A week in French class

After a week, we had been taught how to conjugate verbs into present tense. I was told that this was something that French kids recite everyday in school (like how we Chinamen recite the multiplication table in school- remember?). Having grasp enough verbs and conjugation skills for French verbs ending with -er, we started to write and converse in French.

Body: Whatever we have learnt may seem pretty odd to someone who speaks, writes and reads the language. Imagine if you were to drop into our class and overheard a typical exercise:-

STUDENT 1: G-o-o-d Murning
STUDENT 2: Gud Mourning
STUDENT 1: Howe air you?
STUDENT 2: Fun. And you?
STUDENT 1: I’m unwell too. Do you like the chinema?
STUDENT 2: I adore the a cinema. And you?
STUDENT 1: No. I detest the chinuma.

and so on.

I wonder how it would take before we can have real conversations. Right now, we have learned the present tense so our grammar confines us to just a moment of present time. For instance, I can’t ask someone whether if they liked (past tense) something or to say something in the future.

Sigh….

– Vous aimez le cinéma? Le théâtre?
– Non, je n’aime pas le cinema. Oui, j’aime le théâtre.

– You like the cinema? The theatre?
– No, I don’t like the cinema. Yes, I like the theatre.

Bonjour!

I’ve signed up for a French class and today was my first lesson. As it wasn’t raining and considering that the place (Alliance Français) was near my office, I decided to leave the office at 6.00pm. The moment I hit the road, there was a huge, huge jam. For 20 minutes I sat patiently while my car moved 10 meters. The problem was, my class was supposed to start in 10 minutes time.

I got into class 10 minutes late. The teacher was a big genial guy who spoke with a French accent. I didn’t catch his name so I got to know later that his name is Ruffino (or feno for short).

I also missed the first joke of the class when he told the students that they must be disappointed to learn that a Malaysian is going to teach the class. But he ensured them that having a Malaysian is better because he will be more committed to the students as opposed to having a part-time French expatriate who:-
1. Can’t speak good english
2. Treat this as a by-the-way job

But having settled in quite nicely, I started to observe the class. I didn’t remember all of the names of the student but some did stand out Patrick (the young boy who has a problem pronouncing his “l”s and “r”s), Pixie (the girl who, well, looks like a pixie), Hanizah (because the Feno keeps calling her “anizah”- the French don’t pronounce the “h”, you see), Mala (who is one of the 2 Indian ladies in front of the class but I’m not too sure who’s who yet). Et deux de mes amis bon- Jennifer et Baset. There was also a Lithuanian private airline stewardess in the class. Can’t remember her name but both she and Baset were the only 2 foreigners in the class.

We were asked why we wanted to take up french. Unprepared for that question, I said the first thing that came to my mine- because I wanted to watch French films without the aid of subtitles. A pretty insignificant reason compared with some of the people who wanted to do it because they are thinking of relocating to France for professional reasons.

So what did we learn in the first lesson? Why bonjour, of course!

We learn salutations as well as words that would be use in the course of the lesson. These included words like écoutez (listen), repétez (repeat), lisez (read), écrivez (write), je ne comprends pas (I don’t understand), Je ne sais pas (I don’t know) and etc. (or as Feno would say ehhseahteweahwa)

Title: Trip to Penang

I drove down early today (started at 4.30 am) but left KL only at 6.00 am. Headed into the North-South Highway via LDP. The road was clear, the mist was thick and my car was steadily chugging an average of 150 km/h northwards towards the Pearl of the Orient.

Hmm…the “Pearl of the Orient”? Of late, one sees less and less of that term being used for Penang. I wasn’t expecting much from the trip as it was quite a rush trip with us spending only 2 nights and 3 days in Sunway Hotel. The reason why me and my family went down there was because…well, just because.

We reached Penang in slighly under 4 hours (including a 30 minutes stop along one of the fine R&Rs). The thing that drive me nuts was that Penang drivers are slow. They would drive their vehicles below the speed limit and the road boundary lines mean nothing to them. It was as if the lines were there because Penangites didn’t want their roads, with gravel and tar, to sport an ubiquitous dull black look. So they painted in some lines and they have a secret conspiracy among Penangites to ignore them. For instance, consider the following situation:-

a) Motorcyclist is at my left side
b) He/She/It wants to turn right
c) He/She/It cuts in front of my car to turn right
d) Not wanting to kill him/her/it, I apply my ABS breaks and my tires screech to a halt
d) He/She/It gives you the “die-non-Penang-driver-die!” look

Besides that, Penang was good. The first thing that we did was to go for food. We went to Ayer Itam for the famous Asam Laksa stall only to be told that required another 10 minutes to be ready. Seeing that there are other stalls there as well, I finished off a bowl of Hokkien Mee. Hmm…heaven. Patiently, I went back to Asam Laksa stall and waited the remainder of the 7 minutes. When they were ready, I ordered one first, having in mind to get 2 more bowls later. When it arrived, the Asam Laksa didn’t taste as good as my memory can recall. In fact, it was rather bad. If you like the taste of Mark’s Laksa in 1U, don’t even go for the Ayer Itam Asam Laksa at all. Compared to Mark’s, it was bland, watery and frankly, quite tasteless.

Immediately after lunch, it was apparent that my mother wanted to do some shopping. She has this fixation with brooms that are sold in a particular sundry shop in Ayer Itam. If I had a bigger car, she would have purchased 10 instead of the 5 that she got.

Next, we checked into Sunway Hotel.

Now, I must say this:- if you like Penang food (as much as I do) then for your next trip to Penang, you should check into this hotel. The smorgasbord of Penang hawker food along the road is incredible! From Hokkien Mee to authentic Curry Mee (the one with the white soup and chili oil), from Char Kway Tiow (with crab meat) to Char Kway Kuk, from Pig parts porridge to Almond tea, this is the place to be!

So, total count for the day:- 1 Hokkien Mee, 1 Asam Laksa, 2 Curry Mee, 1 Char Kway Teow, 1 Almond Tea, 1 Leng Chi Kang, 2 Lor Baks, 1 Oh Chean, 1 Hum Chin Peng….hehehe!

Free Culture

Lawrence Lessig’s latest book “Free Culture: How Big Media Uses Technology and the Law to Lock Down Culture and Control Creativity” isn’t only free, it is a subversive exercise to see how far we can go in terms of intellectual property protection.
Go to his website http://www.free-culture.cc to download a free electronic version of his book or, my favorite, download a “remix”. In theRemixes section, the book is available in multiple formats, translation and, yes, even in MP3 audio book format. On top of that, if you want to own a hard copy of the book, you can buy it from Amazon or your nearest bookstore.

This means that Lessig is losing a portion of his book revenue because people would freely get his book in other formats (PDF, mp3, txt, etc) which is well and fine with him. What’s important is not the revenue from the sale of the book (though that might be a lot) but proving a point that as people share ideas freely, the basic ideas can be built upon by other people and improved.

What better way to prove this than to quote a real-life example of what happened not long after the book has been launched. A few people got together and decided to record the book into an audio book. They organized themselves through the internet and the unpaid volunteers divided the chapters of the book among themselves and went wild with their notebook or computer microphones. The result of that was an audio recording of the book that took less 24 hours to complete! To make matters even more interesting, another group, wanting the the audio book to sound more “professional” decided to do another recording! And all this, without the need of a written consent from the author.

(Of course, if the producers of the amateur audio books were to sell their “performance”, they would be prohibited due to restrictions of the license that Lessig has applied to his work).

If you have come to my site often, you would have noticed a Creative Commons logo on my page. Click on it and read the licence. The license covering my work in this blog is a Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 1.0 license. This means that I, as the creator of the content within this site, allow you, the reader, to use and create derivatives of my content freely as long as you do not try to make money out of it.

In the old days, works are preserved as scrolls, books, records, tapes, etc. This physical method stores informations as atoms, whether it is the atoms that make the molecules in inks or atoms that align themselves to a magnetic orientation in tape. These atoms can be scrambled (by rearranging, thus destroying them) and information will be lost forever. In this digital age, however, information are stored as bits. Information as bits are what digital discs (though not the form but the information contained within the form) and the Internet are all about. Therefore, information cannot be easily destroyed because they are easily stored, replicated, copied and manipulated.

Lessig believes that as corporations clamp down on copyright, works that are not commercially viable will not be made available anymore. The cost of imprinting information physically is costly and atoms are scarce- try to get a copy of a rare book and you’ll get the picture. Therefore, a large part of unprofitable body of knowledge is lost forever. With a Creative Commons, people like me hope that our work will not be locked into rigid intellectual property protection and will be available freely.

Charlize Meets C.H.R.I.S.T.

Charlize didn’t know what to expect when the Man from C.H.R.I.S.T. arrived at her Sydney home one fine winter morning.

She heard the familiar ring of the doorbell and, still half-asleep, shuffled to the front door. She half-expected Terrence or someone else, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with a man in a long dark coat, wearing a matching fedora—a look that was decidedly out of sync with Sydney’s latest fashion trends.

The Man reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, holding it upright so Charlize could read it clearly.

It read:

“The Man – Evangelist
Congregation of Holy and Reformed Individuals Seeking the Truth”

Charlize groaned.

“Oh Christ!” she muttered aloud, instantly realizing who he was. She had heard of this group before and had gone to great lengths to avoid them. Yet, somehow, they had finally caught up with her.

“Actually,” the Man said sheepishly, “Man will do. I’m not divine, you know.”

Charlize sighed. “What do you want?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, trying to get a better look at the fashionably impaired intruder.

“I’d like to ask,” he said, animatedly, “Do you have an intimate relationship with God?

“Huh?” Charlize blinked, momentarily distracted by one of the many elephant-on-mouse statues scattered around her house.

The Man followed her gaze, then shook his head regretfully.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said in a pained voice. “There is no salvation for you if you worship false idols and do not accept C.H.R.I.S.T.

Charlize frowned. “What do you want?” she repeated, this time with more force.

Her morning routine had been rudely interrupted, and she was getting irritated. This was supposed to be a lazy, cozy morning, best spent staying in bed for another hour, flipping through food channels, chatting with Terrence, and then—well, going back to bed again.

“Actually, I’m here to introduce you to C.H.R.I.S.T.,” the Man said, flashing a smug, toothy grin as he dramatically paused on the last syllable.

Charlize raised an eyebrow. “Are you selling something? Because whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

She prepared to slam the door in his face.

The Man quickly interjected.

“But if you could just give me five minutes, I could share something that might change your life—and the lives of the people you love!

Charlize hesitated.

She heard the part about love—and against her better judgment, decided to give him a few more moments to make his point.

If nothing else, she thought, she could always go back to bed with the Naked Chef.

Sensing an opportunity, the Man removed his fedora, adjusted his coat, and leaned in conspiratorially.

“The secret is that God loves you,” he whispered. “He created the world, including you, me, and all of creation. He blessed us with abundance, intelligence, and free will. But as we grew intellectually, we grew apart from God. I’m here to tell you that by accepting C.H.R.I.S.T., we can bring you closer to Him again. Never again will you be lonely or sad. With C.H.R.I.S.T., we can help you develop a personal relationship with God—”

Charlize cut him off. “What does that even mean—‘personal relationship with God’?”

She had heard that phrase before, tossed around by people who had embraced C.H.R.I.S.T. But what exactly did it entail?

  • Was it like having a toll-free hotline to God?
  • Or maybe a divine instant messenger ID?
  • Or better yet—a God who lived in your spare closet so you could let Him out whenever you needed to talk?

The Man, oblivious to her thoughts, continued smoothly.

“It means that anytime you want, you can talk to God, and He can work miracles for you through C.H.R.I.S.T. No more sacred texts, no more yogic exercises, no more worries—”

Charlize barely listened, her mind wandering into deliciously wicked thoughts about all the things she could do with a personal, on-demand God.

The Man, sensing it was Decision Time, held his breath.

This was the crucial moment—the final 30 seconds after a sales pitch, when the customer either buys in or walks away.

Charlize looked at the Man, processing everything he had just said.

She recognized some truths in his words—truths she had glimpsed as flashes of insight during her meditation sessions. Truths about nature, existence, and her place in the world.

But before she could fully grasp them

The Man ruined it.

Grinning, he suddenly brandished a stack of brochures and, in his best Shopping Network voice, declared:

And if you accept C.H.R.I.S.T. today and sign up for a one-year membership, I’ll throw in this wonderful Saviour Doll that blinks in the night! PLUS! Membership now entitles you to a FREE CD titled Lower Than a Mountain, Higher Than a Mould—jam-packed with the latest evangelistic hits!

That was it.

ENOUGH!” Charlize screamed, making the Man jump in shock.

Still clutching his brochures, membership forms, dolls and CDs, the Man stared at her in stunned silence.

Charlize took a deep breath and spoke calmly but firmly.

“I was a pacifist Buddhist before you knocked on my door,” she said. “But now, I am convinced of what I must do.”

The Man smirked. “Pacifist?” he mocked. “That’s so meek and weak. Our God will make you powerful, so you don’t have to rely on mysticism and rituals and all that rubbish.

Charlize’s temperature rose.

Meek? Weak?” she repeated. “I knew you’d say something like that about me and my beliefs.

The Man brightened. “So you’ll join C.H.R.I.S.T.?

Charlize grinned. “Nope. But I will start my own movement.

The Man blinked.

Charlize crossed her arms. “It’ll be called the Songs of the Himalayans, and I’ll market it big. Then we’ll see who truly inherits the Earth.”

With a triumphant wave, she slammed the door shut.

The Man from C.H.R.I.S.T. was never seen in the neighborhood again.

(Note: Names of the characters have been changed to protect ME)

Jennifer’s Grandma

A phone call at 6:00 AM woke me this morning. It was Cheau Lin with news of her grandmother.

I still remember, with a quiet sense of excitement, the first time I met Cheau Lin’s grandmother in Melaka. I had heard so much about her and couldn’t wait to meet her in person. When I finally saw her, she struck me as someone who radiated kindness.

She had a round, compassionate face, but her drooping cheeks and deep wrinkles told the story of a life filled with hardship. She was the quintessential grandmother—the kind that only a lucky few among us have had the privilege of knowing, and the kind that the rest of us wish we had.

During our first conversation, I was asked to shout everything I wanted to say—she had been deaf for quite some time. I suggested to Cheau Lin that they should get her a hearing aid, only to be told that she already had one—but out of vanity, she refused to wear it in front of guests.

She made small talk, but since she couldn’t hear my responses, our conversation was one-sided, mostly filled with reminiscing about the good old days and complaints about growing old. It felt a little odd having to shout “AH MA! HO BO!” to a tiny old lady, and I never quite got used to it.

As time passed and my visits became more frequent, she opened up and became less formal. I often found her sitting in her favorite rattan chair, lost in thought, as if she were reliving the past in her mind.

When she needed to move, she relied on a four-legged walking cane with a front basket, which usually held her handkerchief, an assortment of trinkets, and packs of 555 cigarettes.

Later, she moved to Shah Alam to live with Cheau Lin’s brother, where her mother and sister-in-law could care for her.

Then, about a year and a half ago, she suffered a stroke that left the left side of her body paralyzed.

I rushed to the hospital as soon as I heard the news. Though she could no longer speak coherently, she grunted and pointed with her right hand. When our eyes met, I could tell she recognized me.

The doctors couldn’t do much. They suggested that the family bring her home.

She could no longer chew solid food, so her meals– mostly milk– had to be pushed through a syringe into a feeding tubeleading directly into her stomach. It must have been agonizing– she tried to pull the tube out whenever she could.

I was given packs of her unopened 555 cigarettes since she couldn’t smoke anymore. I tried lighting a few out of curiosity, but they felt like smoking needles—harsh, piercing, and unforgiving. I thought to myself, it must have taken a tough lady to smoke two packs of these every single day.

Her condition never improved.

The last time I saw her alive was a week and a half ago when I accompanied Cheau Lin to Shah Alam.

Her once bubbly, expressive face was now a ghostly reflection of the woman I had first met. Her muscles had wasted away, her body weakened from months of immobility. She had also lost a tremendous amount of weight.

I called her name. I looked at her.

Blank eyes stared back.

It was too much to bear.

Earlier this week, Cheau Lin told me that her grandmother had contracted pneumonia. We both knew that the end was near. And deep down, we also knew that when the time came, it would be a relief—a release from the months of suffering she had endured.

This morning, she passed away in her sleep.

The world has lost a kind, gentle soul.

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.”- John 14:1-3