Change in the Malaysian Education System

If military generals can discover how hard change is, what more we expect from ordinary teachers. Indeed the world are changing but our teachers are not changing fast enough. Not only do some of our teachers lag behind time, they engineer growth of a cherished but outdated institution of education of our society, namely, the school.

How sad but how true. Of course, not everyone has noticed the decline of the Malaysian education system and Malaysian competitiveness. Not certainly the Education Minister or the Minister of Higher Education who claims the Malaysian Education is a 'supertanker' out in the global sea of competition. And to further incur the wrath of education reformers, he took a step further by admonishing the public not to 'disrupt' this 'supertanker' lest the future of Malaysian students become drowned with it.

History has always told us over and over again that fake optimism can only pave way to renewed gloom and doom. Confidence in the wrong things, ignorance and pigheadedness to accept any truth has brought great civilizations from the top to the bottom of the mountain. Such a tendency to deny reality and indulge in fanciful fantasies has only made matters bad to worst.

If you guys have read the book 'Revolutionary of Wealth' (you can go to http://www.amazon.com/Revolutionary-Wealth-Alvin-Toffler/dp/0375401741 to look at the book) you would discover that our country posess a 2oth century education system in a 21th century! It is a one-size-fit-all system that only cater to the needs of the masses, not cater to the needs of the individual. In it lies conformity, linearity and predictability. It does not recognize differences between individuals. It does not respect the fact some students are precocious while some are struggling to catch up. We need such an education system that emphasizes meritocracy and not mediocrity (I will explain this the next time).

The fact that our student's degree of education hinges on age and not on capability is one great weakness of our Malaysian education system. Our students' education is hamstrung by age. We need a system that allows students to push as far as they want and not be hindered by age. We need to dispel the myth,' Older is better.' We need to create special exams that allow precocious students move beyond those monotonous boundaries of age. Exams that justify students' precociousness, creativity and intelligence such as the PTS that we used to have when we were 9 years old. We should allow such tests to open to all ages. We should allow students of all ages to sit for SPM/O-levels/STPM/A-levels even if those students do not wish to go to school. Isaac Newton has said before, a student do not need teachers to guide him, he can obtain an education through books. And that is what we desire to foster in our students. Independence. Autonomy. Freedom from restrictive circles imposed by schools such as redundant rules like keeping your hair short that does not sow seeds of character building. (I can go on rambling forever but i must stop here)

Our minister of education has to be knocked out of idleness, pettiness, diversions and distractions and wake up to change. Ministers, after all, should be the frontiers of change. If you think our Malaysian education system is becoming increasingly ancient, think again. There is something older than our education system: the policies and the mindsets of our education minister.

Operation Lock Up

First, there was Operation Ajax. Then there was Operation Desert Shield, which depicts about the American invasion into Iraq (and along with a coalition formed between western countries). And finally, something that is not heard of-Operation Lock Up. At least, I finally created something-and something is better than nothing. Suffice to say, it is my latest creation. Or some devilish cornucopia of ideas brewed in the mind.

A simple operation, not so complicated as the ones developed by the US and British intelligence agencies or CIA. Nothing grand and spectacular about it. Not an amazing plan embellished with neon lights. Just a simple holiday operation plan, one that not complicated, but not simple* either.

* Why is it not simple? Simply because of a myriad of reasons. And one of the many reasons would be a student's attempt, or rather a pitiful student's attempt to prove his parents' wrong. Sad but true. We see reality glaring coldly at our faces. It is often hard (for me) to prove someone wrong. And proving your parents wrong is a whole lot tougher, because each step you make is a step into a great mass of thorns. And the whole situation is uncomfortable, pricky and entangling.

Anyway, November is about to end, there is a lot of grieve with it, a pool of emotions and mixed feelings stirring with it.* Anyhow, one should always make time his or her best ally, her best friend. Time, really, can be your best friend. This is a proven fact, undeniable and most people, by experience, know about this.

*To be sad that each lost day brings you closer to adulthood and upon your shoulders are thrusted the burden, the rock of responsibility, with its weight bringing you upon its knees, making you want to cry and shout out,' Lord, please give me new strength and courage to brave each new day.'

So, then knowing the phrase-my time, my responsibility makes you really live your day, or rather I should say, your whole life in productivity and fruitfulness. Not into waste. Not into decay. Not into dust. Not into oblivion. Yes, by that phrase we mean this.

So, for a student, what does not wasting your time or rather your life means?

That could mean a lot of things. Some students think reading books is the main purpose of a student's life. Some live by sports and not passive reading. Some do both, get themselves engaged in sports and studies and maintains a decilate equilibrium between the two. Some thinks a student's life is neither about books nor sports but rather, the magic fire of friendship. They take pride in fostering good and sound relationships with friends and refuse to let this beautiful ember to be blown and reduced into cinders. So splendid. So noble. But so few of this kind or rather, this race of people.

@

Hope is like glass. Transparent, it sees its goals and dreams through the other side. Yet it is so fragile. Like glass, once dropped, can be easily broken. Broken glass is fragmented hope. Its remains scattered in a thousand pieces.

Sadly for some, we have constantly tested the durability of hope.* We think hope is like plastic, always everlasting and durable. But hope can never be glass. Alchemy or rather, the study of chemistry taught us that. Hope is forever fragile.

* I have made the greatest error of testing the durability or the hardness or hope. Not only just breaking it once, twice or thrice, but many times, sending my loves ones into fits of anger and despair.

That is why I am punishing myself. Or imposing incarceration or punishment upon myself. Operation Lock Up is to keep the television or the siren of the electronic world away from me. Preventing me from making myself susceptible to distractions and procastinations. And hopefully, able to forge the iron steel of discipline in me. And bring that better student out of me.

As I have said before, Operation Lock Up is a not so complicated-not so simple plan.

Having failed four subjects out of eleven, obtaining one A only, I am clearing heading for the gates of hell in SPM. Therefore, it is time for this path of self-destruction be subjected to an abrupt halt, or a permanent one, hopefully. It is now time to cease and desist. To stop playing and fighting fire with fire but rather, treading the arduous path to the glorious firmament. At least, till SPM is over.

Being Old

Still suffering from blogger's block. It doesn't seem to dissolve or melt or disintegrate. And ideas have not been pumping or flowing either. Random thoughts flying. I just did some plucking and pinning.

@


Anyway, school's out! The day the rest of the CHS students graduated (except Form 5 and 6) You can shout, scream or even cry-don't blame yourself. Everybody's usually zany, crazy or funky for today. But all of a sudden, you just feel so old. Old, I say. Old! Especially when you're in Form 4 or 16 years old like me.

Speaking of old, I believe there's only 5 stages of life that you really feel old. Yeap, 5 stages, no more, no less. Haha, you may be wondering why I picked lucky number 5-it's not because I'm a strict fan of Mitch Albom and his book(5 people you meet in heaven) but this has been made by me-a conclusion of when and why we feel old.

@

#1st stage when a person feels old. This might sound ironic, incredulous or asinine, but the first stage when a person feels old is when he or she is 12. Why 12? Simple, by virtue of intepretation the number 12 means Standard 6, which is the hallmark of transmutation from elementary school to high school. Besides when you are 12, you could still reminiscise of how small the other kids were. And for Malaysians, being 12 is our first year of sitting for a public examination (UPSR). For the first time in 12 years of life, the word stress has been fully understood. Fully digested. And fully unforgetable.

And being 12 means 'welcome into the age of adolescence'. We have finally managed to grow up.

@

#2nd stage when a person feels old. This phase might be different for some-some go through this phase earlier and some undergo through it later. And now we arrive to why at the 2nd stage we feel older. Whether you like it or not, in life, there are many child-fathers or child-mothers. What is a child-mother or a child-father? By my definition, a child-father or a child-mother is someone who is a child but has the mentality of a father or a mother. You might not believe this but it is true. I'm speaking from the heart of realism, not from the bedrock of fantasy. Take one example. Teenagers. Well, not all of us, though. Only a certain myriad of exceptional people develop extreme maturity at this age. And that age is usually 15 to 17. Alright, let's just take the midpoint, shall we? Let's just say 16 is the 2nd stage when a person feels older.

Now, why 16? Not because of the term coined or the tv show 'Sweet Sixteen', but sixteen really is the time where most of us move on. The time when most of us move out. From shallow, superficial interests to more serious, thought-provoking issues. We Malaysians once again have to experience the woes of exam pressure at the age of 16 due to the major public examination (SPM). And at 16, most of us are already grooming for our selected posts, ranks and positions in our clubs and societies. Most of us (16) by the next year will be the next leaders of the school. The next policy makers. The next batch of decision makers. That will determine the aftermath of the make-up of the respective societies and ultimately determine the prestige, the reputation of the school.

We have lots of potential, lots of capability and lots of trust invested in us. But we are under fire. We have lots of pressure.We have no choice, but in order to lead, we have to live up to our predecessor's and hopefully surpass or transcend them for betterment of the future.

So my final conclusion of the 2nd stage is, we are old because we have entered the age of preparation. We have finally become adequate pre-adults.

@

#3rd stage when a person feels old. The age of this stage is uncertain. That's because every individual is unique and different.

The 3rd stage can be a very terrifying stage for some. We are now supposed to have envolved from adolescence into perfect adult beings nurtured by the seeds of maturity and preparation. But not all of us achieved that stage of stability in thought, in feeling and in action. Some of us are still mired in callowness, immaturity. Some of us are like a boat in the sea, easily rocked by waves of emotions, easily wavered. Easily distracted. Easily deviated from sense of purpose and goals. But some of us managed to set sail in the right directions again. Managed to capture the wheel of the vessel. Managed to steer it out from the tempestous storms and into the calm, azure waves.

But not all of us are so lucky. Some of us couldn't weather the storm of the 3rd stage. Their boats are violently capsized, either caught in maelstorm of destruction or a cyclone of devastatation.

The survivors of the typhoon of 3rd stage survive not because of luck or of chance but because they have made the right decisions that change the course of life. They have made major revisions of their life maps and has adapted, acclimatised to fluctuating temperatures. They have become adequate late bloomers.

So, actually, what is the 3rd stage? The 3rd stage is the stage of carreer making where career making decisions occur. Like going to college, choosing what courses you want to take, what fields that you like. All these career dilemas take place during the third stage.

@

#4th stage when a person feels old. Hehe, this one should is a stage that you can guess correctly.

The 4th stage is a stage of sacrifice, forged with the fire of commitment, baptized with the spirit of devotion and upon it is the binding of moral values like love, etc. It is also a stage of genuine expression of what really lies deep in our heart. An authentic representation of what really matters to us in life. Which is more than our personal interests, our finances, our work and even maybe, our friends and our family. Which is, marriage.

I am of the firm view that marriage really is the 4th stage of life that makes us feel older.

Marriage is a funny business. A beginning of a new chapter in life. I chose the word funny because of several reasons.

First, since young, we are taught and reared to achieve personal independence. Our society advocates independence and so does our family ( Who wants a child to be a parasite and harp on his parents for food, money and shelter?).

However, in marriage, we learn to do the contrary. The antithesis of independence is dependence. We begin to be like the masters of animals. Remember the way how we treat our pets? We pamper them, we fatten them. We love them. But we don't want them to leave us. We don't want an independent dog that leaves its master. We don't want our spouse to leave us. We just don't. So, in marriage, what we foster is not independence, but dependence. This is true because we began to have joint resources, similar goals and pursuits which are dedicated to the success of marriage.

But that's not the reason why we really feel old, do we? It is because in marriage, we have more things to worry about. We have to worry about our spouse, then our children. And that, in a certain way is draining and vitiating.

@

#5th when a person really feels old. After marriage. We are supposed to feel younger. Our children have grown up. Our career has come to an end, ensued by the glowing prospects of retirement. We have a relaxing life to look foward to. We are supposed to feel younger mentally right?

We may feel young in the mind, but on the outside, speaking on physical terms, we may not be that young anymore. For men, their greatest concern would be the ebbing and the waning of virility and masculinity. For the female, its menopause-plunging of hormones-and a whole barrage of health problems.

@

WELL, if we go by the theory that females mature earlier than boys, I suppose the girls grow older faster than males. Mentally, not physically of course.

Sigh, age may be something hard for everyone to accept. Because growing old means you are getting stupider ( if you do not make full use of your time) and age poses negative physical growth. This shows that age is not accompanied by intelligence, and it doesn't even bring the baggage of maturity to you. Because maturity is a conscious decision-the moment you decide to be mature is the moment you become mature.

@

And writing this has made me (a little) older.

Fantasy Post #3 : Heaven is So Cold

I had a friend who once said this:

'Girls are hot.

Girls are heaven.

Heaven is hot.'

@

When he said those words, I couldn't agree more. Anyway, those words became as thick and strong like the hair on my scalp, though thin and strand-like, yet I couldn't pull it out, because it has laid a solid foundation that was so deep and steep in my head. It's as if those words were engraved on my memory, and meant to dwell in the innermost chambers of my heart. I couldn't got rid of them, so either one way or another, I had to live with them. Live with those words: Heaven is hot.

@

Like him (my friend), I used to date a a lot of girls back then when I was in high school. With time on my side, I just couldn't care about homework, school and chores. Furthermore, endowed with youth and lusty cravings, I just didn't mind going for girls. Anyway, it's not like girls to not like boys, if you get the message. Because girls really liked to get caught, especially getting caught by guys. And for an outgoing guy like me, I always did catch them.

@

Sophie was one of the girls I caught. And she was a fine catch. For any boy, she would be like a beautiful chocolate moose cake or a Blackberry forest made by the finest chefs of Secret Recipe, once the cake is ingressed into your mouth, you could feel the abundance of heaven flowing, flowing right through your very mouth, making your mouth water. Making your lips shaking. Making your tongue quivering. Quivering again and again. And the pleasure would just run again. And again. Sweet, isn't it?

@

I have caught her, yes, technically, I have caught her. But not her lips. Not her tongue. Not her tongue. Not her body. I wanted to taste her. I just wanted to taste my catch. The catch of the month.

@

So I wanted to go to the movies with her. I knew her parents well. Or I think I knew. Her parents were fortunately my type, the liberal ones, not the conservative ones. Sophie's parents would let their daughter go wild and get high for all she want. They didn't give a damn about her . As if she wasn't her daughter. Which was a lucky thing for a guy. Especially for a guy who wanted to date girls.

@

I decided to gave her a call. In my heart, I was really praying that she would go out to the movies with me.

@

'Sophie?'

'It's about time you've called. I thought you had forgotten all about me.'

Aw, thats so sweet. So I replied. 'Hey, why would I forget about you?'

@

I got a yes at the end. We decided to go out to the movies at somewhere near town. The movie place was called the Las Vegas. And the movie we're watching was called Titanic.

The next day I bought 2 tickets. Because tomorrow was my day. My date. Our date.

@

'Hey, you made it at last. Been waiting for you.' I said. Waited for 15 minutes.

'So what? It wasn't an hour. It wasn't even half an hour. You haven't been waiting long. It's only 15 minutes. '

She seemed a little irritated.

Uh oh. I can see where this thing is heading into. I need a diversion. I need it fast. Girls always seemed to get heated up on punctuality issues. Which they are not really good at.

'Shall we go in?'

' Yeah, whatever.'

@

We went to the cinema. The place was packed, believe me. There was no need for further explanation. A movie like titanic was certainly a magnet pull, it would draw hundreds of people to to watch it. Needless to say, it was also movies like this that set the tide of prosperity in motion and those suckers, the movie people are always happy because the 'green' would just keep flowing in.

@

We found our seats. Despite the thick crowd. And we sat. And watched the show 'Titanic'.

@

This was the part where Leornado DiCarprio fell into the water. Thick, icy hues were now engulfing him. It's funny how slow he dies. Especially when in real life, such ice would not only freeze your heart, but also your soul and seal up the possibility of life, bringing your body to the threshold of death itself.

This is when I look at her. It appears her gaze was fixed intensely on the movie rather than our date. And it didn't mind to me anyway. Because I knew girls always did welcomed the sweet kiss of romanticism and romantic movies would just burn and melt the icebergs of their heart, and all would be left is a pool of emotions. And then that would be when I make my move-I will clean up the pool of tears with gentle touches and then hug her closely to my chest. I was waiting for that moment. Desperately.

@

So the movie ended. I thought she would break into tears. But she didn't. Which was disappointing, of course. I thought that this would be the perfect chance for me to get to her close and hopefully, some physical reconciliation would do the work. But it didn't. I was disappointed. What an opportunity wasted.

@

We waited till everybody left. We just sat down there, enjoying the beautiful 'Titanic' song.

@

Finally, we were alone.

@

'So how was the show?' I asked.

'Very, very good. So touching.' She replied.

Silence descended on us that very moment till she spoke.

'Hey, I think we better leave. Everyone has left. The song has finished. Time to go.'

@

So we got of from our seats. Man. What a date. We headed to the entrance of the cinema, only to find it locked tight.

@

'What the hell?' I tried twisting the doorknob. But it wouldn't bulge.

'Shit. It couldn't be.... Don't tell me...the movie guy thought that everybody left the movie and accidentally locked the door.' She tried opening the door too. No luck.

'Damn, how am I going to tell my parents?' I complained. This has got to be the worst day ever. And the worst date! I banged the door. This time, I send my strength of knuckles to the surface of the door. Only to learn the Newton's third law-every action has an opposite and equal reaction.

'Ouch!' That really hurt.

'Please, it's no use. You better stop hurting yourself. Let's take a seat.' She advised. That was the most sensible thing she said today.

@

We were sitting on the seats again.

@

'Hey, sorry for things not turning our quite right.' I said to her. 'Sorry for ruining your day.'

'Haha. It's ok. ' She smiled as she replied. 'Hey, do you want to have sex? Only if you want to.'

'Really?'

'Really!'

@

She was about to take off her top. I had already bared my chest, my shirt was sprawling on the floor.

'So let's get started.' I said with a rush. 'We have all the time in the world, since we're the only two people in the cinema.'

And this was when I got the unexpected. Just when I thought things was getting steamed up and the action was rolling.

@

'Sorry, but all the sudden I don't feel like it anymore. I don't feel like doing it anymore. I'm sorry.'

It was that sentence I could not understand. What was holding her back? Why this sudden change? Why this fickle-mindedness. And then bursting this seed of thought: When it comes to fickle-mindedness, boys are nowhere near girls.

Then, all a sudden, a strong gust of chill swamped our almost naked bodies. Stealing away the warmth of our blood.

We forgot about the air-conditioning. Apparently the same person who locked us both inside forgot to switch off the air-conditioning at the same time. Which could explain why the heat that was raging between us, that savage heat of desire to have sex was extinguished, along with the passion and lust that longed for physical integration. All the feel and want to have sex just got suffocated out.

@

Hurriedly, she wore back her clothes. I quickly wore back mine too. I guess both of us were affected by the cold storm.

@

Anyway, the chillness of the wind landed upon us again. And like a knife that slices, it cut off the communication line between the both of us. Neither of us desired to talk. Neither of us had anything to talk about. And every second, we felt colder. And colder. Gosh, what happened to those words when my friend said that heaven (girls) is so hot?

Like my heart doesn't beat

Beware: Another post of fantasy. Sigh. Sometimes you get so bored with realism that you want to dive into the magical.

@

Mike was only 6. He've heard his sister played the trumpet. But he really loved music. I'm not saying he loved to play music or play musical instruments like jazz and those sort of things. And by the way, he can't even play a single instrument of music. It's like his ears was made to worship the breath music, but somehow, his hands weren't gifted with the talent for playing it.

Anyway, when he was 17, singer Michael Chadwick, from backstage showbiz rose to mega-stardom. And the first album released by Michael was a solo one-like my heart doesn't beat. It was kind of hip and famous among the youngsters but there were almost limited albums. Only a few got hold of it. And Mike was one of those few lucky people.

Mike still remembered how he got that album-he would rush to the music store every morning since the day like my heart doesn't beat got released. Every morning, you got that right. So he rushed out to the store, as eager and enthusisatic of obtaining it, like a dog panting for food and water. In fact, music was food and water to him. And finally he got like my heart doesn't beat at the end.

He couldn't explain his obsession over music, because it was like an integral part of it since he was young. But anyhow, he thanked his obsession. If not for his obsession, he wouldn't got the first place in the singing competition at high school. If not because of his obsession, he wouldn't have got like my heart doesn't beat in the first place.

So, later he met Chelsea. She was no real beauty, but she got that cute Southern charm that would send most men shaking and dazzled, as if they had never seen a pretty girl before. Then the men would just flash a simle to her, sometimes saying 'hi' or waving at her. In that sense, men's hearts were always rich, rich with love whenever they saw her. Even a perfect male stranger would be enchanted by Chelsea. But in her heart, those boys were poor. Poor boys, that's what she always said. Out of her league. For her, those boys just seemed so naive, so ignorant, so stupid. But there are times where she has seen the raucous, daring ones. They were sexual and lusty, and made no hestitations to convey their intentions to her.

So Chelsea loved Mike. Not for his looks of course. She had spotted more handsome ones before. Chadwick was also not daring, not that sensual and sexual. Her eyes caught hold of hotter boys before. So what made Chelsea fell in love with Mike?

In truth, they both shared the same obsession. The same soft spot. The same, old weakness. Their ears were so vulnerable. So vulnerable to the sound of music.

So one day, Mike had to go fetch his parents. And he played like my heart doesn't beat. And that same moment, Mike began to follow the tune: like my heart doesn't beat. For the love of you. For the love of you.

And the car crashed. The car didn't explode, however. But either way, Mike died. People said that while he was dead, the car continued to play like my heart won't beat. Some even said that he died with a smile. As if he welcomed death as his best buddy.

@

Michael's death shocked Chelsea badly. Chelsea often suffered from fevers and headaches. She had no choice but to go to a doctor.

@

'Mame, I don't hear your heart beating.'

'What did you say?' She was shocked. There's really no such thing as your heart don't beat.

'Your heart really don't beat. I can't hear its beating.'

'You must be wrong, doctor.' And she let out a mirthless laugh. 'If my heart doesn't beat, I might as well be dead.'

'The only problem is, mam, you aren't dead. Yet.'

@

That night she went home. The doctor couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could have been wrong. So he just to make sure, he asked her to go to the hospital to get a heart scan.

@

Chelsea was at the heart scanning room inside the hospital. There was the radiographer.

'Okay, real funny. You talk about your heart stop beating. Or you said some doctor talked about it. Anyway, why don't you lie down here. The session will start soon enough. After this, we'll see whether your heart really doesn't beat.' He wanted to add the line' We'll see whether you're saying the truth' but he was afraid she got hurt.

She kept numb.

The radiographer discovered her discomfort. ''Don't worry. Everything will be fine. The whole procedure is safe and painless. No injections or needles involved. 15 mintues. Only. I promise you that.'

So the heart scanning session began.

@

She was shaking.

'Gosh. You're shaking. It's only a heart scan.'

He went and got some earphones.

'Here, some earphones for you. Listen to some music, okay?'

@

Then like my heart doesn't beat came rolling down her ears. She got a big shock, of course. And before the heart scan was over, her heart really did stopped. Just like that. Painless death, some say.

@

And after that, the radiographer got fired.

@

I went and met the radiographer. I wanted to find out what happened.

'It's okay. It's not that I wanted to kill her or anything. I don't mind losing my job, but the fact that she died just made all the difference.'

I just nodded.

'I was curious somehow. And shocked. The first patient to die during a heart scan. So I went and looked up at her past medical history. I found out that she got a string of illness-diabetes, hypertension, you name it. Sheesh. No wonder she died. At least that didn't really made me feel guitly about her death, you know. Or I will be wallowing in self-pity for the rest of my life. Thinking that I'm the one who caused her death.'

'So what happened to the song?'

'Oh, you mean like my heart doesn't beat?'

'Yeah.'

'I've got it here, you know.'

I just looked at the album. Looking at it reminds me of the woman's death.

'You want it? I could give it to you, you know. It's not that I really want it.'

I declined. But he insisted. So I took the album.

@

I went back home. Played the album. When the song hit the high notes, the spirit of my heart went flying. When the song buried deep into sonority, my heart hit the ground too. But that's not the point. When like my heart doesn't beat stopped, my heart really stopped.

And that was the first time my heart really stopped.

@

And that was the last time I listened to like my heart doesn't beat. Because listening to it is really like making my heart not beat.

I've decided not to listen to that song anymore. Or ever again. Because it's so sad. So poignant. So depressing. So scary.

For obese people like me, listening to such things really pains my heart. Makes it stop beating. It brings back the unforgettable memories of how much cholesterol you consume a day.

@

Already 2 people died listening to this song. I don't want to be the third.

Sanyo

Beware: this story below is fact weaved with truth. Certain parts are true, certain parts aren't. The author is trying to highlight certain bad points about stuff we don't really notice every day in our lives.

@

I remembered how I loved to watch tv. I remembered that tv at my home existed before I was borned. It always stayed in my house, till it grew older and my dad decided to get a new one. The tv in my house, in a simpler sense, always got replaced. First there was the Sanyo the First (I called it first because it came to my house first), then there was the Sony. At last, came the Panasonic.

I remembered how stupid that Sanyo was. Short in length, small in size, damn, that tv was a pain in the neck. Sanyo was more like a hole, a rat hole or an asshole, if you ask me. You don't watch it. You just peek at it. Peek, peek, peek. That's because you strain your eyes, narrow your vision just to see what was slithering in its contents. And that really hurts. Not only does it hurt your eyes, but it hurts the excitment of watching tv.

Anyhow, I still loved the tv. But not that much. Until at 12, after the UPSR, I finally got a taste of ASTRO. Only then, tv really became the heart of my life. TV, at that point, almost came as close, as important and as necessary as breathing. Bang, it was like a rocket, sending jets of scintillations down my spine, so wild and so stirring at the same time. And for a student who got tired of books, school, teachers, watching tv just seemed like the ideal activity for me. It breathed life into your hard incrustations when boredom seeps it. It moves the depths of thought and sends ecstasy when fatigue is all over you, especially after a tired day. If you know what I am saying, tv really changes your life. Tilts it upside down. All the way to the ends of the earth. And you will scream. Scream for joy. As if you've taken cocain.

@

But believe me, watching tv is like taking cocain. After you've taken it, you'll feel its effects. And worst, you'll regret.

@

I learnt the destructive effects of it after I got ASTRO. How I learnt about it was not through watching it, but hearing its effects from someone who is very dear to me. My dad.

@

It was nine. I was watching tv. Gosh. It was Lord of the Rings, my favourite movie.

Dad came by.

'Hey I've just received bad news. Your uncle just got divorced.'

I got a shock. 'What??'

'Yeah, your uncle got divorced.'

I don't believe this. ' Why?'

'Cause of tv. You won't believe it though.'

'Huh? tv?' I asked back.

'You see. I'll be frank about this. That night I came and asked him. Why. How. What. And he said, ''tv''.'

'I don't believe what you say.' How the hell could a tv wreck a marriage. Tv is something so harmless. You on it. You watch it. And You off it. That's all.

'It's not so simple as it seems. Your uncle was a tv addic. Tv broke up his marriage. '

'How?' I tried to digest truth. How could this happen? My uncle was a good husband to his wife. Or he seemed like one.

'At first, the tv was in his bedroom.'

'That's nothing wrong with it. Even you put a tv in your bedroom. The room you sleep with mummy has a tv in it!'

'That's not the point. Although the tv was in our room, we don't watch it. That's because it is a lousy tv. Lousy like shit! Its screen is so small. You get it? But your uncle's one-holy shit, his was way, way wider and larger. Plus, with ASTRO.'

I kept quiet.

'You just don't know only. The night he put that 80 inch tv, he kept watching it. Non-stop.'

'So? A tv is a tv. You watch it. What else?' I argued. Oh no, please don't say that tv ruined his sex life!

'It replaced his sex life.He stopped talking to his wife at night. Once he got home at 6, he sat on the bed. And watched. And watched. And watched. He didn't even talked to his kids during the night. When his kids came and wanted to say hi and hug daddy, he wouldn't allow. He'll say he is busy. And then until 2pm, he stopped watching. Then he would sleep. By then, his wife and kids were already sleeping soundly in bed! '

My mouth just froze. Wow. Talk about being addicted. Good thing it was only tv. What if he was addicted to drugs?

'Well, how is he doing now.I mean, how is he coping after the divorce?' I asked.

'Son, even that I don't know.'

@

That night brought some horror into my life. The thing about tv. Lucky thing it did not happen to my family. Lucky thing my parents were not tv addicts. Lucky thing tv did not replace my parents' sex life. And their relationship. And their marriage.

Boy, am I lucky.

I remembered those words when I went to sleep.

@

The next day afternoon, I just slept. Didn't watch tv. Just slept. Then I went to my parents' room. And I saw the Sanyo. The Sanyo that saved my family.

the LOVE for PMR

The morning breeze was as lovely as it seems. The October wind, the Malaysian October wind. Nothing to be astonished of. Nothing to be amused about. Yet there is something to be thankful and grateful about.

Then there was this loud thud. I opened my eyes, transposed from blackness and personal mulling to realism.

It was just a ball. That almost hit me.

'Hey, how are you? Why so quiet?' My cousin beamed at me. About raftly 12cm shorter than me, my diminutive cousin had to raise his head a little higher while talking to me.

@

Come to think about it, it was the short people that made the tall people feel tall. Just like when a couple of months ago, I was went into one of those Form 1 classes to run some errands. The people there was about your stomach-level and kind of gave you a cloak of superiority over them. And it serves as a good reminder as well, you get to see how far you've come and journeyed all these years from being short to a little taller. And it brings back deep, layers of forgotten memories of how you wished to be tall when you're short.

Sometimes, I guess, this are the little, unnoticeable things that we often took for granted. Especially when you've already reached or passed that point or that threshold of aspirations.

@

He nudged me again. 'You ok?'

I nodded. 'Just play your game, ok?'

'Haha......One week of torture and turmoil......over!'

And that caught my attention.

'Huh?' I grabbed him.

'You kidding me? PMR is over, dude!' He let go of me, ran off, jumped like a crazy monkey, some beast whose trammels has been released.

How could I have forgotten? Forgotten about PMR? That one week of Form 3s that they deem as 'hell'.

@

Hell, I would never regard PMR as hell. Quite the opposite, actually. Heaven, I call it. I could still recollect the blissful life of Form 3, even before and after PMR. Back then, life was simple and slow, like a river, with its gentle gurgles, its calm foaming and its occasional frets. Sometimes, the river roars. But its roars were never strident or harsh. It was a mere indication that things in it were clogged up and these small little things were choking its systems. Harmless, really. At the end of the day, no one got hurt or dissapointed. Everything was fine. Life was fine. During PMR.

@

I could still picture some girl studying in 3A5, that girl would either be Juliana, Shin Yee, or whatever. But the bottom line was-this people was constantly held up, by a great variety of books. Whether they did this volunteerily or reluctantly, I never knew. One thing was for sure. These people always studied, got good grades, scored flying-high results, made parents smile, and teachers made life simple for them. In many ways, the teachers would put them on a pedestal or praise their names to the sky, giving the not-so-hardworking ones a brief lecture on how successful these people would turn out to be. How they would succeed in life. Those sort of things.

Then there were the not-so-hardworking ones. I was one of them. Exams ceased in its function to become my drive to excel. It was no longer that engine that spurred me on, that turned my senses and my mind to study. I became complacent, in certain ways. I did not focus on school work, because I left that to the job of the tuition teachers or tuition, if you want to call it. During that time, my parents drew a hectic timetable for me, I even lost count of the number of tuitions I went to! Or maybe I never really did give a care about them.

Anyway, 10 months later the results came out. The results were the same. It didn't really matter if you were hardworking or lazy at the end of the day. Like I said before, everything was fine at the end. You have your As and I have mine. Okay, maybe let's give some credit to the more hardworking ones. They have 8 or 9As and you have 5, 6 or 7As. Or maybe, if you are lazy but smart, you might have got the same as them.

But then again, does the As really matter?

@

My cousin was still running about like a lunatic. I stood there gazing. Gazing at him. There was no words to say. No words to say at him.

'Why don't you come and join the fun?' He said.

'That's because, my little cousin, the fun only belongs to you, not me. I'm in Form 4. I have more important things to worry about.'

And he flew away, like a monkey, making great noises that even real monkeys would run away from him.

@

At noon, I saw him and I wanted to say something to him.

'Yo, I thought you were studying. You have exams next week, right?' He asked.

'You got that right.' I said.

'Haha, what a funny case. My turn to relax and enjoy and it's your turn to suffer.'

'If you put it that way, then yes.'

'Anything you want to say? Congratulating me that PMR is over?' He shot back at me.

Funny. I did not answer his last question. I left. He left to play computer games.

@

My cousin think it's fun. He thinks life would be fun now. Now that PMR is over, he would be indulging in a myriad of activities, not paying attention to the fast hand of the clock. Not realizing the clock is taking away his future. Not realizing that he'll meet hell once more once he reaches Form 4. Like me. Once.

And I guess not making him realize about this makes the whole matter more interesting. More fun. I couldn't wait until he reaches Form 4.

Now, you wouldn't call me a selfish person, would you?