Balance

Sports has always been benevolent to Johnny.
100m Boys Champion.

200m Boys Champion.

4 x 100m Boys Champion.

4 x 400m Boys 1st Runner Up(Let's blame it on the 3rd runner).

1992-1998 Boys Overall Champion.

1994 -1998 Boys Cross Country Champion.

Finisher of the Iron Man Marathon in 2002. 4TH, 8TH & 3RD in the Standard Chartered Marathon consequitively for 3 years running.

Accolades fit for a king. This was just the first row of trophies in Johnny's cabinet. Yet there were still spaces for a few more.

A gleam of smile flashed across Johnny's face as he admired all the gold that represented his conquering days.Vivid memories always seem to find its way into his head whenever he closed his eyes. From his first Sports Day in Primary 4 all the way to the most recent event he took part in.

His parents were ever present at all events. They were there to share the same cup of memories. Pictures of triumphs that last a lifetime.The support he received was massive, like the fate he is condemned to. Admist the flashbacks, Johnny spilled the scorching coffee on his lap. But yet he remained calm...like the last few steps towards the end line that was all too familiar to him.

Johnny went out into the garden.Perhaps he needed some fresh air to cool his troubled mind. There was the uncanny smell of rain in the air. Johnny looked up and saw moody grey clouds lumbering over the small colourful roofs in the distance. Not far away from him was a garden snail, making its way slowly and painfully to the Ixora bush. In 20 miinutes, slowly but surely, it finally reached its destination. A very small distance yet it envied Johnny for he might take all of Eternity and still fail to do likewise.

Johnny smiled. What a contrast. How he wished he could move. Even if it meant as slow as the garden snail. Freedom of movement governed him for all of his glory days. Now condemned to a wheel chair, Johnny realised that it is no fun being paralyze.

Ilhan & The Rocking Chairs

In cities where skyscrappers longed for the sky and roads were paved with endless opportunities, poverty was thought to be a thing of the past. But not in this city. For right at the end of Cheviot Hill not too long ago there used to be a falling wooden house. A house small enough to be given a miss. Yet it was here that a once young Ilhan learnt values which the rich... given ten life times...could not have attained.

Ilhan's father is a rocking chair carpenter. It was a family trade. Even the most advanced of technology could not create the kind of precision and woodwork that his father's hands could. The chairs always seem to be in perfect center of gravity. Always.

Tides change, seasons change and like the moon which gives way to the sun every morning, so does preferences and trends. Rocking chairs are being descarded for new leather chairs. Rocking chairs were suddenly old fashioned. But good traditions die hard and this was the only thing Ilhan's father knew how to do. He has 4 sons to feed, to educate and to raise.

Though there still existed folks who came to Ilhan's father for a custom made chair, business was relatively at a stand still. They barely made ends meet but Ilhan's father wanted his sons to go to school. Somewhere deep inside, he some what knew that his sons's education was probably the last throw of the dice for a comfortable life. This forced him to seek odd jobs elsewhere.

Alas 30 years of sawing and sanding and bending over the work bench somewhat showed in Ilhan's father's health. Ilhan knew what was going on but his father always tried to act normal and brave in front of his sons. And when his children are out of sight...he would lean back against the wall, clutching his chest and cough out loud. Ilhan felt the pain too.

Then there came a special order of 20 of the finest rocking chairs. It was a showcase for the 'Color me 60's' exhibition at the Museum. The man in charge of the event knew exactly whom to look for. Like a man repossesed, Ilhan's father straight away sorted out his tools and started sawing. To him, it meant education money for his sons.

During the day, Ilhan would help out his father in the woodshed but after dinner, Ilhan would be forced to do his homework. He would be beaten up by his dad whenever he attemted to do 'overtime'. Since it was the monsoon season, Ilhan's father worked well into the cool rainy nights.

Ilhan could not sleep. Admist the pouring rain, he could listen to the monotonous sawings from the woodshed. Then he heard the sound of coughing. And he felt hurt again. Ilhan thus made up his mind there and then. As soon as his father retired for the night, he would sneak out into the woodshed to do whatever he can.

And that was exactly what he did. Ilhan was a fine carpenter. It was in his blood. His posture...his strokes..his precision was pinpoint. Before the morning prayer call, Ilhan would sneak back into his room to catch whatever sleep he can before he wakes up again for school.

Everyday, this little misadventure would occur and Ilhan's father remained unsuspicious. His father was somewhat amused that he did more than he thought he did the night before. But he put it aside...believing that since he worked late into the night he must have forgotten how much he actually did. Not knowing that he had an angel to help him.

Days and days of insufficient sleep showed when Ilhan failed his class test for the first time in his life. Ilhan has always been a straight 'A' student. When news reached his father's ears, his father was disappointed in his eldest son. Ilhan was confined to studying shall not help in the woodshed anymore. And yet Ilhan still continued with his misadventures every night.

Then there was one afternoon when Ilhan was at the study table..too tired to concentrate on his homework...and he dozed off. Forehead on the pages of his Maths textbook. His father happened to come in for a glass of water and flew into a fit when he saw his son sleeping when he was supposed to be studying. His son was sleeping in the afternoon and Ilhan was whacked like a punching bag.

And yet...Ilhan still continued his angelic deeds in the night. After 3 hard months of compromising his studies and sleep, alas the 20 rocking chairs were completed. Ilhan's father was extremely delighted when he went out of the house for the museum. He was paid handsomely as promised and he decided to buy some stuff which his family could never afford before.

That afternoon, on the way home, he bought a huge box of St. Michaels chocolate biscuits. After dinner that night, he placed the chocolates on the table and his sons preyed on them. All except Ilhan who was in his room studying. Ilhan's father and mother didn't even want a piece of chocolate. They wanted their sons to have everything.

Ilhan stood up....wondering what the commotion in the kitchen was all about. He opened his room door just enough to peek thru. Tears of joy filled his eyes when he saw his younger brothers eating away at those expensive chocolates. They were happy and it made him happy too. In the midst of the happenings, Ilhan's father took a handful of chocolates and put it in the cabinet. "Keep this for my son Ilhan", he told his wife as he walked out into the veranda to sit on his rocking chair.

We Are The Youth

From all the years of suffering

And all the years of broken hearts

We will remember when the

Revolution starts

...and now like a warrior that I was

Meant to be

I will stand in this ground with

Pride & dignity

We are the youth

We are the truth

We have survived the darkest times Of lives

We are the youth

We are the youth

Our turn will come & we will have Our day

-A.C.A.B

The Travelling Companion

There is this golden rule which travellers across the world abide.Be it backpacking, holidaying or perhaps a walk across the country side. 'Travellers share everything during their travels except a lady'.

At the youthful age of 22, Dzul wanted to venture beyond his country of origin. He wanted to explore a culture which was close yet alien to him. It was his first time out of Singapore and his mother was so worried she wanted to follow. That was never going to happen. Dzul listens to Led Zeppelin while his mother listens to Nancy Sinatra. Dzul likes his steak rare while his mother likes it well done. There will always be conflicting interests....and to top that list, his mother is a slow walker and there's nothing that's going to hold him back.

With very little money and an abundance of enthusiasm, Dzul left for Thailand. It was indeed the land of all smiles. The warmth of its people was similar to its weather. Communication was always going to be a thorn in the leg but it's the joy of overcoming these difficulties that makes life rewarding.

Dzul settled in the cheap streets near Khao San. A reknowed strip to backpackers worldwide. All the cheap essentials could be found along the 400m stretch of road. And when night falls, the trendy bars open its doors to a world of vice. But nevertheless, it was a good place to meet people from all over the world. People who came from faraway lands with little or no money. People who viewed life differently. People who are not into the rat race. Free spirited people.

Dzul made plenty of friends by the 3rd day. By the 5th, Julian agreed to venture the poorer states of the north together with Dzul. The long bus journey was like a rewinding timeline. The fast paced life of Bangkok gave way to the humble paddy fields of Udon Thani. The companions alighted. Where they were going, there were no roads.

On the right, lush green lands spread across the countryside and met the blue horizon that was the sky. On the left was a path that led to the mountains. There are the odd settlements around the mountains that made it look somewhat like small LEGo pieces from afar. They took the path on the right.

It was 12 noon and the sun was belching out on the two with full force. The path they were on were filled with the occasional litter. Probably by past travellers. Probably by local village boys. There was a crushed Pepsi can in the middle of the track. Secretly, both Dzul and Julian longed for one. But they remained silent. Dzul kicked the can into the bushes as he cursed to himself. They were tired and Julian has already drained out his water supply.

After 4 hrs of walking, they rested under a rambutan tree. The shade it provided was comforting. Like snuggling under a thick blanket in a cold air-con room. Julian extended his hand and begged Dzul for some water. Dzul willingly obliged. After all they were travelling companions. National Service in Singapore sure did help Dzul thought. Those endless route marches actually did help after all. Maybe the UK should have National Service too...to toughen up blokes like Julian.

Both Dzul and Julian grabbed the juicy rambutans from the lower branches. It was like kampong days for Dzul...for Julian it was a first time eating rambutans. By 6pm the only rambutans left were a huge bunch that was too high to reach. That was spared for the time being. Night was approaching and Dzul went around searching for firewood. Julian stayed back to guard their belongings.

That night, they talked about their homelands and about their cultures and it was a very eventful day. Julian could go on and on like a train. Dzul was happy that he had someone like Julian around.

The next morning they were woken up by children from the village nearby. They must have seen the fire that the travellers built the night before. The children were naturally funny. They were laughing at Julian's golden hair. They were running around kicking a football and Dzul and Julian joined in the game.

Football is truely an international langguage. They did not know what the kids are shouting about and yet they enjoyed the game like as if they were back home. One of the kids then took his bicycle and raced down the road. He came back 15 mins later with a big bag. Inside were bottles of water. Some of which were cold....some of which were of room temperature.

Dzul then took one of the boys by the hand and walked toward the rambutan tree. Julian was already there rummaging through his belongings. Dzul wanted the Thai boy to climb the tree to get that huge bunch of ripe rambutans. As they reached the tree Julian must have gotten a shock for he dropped his bag. Spilling all its contents. Tens of juicy red ripe rambutans rolled on the floor.

There was silence and guilt on Julian's face. Dzul looked up and the rambutan tree was as barren as the surrounding green fields. The Thai boy of course did not know what was going on. He ran back towards his friends. Dzul followed behind...disgusted with the selfishness of his companion. The Thai boy took a cold bottle of water and gave it to Dzul while he took the room temperature bottle for himself. Such was the warmth of Asian hospitality that beats western influences hands down....anytime...anyplace.