The Godfather

A meaningful life is one lived without regrets. Life is a one time process as there is no turning back of time. There is no point in regretting something in the past which you cannot change. But there are things in the future that you can change and you do not want to regret those too.

Regret are for people who wallow themselves in self-pity, they have no faith in themselves. Someone who lives meaningfully understands that they live to accomplish a purpose. They will always do their best and strive to realize their full potential. At the same time, they will confront their fears, not shy away from the imminent.

People who live a purpose driven life are conscious that they have made mistakes. With that, they will persistently continue to move forward and not give up.  They will change from the mistakes in the past where change is possible. Where change is out of the question they will accept themselves for who they are because that is who they are meant to be. If they fail to appreciate themselves, who would?

To live with no regret does not mean to live without doubt; rather it means to live with confidence that one is able to make the right decision. There is no definitive answer for this “right decision”, it is only between the better or worse choice. Doubt cannot be avoided nor ignored because it makes us think and thoughts are important to make the right decision.

                                                                                                                                                                                          -wong wei quan-

Catharine and I first got acquainted in the second year of my primary school life. Her father, previously working in Sabah as a civil engineer, had been offered a post in the Petaling district. Catharine was a special girl. Never would anyone else influence me the way she did.

            Catharine arrived on the fifth day of the first school term to bewilder the class. By unexpected circumstances, she landed in the same class as I. At first sight, she looked such a fright. Her clothes would be dirty and patched, as if she was forced to sew her uniform out of her mother’s old clothes. Her hair was an unruly mess, it never changed.

            As much as she could surprise us, Catharine carried about her an aura of friendliness. No one could remember her doing anything else but laughing, romping and being unruly. Her warm glow of happiness touched many people; sadly, she never found the acceptance of my classmates.

            From that day on, Catharine would be known as the girl who would climb trees, walk in the rain, and play soccer in a muddy field. She never complained like an ordinary girl would, rather she became an encouragement to those around her. All the younger boys liked to play with her. If she was not joining them for the fun, she was there to help someone. Catharine was all thumbs when it came to schoolwork and clean-up jobs but she was adept at dressing wounds, wrapping bandages and tourniquets. Somehow, she was always all out to enjoy whatever life has to offer her yet be there for the needy.

            My classmates refused to treat her equally, they thought she was eccentric. Catharine became the class’ hottest discussion topic. They would debate whether girls should leave their hair like a shaggy mane or should they do up their skirts with pins. Sometimes they speculated at her oversized legs and made fun of the occasional smudge on her face.

            No matter what the class thought of her, her kindness still touched my heart deeply. I was cold, aloof and distant then. Friendless. When Catharine was continuously rejected by our classmates despite being amiable, I saw myself in her. Gradually we became friends and at the same gradual pace, we found each other congenial.

            She was jovial and full of mirth. After school, I would tread puddles with her during the rainy season. The public garden was a scene we frequented. When she played soccer, a game I had rather not be involved with, I would be watching from a high branch of the nearby Red Meranti.

            To tell you the truth, I never realized then how she impacted me. Though I would not admit it then, I was heavily dependant on her for social support. In fact, she was the sole provider of joy in my life for many years. She gave me emotional guidance when guidance was needed. It somehow felt as if she knew when to lift my spirits and when I needed solitude.

            In due time, I grew and took on some of her traits. I had to confront my fears and I did. I was able to communicate and socialize with my other peers. I learnt to do my best yet not forget myself. The years we spent together had taught me to be sensitive to people’s needs and feelings. Metamorphosis that is what I underwent. No longer my usual self-centeredness, I flourished to be a respected icon in school.

            It was about the same time that Catharine got paler and sallower. Her once rosy cheeks became white and ashen. It was not fair for a girl of Samaritan heart to catch a disease so early on, but no one can change the fact that she had leukemia.

            It was evident that she would not be with us long. I stayed by her side as often as I could, accompanying her late into the nights, occasionally reading to her as she would have liked. I was totally let down to see Catharine reduced to this pitiable state when all the while she had been my pillar of strength.

            No matter how disheartened I was, one thing was clear to me. This is my one chance to restore in her what she gave to me. My determination led me on to do everything within my power to revive the smiles on her face, to make her as cheerful as she once was.

            On the eve of my graduation from primary school, she died. I was ready and took it as a step of faith into maturity. A phalanx of students and teachers stood about her coffin as the eulogy was read. Some cried, while others held each other closely. I grieved with the solemn crowd just one day. I believe it was not her intention for me to take her death as a discouragement. From that day on, I kept the motto “A strong man helps himself, a stronger man helps others.”

            Reflecting upon the past, I thought that she must have been a godsend. From her arrival to her slow wasting away, all must have been entwined in god’s plan. She was there to work on my character. Her wasting and not a quick death was what it took to prepare me and groom my confidence. Now, I live to share her work with others.

                                                                                                                                                                      -wong wei quan-

                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Idea from "Cinderella Girl" by Vivien Alcock

I see speckles dotting the grey pavements like black spots on a piece of paper.  A closer look tells me that every speckle is moving purposely from place to place.  They seem in a hurry, racing against time, as if their lives depend on it.  They are people, busying about their daily life, never a moment to spare.  No time to appreciate the fountain crowded with sparrows at the centre of the square; no time to care for the little child who had just fallen under the weight of her bag; no time to give attention to the old lady having trouble crossing the road.

            All this I witness from above through the lens of my microscope.  The world is carrying about their hectic lives fervently.  There is just no time to sit down and think.  Time and tide waits for no man, men cannot afford to rest or risk being left out.  The world emphasizes on a worldly routine: to get a better income, live a better life.  These wants are just never satisfied, and can never be quenched.  Yet driven by greed, by the majority’s perceptions, men continue striving, striving for naught.

            There is so little care amongst the people that they are broken.  Their relationship with each other is broken.  A husband neglects his wife, a father leaves his children unattended, and a son that has forgotten filial piety.  This is the worst tragedy that ever can happen.  The role of a family is not played, the father, head of the family does not set an example for his sons.  Instead they are indulged with what modern technology can offer them, the internet, computer games, football and the likes.  It is a distraction from our duty.  When a father does not take responsibility for his family, the sons have no model to look up to.  A new generation of men who do not know their part in the society, they become involved in homosexuality because they have lost their identity.

            They are too caught up with the ways of the world.  They only see what they want to see, do what they want to do; blind towards everything else.  To them, joy is tiring themselves at the night pub, drinking, dancing and whatever that is not good for your health.  Then as sure as the sun rises everyday, they prepare themselves for work the next day.  The monotonous habits work in a never ending cycle; if it is not the pub then it is a party, if not then a ceremony.

            The people feel fettered by this ritual but do not know how to escape from it.  They are caught like a butterfly in a spider’s web.  Adults worry that they cannot find income if they lose their job.  Even children can feel the stress imposed on them to get good grades.  It is a prison that confines our mindset that we must do as other people did.  Sometimes people are doing what they are doing just because everyone is doing it.  They feel compelled to follow the rest of the people even if it is wrong or goes against their nature.

            Through a lens observing the darker side of the current world, I see all across the world, every second of the day, there is suffering.  Mother Nature is crying out to me, I can see the earth tearing apart.  The trees are choking, the grasses are strangled, and the shrubs are dehydrated.  The animals on the run have nowhere to go; every last river polluted, every last patch of soil blighted.  The rolling hills are levelled, the mighty mountains creaking at its core, the plains have become high-rised.  It is almost as if the world has turned topsy-turvy, only this time it is true.  Will men halt this obliteration only when things have gone beyond return?

            From my observatory, I can feel the agony of the people in hunger, of children deprived of their privileges.  Sometimes, the treatment they receive is no better than that of animals in a zoo.  Famine and plague and war tear some countries asunder.  Is there no cure for some of the tribulations that these people are suffering from?  The torment that soldiers endure in battle is beyond imagination. Lives are lost like sand in an hourglass, the blood of the people can fatten the soil.  It is a constant war, an aimless crusade, fought for nothing, because of nothing.  It is a time when the skies are always grey, gloomy with clouds massing together.

            Amid all this disaster, some people are in a world of their own.  They live in a concrete jungle, complete with equipments to minimize the usage of time; saving time to do something worthwhile, to explore the depths of the ocean, to venture the expanse of the universe.  Of what significance are all these monumental folly?  What done today is forgotten tomorrow.  It is like a picturesque photo album, opened only every now and then, else wise forgotten under a stack of history books.  Today you are the top in class, you are only kept in mind while the excitement last.  Who remembers?

            Are they all blind, or too caught up with their difficulties to notice the epidemic disaster around them?  To make life more convenient and comfortable, they have inadvertently destroyed the world.  It is now no longer a joyful bliss the way it was half a century ago, but a sorrowful misery.  They enjoy air-conditioners and hi-fis to forget the sea breeze and nature’s orchestra.  They rather queue for hours in a massive traffic jam than to walk a mile’s distance.  Has mankind forgotten how to take delight in breathing clean air, eating healthy food or drinking clean water?  There is almost no more chance to relish in such a thought.

            Juvenile delinquency, robbery, murder and drug abuse now plague the society.  The pillar of humanity is now at risk!  Long gone are the days where people can traverse the lands unharassed.  Even within our beds at night, we do not feel safe, always fearful for the unpredictable.  There is an atmosphere of dread, because we do not know what will befall us tomorrow.  But then the evil abroad have become common.  Misfortune occurs as frequent as people change their clothes.  Almost everyday we read of murder and rape in the papers.  These events have hardened their hearts so that they do not feel.  Their hearts have turned cold such that evil no longer intimidates, it is merely a nuisance of life that we have to bear.

            Then again what have we to live for in this bleak and hopeless world?  The prospect alone makes me lose the heart to continue. Should life be as meaningless and insignificant as I have perceived, is it not better that we cease to exist?  I believe there is a higher calling in this for everyone.  There is still a glimmer of opportunity that we may be redeemed.  There is a chance if the heavens be willing to save us from this chaos.  Humanity must begin at its foundation, to unite the nations as one that there is no disparity between races, countries, ranks and classes.  I pray that one day, the despair and emptiness I see now will be restored, that there will be equilibrium between human and nature, a continuous harmony that never ends.

                                                                                                                                                                                              -WONGWEIQUAN-

            God makes visible to men his will in events, an obscure text written in a mysterious language. Men make their translations of it forthwith; nasty translations, incorrect, full of faults, omissions, and misreadings. Very few minds comprehend the divine tongue. The most sagacious, the most calm, the most profound, decipher slowly, and when they arrive with their text, the need has long gone by; there are already twenty translations in the public square. From each translation a party is born, and from each misreading a faction; and each party believes it has the one true text, and each faction believes that it possesses the light.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          An extract  -Les Miserables-