The sky is too far

There is a saying: it’s good to know your own limits.

I know most of my limits. I know I can’t sing. I can’t paint. I can’t do sit ups. I can’t bend down and touch my toes without bending my knees.

But there are certain limits that I wish I will never know.

After the Economics paper during mocks, as I put down my pen in resignation, I truly and deeply felt sad. I was sad beyond words because I knew, in some obscure corner of my mind, I had tried “my best”. I also knew (or thought I knew) that I had screwed up my paper.

It was sad because I knew, at that time, what little result my “best” could yield. I had reached my limit and apparently it was not very far.

But at that point, I suppose my life must have been part of a movie because I really did not do badly.

But movies can only last for so long.

For several days now I have been haunted by nightmarish flashbacks, not unlike Katniss and Peeta in The Hunger Games. I subconsciously bring myself back to the examination hall. And see my helpless self punching away frantically at my TI-89, unable to – didn’t know how to – solve and prove the equations and conjectures. I see four more versions of myself in different venues, brainstorming for answers. Reading and rereading my work. Confidence breaking. Legs shaking furiously.

I like to think that I had indeed “done my best”. Right after the examinations, I really did think that nothing that I might have done could have changed the outcome. I’d finished the past years. I’d tried the extra exercises. I’d done my research. I’d read the notes. I did more than what I have been doing for the past exams.

And yet.

And yet my mind plays with all the endless negative possibilities. So much so that I simply dread the coming of the 29^th.

What if that was my limit? And what if it isn't as far-reaching as I thought it is?

Plagued by fear, I’ve lost sight on the silver lining. Somewhere along the way, the pressure of it all had punctured a hole in my shield of optimism. ):

That being said, I need to restock my chocolates. =]

Never too fictional to touch lives!

My favourite character in The Hunger Games is one who lived for less than one twelfth of the entire trilogy. She is an 80 years old lady who doesn’t even have enough teeth left to speak properly, who can barely walk to catch up with the speed that is required of her, who can make fish hooks out of anything, who volunteers to take the place of a mentally-ill young woman to be thrown into an arena where 24 people are to fight to their deaths in order to produce only one survivor, and who ultimately, to spare a young man guilt from having to choose between saving her life and that of a boy, walks to her own death into a cloud of poisonous fog.

Her name is Mags.

It’s not Mags’s fault when I began falling. She’s doing everything she can to be an easy passenger, but the fact is, there is only so much weight I can handle. Especially now that my right leg seems stiff. The first two times I crash to the ground, I manage to get back on my feet, but the third time, I cannot get my leg to cooperate. As I struggle to get up, it gives out and Mags rolls off onto the ground before me. I flail around, trying to use vines and trunks to right myself.

Finnick’s back by my side, Peeta hanging over him. “It’s no use,” I say. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” A somewhat doubtful proposal, but I say it with as much surety as I can muster.

I can see Finnick’s eyes, green in the moonlight. I can see them as clear as day. Almost like a cat’s, with a strange reflective quality. Maybe because they are shiny with tears. “No,” he says. “I can’t carry them both. My arms aren’t working.” It’s true. His arms jerk uncontrollably at his sides. His hands are empty. Of his three tridents, only one remains, and it’s in Peeta’s hands. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t do it.”

What happens next is so fast, so senseless. I can’t even move to stop it. Mags hauls herself up, plants a kiss on Finnick’s lips, and then hobbles straight into the fog. Immediately, her body is seized by wild contortions and she falls to the ground in a horrible dance.

– Catching Fire, second book of The Hunger Games

I nearly cried.

I read and reread that last paragraph at least three times. I’m almost done with the whole trilogy now. Without question, countless characters have sacrificed themselves for Katniss but none affected me as much as this old lady who didn’t even have a single proper dialogue in the book except “bob”.

Her death made me sad for reasons I can’t explain. Perhaps it was because her intention was so pure and so noble. Perhaps it was because I felt it unfair she wasn’t developed more.

But in all likelihood, I think it’s because I’m just human. Who may also be a little childish.

Maybe some things really are that simple. After all, some of the best things I know require no explanations – they just feel right. :)

When being crazy is good

“The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.”

– Apple’s “Think Different” commercial, 1997

It was also the first quote in Steve Jobs’ biography.

I came back to Kuching just a few days ago, after bidding goodbye to Sunway, the city of endless development that has been my home for the past one and a half years. I took a cab back home together with my parents and in that short ride that lasted for less than a half hour, I’d listened to one of the most common rants among Malaysians.

The 60-something years old uncle ranted about the poor management of the country. He lamented the lack of control of taxi drivers that are approved each year, creating more supply of taxis than there are demands for them in the market. He drives an exclusive Naza but is obliged to charge the same rate as a normal Iswara despite its larger capacity. Oh, and he had sent all his children overseas.

With the recent passage of the PA Bill in the Parliament, the lawyers across the South China Sea are organising a walk, claiming that the bill infringes the people’s freedom. Before that dramatic bit was a ban on an event – Seksualiti Merdeka – that aimed merely to increase awareness of the marginalised LGBT community.

So when we read about news like this, regardless of whether or not the decisions actually affect our lives, we just get so discouraged. Malaysians abroad wince at reading such news and begin their contemplation of whether they ought to still return to their homeland. Malaysians in Malaysia gather at mamak stalls and debate on the logic of it all.

So who wouldn’t want to change the world when things like this jump at our faces each day?

The answer to that is probably, a lot of people. But there is a distinct difference between those who want to change the world, those who think they can and those who actually try to.

I have read several accounts of students who have left to study abroad while firmly believing that they will return to Malaysia once they have graduated. Yet somewhere along the way, that belief is shattered. Admittedly I cannot exclude myself from that possibility. When the two sides of arguments are weighed, the arguments against staying probably have more points.

“When I first arrived in the UK, I sincerely believed I could return and bring reforms and improvements to Malaysia. However, each news item killed my hopes little by little.”

– The Malaysian Insider, 1^st November 2011

But I have a naïve and childish view of my own.

I think that change is not entirely about politics. Malaysia is not about politics. Our identity is not defined by the decisions made in Parliament. Rather, it is shaped by the people, the food, the culture and the heritage. It lies within the long houses in Sarawak, the orang utans in Sabah, the assam laksa in Penang and the peranakan villages in Malacca.

A change does not need to be in the form of a new government or participating in rallies and protests. It can simply be in the form of an additional educated taxi driver, an efficient public servant who doesn’t take a three-hour lunch break, a non-corrupted police officer who doesn’t ask for coffee money – how rarely do we come across those!

Or a few more scrupulous bankers, honest lawyers, passionate doctors, and respectable teachers – I think these come by just as rarely!

If more people can return to offer services that are up to standards, can you imagine the amount of interest that the people are going to invest in you? If you had gone to see a doctor who does not underestimate your ability to understand medical jargons, who tells you everything you need to know, would you not visit him or her again? If you had gone to a public office and the public servant treats you courteously, saying pleases and thank yous, getting your passport ready within 2 hours, would you not feel encouraged?

Yes it is a lie to say that decisions made in Parliament do not concern us. But more importantly, why must there be a change made in the Parliament first before we change our mindsets and attitudes?

No I am not crazy enough to think that I can change the world.

I’m just crazy enough to know that I want to try in the smallest and simplest way possible.