She

She stood at the gates, with a smile on her face as I got out of the car and called. The signs of age were distinct, but not any different from what I remember. Until I entered the house, and felt my heart tear at the sight of a walking stick near the door. It felt like another milestone in her life to me. She never needed a walking stick before this. She always seemed so strong and agile for someone her age.

Sitting me down beside her and cheerfully nattering away about grandaunts and granduncles, I felt another stab when I realised she had difficulty hearing my voice. Another first. I can't remember if tears threatened my eyes, nor could I remember much of the one-sided conversation we had. Only the silent mourning inside of me as I observed her aged features, and the unspoken thought that keeps me awake many nights.

"大妈" (dui ma) is what I call her in the Foochow dialect, as do many of the young ones in my extended family do. She is, after all, my beloved great-grandmother.

Moral 101

A few days ago, I happened to read through a rather interesting blogpost of a friend which deserves mention here.

The topic? Of Gentlemen and Breasts.

No, really.

I'll spare her the shame fame of having her name mentioned here, 'cause I don't know if she'll take offense at this. If you're reading this SL, rest assured I'm not making fun of you =)

No, really.

It was an epic tale of the noble acts of chivalry, thought to be long extinct by this fair maiden. This particular tale spoke of two heroic knights on board the much abhorred Keretapi Tanah Melayu, who sacrificed their thrones to two women.

In the words of this fair maiden herself, "Honestly, that took me by surprise. Cos in all my life, I have never personally witnessed such a noble deed. I mean, we all know what should be done, in principle. But how many of us actually do it?"

So much for the gentlemen part of it. As for the breast part of the title, I'll leave it to the reader's imagination.

Yup, we all know what should be done. We've learned that since the moment we entered primary school. Its just ironic that nearly everything I learned in moral classes for over a decade in my life is the exact opposite of what I learned from lessons by the people of Bolehland.

One thing which amuses me is the thought of how much courage it takes to do what everyone knows everyone should do. Countless times in my life I found myself in situations where I am in the position to offer my seat to someone who needs it more than I do, and countless times I was overtaken by this irrational fear of being seen doing something that should be done. Its not something I'm proud of, but that's what I did.

Its funny how God works sometimes.

I read this post yesterday. I thought about it this morning, before I boarded the dratted train up north. Two hours later, an old woman with wrinkled skin and luggage had boarded the train at the UKM station and stood directly in front of where I was comfortably sitting.

Malaysia, uniquely ridiculous

Going Latin

Putting off something I can do now to the last minute - literally - is a habit I can't seem to shake off. One example is as I'm typing this in the wee hours of the morning (4.12am to be exact), my accounts homework sits on my desk, while I'm hoping for my pen to pick itself up and start scrawling. Oh, and I hadn't mention that this was supposed to be handed in two days ago.

I couldn't think of anything else better to define me, for I'm probably the most incurably lazy person that one would ever have the misfortune to meet in this century. Beware to readers who would do me the honour of following my blog. You have been warned =)

Hence the name of my blog. Dear readers, presenting Procrastinatus maximus

Once again

This brings back memories . . .

I remember the days of old when I used to love writing. I remember the joy of being able to create a world out of words. I remember the thrill of provoking thought as well as inciting amusement in my readers.

All that had faded away slowly, and a grayness dwells in the part of my mind where words used to dance around in. All that's left now are the memories and remnants of a writer.