read Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet,” a friend gathered from the way he serenaded the girl living on Kedah Road and climbed up the rainwater pipe to whisper love-words in her ears. “His jaunts were as romantic as Romeo’s,” the friend exclaimed. The girl next door, who was adopted by her parents, was irresistibly beautiful and equally intelligent. It became quite obvious soon after that she would become Four Eyes Papa’s wife. A few months after they were married, they heard of the plight of a young girl who was about to be sold as a future Ahmah Jie (maid servant). The married couple was quick to adopt her as their first child, such was their compassion and kindness for the girl. Their union, made in heaven, brought them much happiness and love. “This bountiful God has thought of everything,” thought Four Eyes’ Mama, as she looked lovingly at her litter of seven children. Four Eyes Papa, an altruist who would give you the shirt off his back, was respected in his community as a selfless man. He had no qualms about wearing ink-stained shirts to work, skin-deep matters mattered not. Whenever frowned upon by busybodies, all he said was “old shirts are more comfortable.” Theirs was a big family to support, but the struggling couple still generously donated to battlers and beggars who frequently knocked at their door for alms and food. That is compassion from the angle of angels.

Four Eyes’ Mama worked as a seamstress at home to help make ends meet. In a family of seven children, life was not meant to be easy. Every weeknight, after checking their school bags for homework, she would then scan their exercise books and report cards for any red marks. Four Eyes, despite my best efforts, would not reveal if he was ever caned by his mum. After their school work had passed her scrutiny, she would then start on her own work. Work meant burning the midnight oil till two to three in the morning. The kids helped by sewing buttons and hemming dresses. It is no wonder Four Eyes still has that lift in his little finger and deft wrist movement whenever he shakes hands with friends. When they got too tired, the two brothers would sleep in the lounge near their mother’s sewing machine. The rhythmic chugging and whirring of the machine was like a lullaby for the boys. Some nights, Four Eyes’ Mama slept at her old Singer machine to avoid disturbing her husband’s sleep. She would be up at 5.30 a.m. to prepare breakfast for everyone. Four Eyes Papa bought weekly social welfare lottery tickets but never checked them for the winning ticket – his way of contributing to the welfare of the needy. That is thoughtfulness from the angle of an angel.

Four Eyes, on the far left

When Four Eyes was four years old, Second Sis had a bad bike accident that required their mum’s full attention. Distraught and struggling to cope, Four Eyes’ Mama moved him to a care-giver’s home so he could be properly attended to. A month passed and he came home a very sick boy due to terrible neglect at the care-giver’s. Second Sis felt immense guilt about this and she vowed to forever look after her siblings. She worked as a nurse at the Charing Cross Hospital and channeled her earnings to help support them. Their school fees and petty expenses were covered by her, right through to their tertiary education. She took up a loan and bought a house in Kenton, Middlesex for Four Eyes and his brother to stay during their time in the UK. Every Christmas the two brothers were given two suits each. “You are what you wear,” Second Sis said to them as she insisted they picked better quality garments. She and her husband have not stopped caring and looking after everyone in both their families. It is quite natural for a devoted daughter to look after her family, but it is equally important for her to also care for his family – they are a beacon of love and understanding. The monthly remittances home were always prompt and generous. That is undying love from the angle of an angel.

Ian Henderson was Four Eyes’ best friend at the Polytechnic. He brought Four Eyes to visit his parents and they tried to convert the home-sick boy to Christianity. “They proselytise; it is the right thing to do if you truly believe it is right,” Four Eyes said. But, he politely declined, “I am a free thinker, and here away from home, I am finally free to do whatever I like.” In February 1984, their last year at the Polytechnic, Ian Henderson suddenly passed away. At the funeral when all the mourners had left, Four Eyes whose thick glasses failed to hide his red swollen eyes, strode up to the open coffin and asked his best friend, “Why have you left me, brother?” At that moment, a white figure rose up from the coffin and said to him, “Now I appear before you, do you believe in me?” His legs gave way and he crumbled clumsily onto the nearest pew. A voice called out from the direction of the coffin, “Grief not, for he is with me now.” A few weeks later, the grieving mother invited Four Eyes to pray at her son’s burial spot. The newly engraved words on the marble tombstone said “I am the way, the truth and the life.” Four Eyes gasped softly. Those words struck a strange chord with him. Four Eyes worked as a duty manager in charge of Housekeeping after his graduation. His claim to fame was introducing a room checklist for staff to work with. A few years passed and Four Eyes had run out of options to renew his UK visa. His boss at The Cumberland Hotel in Harrow was an old Jewish woman in her 70s. She adored him and fussed on him incessantly. She suggested to him a local girl whom he could “marry” for convenience so that he could stay permanently in the country. But, Four Eyes could not bring himself to complicate the simple life that he lived, a problem-free and stress-free life that he valued. The old Jewish woman cried at his farewell party, her discomfort was clear for all to see. “Why didn’t you marry her instead?” I asked. “You would have inherited all her wealth!” Four Eyes was like a ray of sun to her, bringing her lunch or dinner to her penthouse every day. Her kids only went to her for money whereas he was her friend who stayed to chat and livened up her life with humour and zest. That was genuine companionship from the angle of an angel.

As his visa had expired, Four Eyes returned to Penang, his hometown. Life was quite lonely for him during those days. One day, whilst working at Lone Pine Hotel, he met Pastor Koe, a fellow schoolmate from his year whom he briefly failed to recognise. He related to the pastor his experience at Ian Henderson’s funeral. Pastor Koe asked Four Eyes to open his heart to God and ask for His guidance. “What am I to do?” he pleaded during his prayers. According to Four Eyes, God sent him to the local swimming club one afternoon. Whilst he was treading water in the middle of the pool, he saw a beautiful girl swimming towards him. The girl bumped into him and her arms splayed around his taut and suntanned body. He told me that was how their love story began on the spot where their hands and bodies entangled. He vowed to sweep her off her feet, make her swoon, ‘sing with rapture and dance like a dervish’. “I promised her we will be deliriously happy and live a full life together,” he confided. A Catholic girl, she invited Four Eyes to her church that very weekend, and it would be safe to assume Four Eyes has never missed a sermon since. He was “slain” in front of the congregation on that very first visit. His eyes were closed yet he saw a bright blue light flood in through his skull and soothed his mind. Soon after, he realised he was crying, his eyes were filled with tears of joy. He saw the light again when he witnessed an apparition at the Church of Our Lady of Sorrows on Macalister Road. The same bright blue light was shining on top of the statue of Our Lady. Four Eyes became calmer, more caring and considerate. His parents saw the transformation in their son, and they too converted to the new faith without wavering ever after. That is unshakeable faith from the angle of an angle.

We are all guilty of the good we did not do.

Voltaire

The above quote is least applicable to Four Eyes. He continues to help many charities and orphanages. But, he is acutely aware there are many more that fall through the cracks and are missed by the institutions. He makes it his mission to also help the needy who do not have a safety net to rely on. “They are equally deserving to be succoured in time of hardship and distress,” he said. Once upon a time, Four Eyes was in a coffee shop with a few mates. A stationery pedlar came to their table and asked to sell them a box of pens. Four Eyes, without hesitation paid $20 instead of the asking price of $10. The pedlar tried to give the $10 change to Four Eyes, but Four Eyes told the pedlar to keep it, the extra money was his bonus. The pedlar’s face lit up with a broad smile and his eyes sparkled. After he left their table, Four Eyes’ mates said he was crazy to give so much. “No one pays double the price for pens!” One of them became quite querulous and added, “You will spoil the market!” Four Eyes didn’t care to reply. In his heart, he understood $10 was not quite enough to buy a packet of cigarettes, but it was plenty to feed the bloke for a whole day. That is generosity from the angle of an angel.

I think Four Eyes is worthy to join Blue Eyes and Wu Yong in their brotherhood.