A Meeting of Minds

Rarely in our lives do we meet people who, despite meeting them for the first time, we feel a strong sense of familiarity and comfort found only with our old and close friends. And after meeting them, you wonder how on earth the both of you did not know of each other much earlier. There is happiness and contenment at the promise of such a friendship and a little sadness at what could have been. There, we will find a similitude in perspectives, an empathy in thoughts, a similar intensity of passions and causes and best of all, a meeting of minds that are then able to proceed in lockstep with each other or in opposing directions in complete confidence of understanding.

I had the good fortune to savour this experience when I met a friend of mine, Andrew. The first time I met him was at a get together for those of us going to the same university for a pre-unversity meet up. The little do was organized by one of our soon to be immediate seniors at his house near Jalan Travers. I was a little hesitant about going to the meet initially since I knew no one else going there apart from one of my old schoolmates, Daniel. Even with him around, I was not keen on turning up in a room full of strangers and strike up small talk after small talk with each new acquaintance. And back then I was not a terribly good conversationalist either (which is another amusing topic altogether which I hope I shall remember to write at some point). So the thought of the entire affair filled me with dread.

I must have convinced myself that it was a good thing because I found myself that evening in Ruben's large well attended living room and not quite sure which group I could intrude. Several groups had already clustered in various parts of the room. I did recall scouring the room for eye candy and made a few mental notes of those notable looking ones but on the whole felt at a loss as to which cluster I could join. There just did not seem to be much a similitude with everybody else in the room - everybody seemed pretty straight laced and goody-goody. Not that I was any different then, but I fancied myself a little darker, a little subversive and dangerous to know (hey man, I did Byron for A-Levels, hokayyy!) and wanted to at least be seen in that kind of company in the lame ass hope that women may dig it. For the purposes of record, they did not and I doubt if I could even muster that impression with huge thick glasses which instantly reduced me to a geek even if I had tatoos of dragons and naked women all over my body.

After a few attempts at conversation here and there and not feelin particularly at ease, I noticed a thin distinguished thin spectacled chinese chap who seemed underdressed with his simple white t-shirt and well worn blue jeans standing apart in his own space taking in the room. What was significant for me was that the back of his hair was a little longer than your normal Malaysian male haircut which terminated just before the nape. This indicated a slight rebellion, a slight subversiveness, a challenge to the establishment that I was looking for which perhaps may flourish fullly in the cold severe though refreshing air of England. If I recall correctly, I went over to him and introduced myself. He said his name was Andrew and we commenced our polite banter to while away the time. I forget the details of our conversation but I felt an immediate kinship. He loved music, played the guitar and enjoyed movies but most important for me was that some of the views his expressed found not just agreement but resonance with me. We did not talk long because we all dispersed soon after but he made the best impression on me at the party (male-wise at least!). So I left the part safe that I shall get along with at least one other person other than Daniel when I got to university.

It was in England though that our friendship blossomed and during the many hours we spent in each other's company walking to class in first year, or studying in the library, or doing committee work together, or bloody lion dances that near killed us, we did what I enjoyed doing most with him - talking which would necessarily include a bit of table thumping, violent agreements, understanding, compassion and a whole lot of laughter. Conversation did not become merely an exchange of words - it became a haven, a harbour for all manner of interesting knowledge, experiences and carefully considered issues to ship to. And I like an eager dockyard worker would only be to eager to stand at the very edge of the pier, always scanning the edge of the horizon for that dot of arrival. The only thing we needed aside from ourselves would be a comfortable place to sit and bottles of wine (optionally necessary).

And there is a meeting of minds because we share so many similar interests, run on similar tracks of thought and more importantly feel the same way. What drives him crazy and makes him mad (his yahoo email account begins with 'angryyoungman') does the same to me too. What makes him a little different from most of my other friends is hard to describe but let me attempt to do so: sometimes as he is saying certain things, it is as if he is setting out my thoughts or feelings on it exactly. It is a wonderful and beautiful feeling when this happens because it's like some kind of strange surreal force at work or something: like seeing your thoughts typed out onto the screen without using any kind of input device. I'm not saying it happens all the time with him, but it does tend to happen more often with him than with others.

I wished all of us could meet somone like that for each of us everyday.

The Inspired

We are influenced by the people we meet or keep in company with. Though many of them will influence us in some small way - it is usually difficult to pinpoint their precise contribution to your personality or life - a small few however will leave such a lasting and powerful impression so as to change your attitude towards living. Yesterday I mentioned that CS Lim was one of the most influential people in my life but did not explain this influence. Before I can do so however, it is necessary to begin with how I saw myself before I became acquainted with him.

An average student that never made the top ten in class throughout primary and secondary class. Dangerously diligent during play and unrepentantly lazy and completely indisciplined where studies were concerned. Sometimes I'd even just pretend I fell asleep after an hour of sitting in front of my textbook at home just to get out of studying. Even the one time I really made an effort with my studies for the SRP exams (Sijil Rendah Pelajaran; an exam taken in Form 3 in Secondary School), I didn't come out top either (and nowhere near the top ten either). The thinking therefore was that if that was my best and it still was not good enough to beat some of my friends (braniac bastards most of them), then perhaps I was not clever, or to be brutal about it, stupid. These factors along with the fact that I was a late (started regularly only at twelve) and a slow reader, could not hold more than two sentences (with a maximum of ten words each) in my head for more than five seconds, and had never been told I was clever, except by my parents, who unsurprisingly made no mention of this when I showed them my crimson stained report cards. I gave no opinions thinking mine worthless. Never volunteered an answer even if I knew the answer. And all this left me rather unambitious. I believe the technical phrase for this is 'Could Not Be Arsed'. College came. Though it gave me a glimpse of what intellectual freedom felt it was too cursory to be of significance and though I made firm friends there, I was not altered by the experience. At that point, I knew I wanted to be in the practise of law but never thought to ponder about just what kind of lawyer I would be. Actually, at that point of time, I would have happy as long as I made it there.

And now to speak a little more of CS Lim's own attributes. Yes, he was persistently boastful (I ceased to even notice this once our friendship was ensconced) but unlike many blowhards, CS Lim could back it up. He did not make a claim that he could not meet. And the reason I think for this was because of his singleminded ability to focus so intensely and exclusively on his goal that it became inevitable. The most significant example of this was our own law degrees. At the beginning of our second year, we had agreed that we would work towards a first class degree. We studied diligently together throughout the year either and at the end of the second year, horror of horrors. Though I came out poised for an attempt on a first class with something like an average of 64 (this was a second upper; first class was 70 marks and above) CS Lim was handed a measly 55 (this was a second lower which by his standards was unthinkable). Needless to say, we were completely nonplussed. We studied together, used the same notes, discussed our studies and shared the same opinions. Worse, he was the one that helped me through the more difficult topics and issues. How on earth did it turn out like this? He was pretty depressed about his results and I felt bad about mine. We hung out a bit over the summer vacation. When we met again in university at the start of third year, he seemed rejuvenated. He had his dorky smile on his face and announced to me that he was going to get that first class and was 'prepared to do anything to get it.' He asked if I was still keen for it. Though I said yes, I don't think it was because I really thought I was going to be able to make it but rather because hearing it pronounced seemed to have a rather inspiring effect. So I gave his query a thumbs up. The goal was set. First class for both of us. It was on. Little did I know what I was in for.

Over here in Malaysia when I hear somebody telling me that they would do anything to get something, I inevitably think that they are going to just bribe, beat or blackmail somebody to get what they want. I was to learn the length to which CS Lim would go through to get that first class. In that first week of term of our third year, we had drawn up our plan and divided up our chores. I was responsible for taking full verbatim lecture notes, collating the tutorial material and starting work on them. He was to do pretty much everything else which included going for intensive one on one private tutorial sessions with the tutors (which let me tell you is way more scarier than your normal tutorial with a bunch of people in the room. These one on one sessions were brutal because you had to make sure that you completely and thoroughly understood some of the issues before you could hold your own against these tutors who were bloody brilliant. And he recorded these and I transcribed them), photocopying, purchasing or bartering for other relevant material that was not on the reading list and he was to summarize the heavier reading stuff like those bloody boring law books. After we had run through all the material in our library, I thought we were done. Not at all. We took a drive out one day to the neighbouring university nearby and raided their library. We did not only check their books and journals but we even ran through Masters dissertations and PhD papers written by the students that were stored there. And that was still not enough. So, CS Lim about a week after came up with the idea to drive down to Oxford and then raid the Bodleian library. We left the day after his suggestion just before dawn so we could maximize the day pass he got for both of us. We didn't eat lunch that day. All I remember were books, racks of books, more books and our laptops which were clattering away whenever we were not ransacking the journals and other textbooks. What we did was set up our laptops at a big table and just brought down books we felt relevant, skimmed through it and typed out the relevant portions we wanted verbatim and summarized the rest. We left only when the library closed and made it back with enough energy to get to our respective rooms and crash out. As all this was going on, there was the daily routine that we had going which was just to study, analyze and come up with better arguments or points from our additional material, discuss it, memorize stuff, write essays and go for our tutorials. That was just about as hard as I've ever studied in my life. And not being used to it, after about 5 months of that intensity I just got tired of it and told CS Lim that I was taking it slower because I could not take the pace anymore and truth be told felt that I should be enjoying my last year in university too. I think also that that first class suddenly didn't mean so much to me anymore. I started 'slacking' if you could call it that in the last 3 months. CS Lim however kept at it and aside from a few meals and what not, I saw little of him. He would call every once in a while to see how I was doing and berating me for giving up. Anyway, when the results came up, I maintained my second upper but CS Lim scored his first class and was I think the first ever in the university to pull a first class out of a hat with a second lower in the second year. He did so outstandingly for his final five papers that it did not just pull his average up but blew it up into the stratosphere. He basically gave up 8 months of his life to get it and he did. And that's pretty much him - if he wants it bad enough, he was going to get it. It could be a girl (that's another story too), a game of tennis, tennis captainship, someone he wants to meet, whatever really and once his heart was set, he was going to achieve or get it.

Now that you have a fair idea of what kind of people we were and some of the stuff we got up to, I can better explain how he influenced me. And I think the pivotal point was one night that started rather casually that I do not remember the circumstances that occured before our conversation. I think when we had this conversation, we were already firm friends for a few months already. I knew by then off his many and diverse accomplishments and was impressed. I had great respect for him and often wondered what he hung about me for - I mean there were much cleverer fellows, better tennis players (his sports obsession in university), etc and I think I pretty much paled in comparison to some his other friends or hall mates.

That's how I thought and that was my attitude about myself at the time. Then we had that conversation in my room which I think marked the beginning of my internal change. It was very early in the morning, perhaps one or two in the morning. We were quite tired out and I think we may have returned from a function of some sort. There was only my desk light which I turned to face one of the walls. It was cold. Sometimes you could hear the wind whisper or howl past the window. I was sitting on my bed and I recall him slumped on the guest chair which was set perpendicular to my bed. So what was this conversation?

It began with him saying something to the effect that he had done some thinking about my lack of ambition. I replied by saying that this was readily apparent and asked him why he thought I was like that. And he began telling me about his thoughts about me, why he thought I behaved the way I did and some of the actions or things I say that support his conclusion. It was rather frightening to be deconstructed in such a manner and how accurate he was in doing so considering at that point of time he did not know a great deal about my past (he often did most of the talking). I remember feeling rather embarassed and ashamed I suppose at being found out like that. But then he started to tell me how wrong I was about myself, about how I had alot of potential to be a whole lot better than I was if I bothered, that I was much cleverer than I thought myself, that I really should think about my life and not let myself drift, and then explaining why he thought this. He then said that he had a lot of respect for me and my abilities. And he said all this a calm and quiet fashion in his chair instead of his usual bustling and loud manner.

I know he was just saying a bunch of nice things about me. But until then nobody aside from my parents told me that they thought so well of me or thought me clever and worthwhile in so serious a manner or just after I had done something that politeness encourages praise. Before, I was synonymous with just funniness (and all related thereto like silliness, etc.) and laughter. And it was meaningful for me because he had nothing to gain from me when he said it. Not a thing (and by that time, I had borrowed a few of his jackets already). We were firm friends already by then. And there was really no need to say anything. There was no need for him to lift me up to make me his equal. Here was someone whom I had loathed with a passion at first, so much more accomplished than me in every respect saying these completely unnecessary things. I don't know whether this is pure sincerity but my count it comes pretty damn close. And it is wonderful to hear good things being said about you with such sincerity. And it is damn well inspiring.

I don't know how the night ended. But from that day I felt a change in myself. I had lost that fear of trying. I now felt confident about challenging myself and perhaps even others. I wanted the challenge. I felt that I had the right to an opinion and was not afraid to voice it. But all this did not manifest itself fully enough until the second year. And I am now rolling on that momentum - always challenging myself, challenging others, exposing my mind to the unfamiliar, learning new things or knowledge, sometimes leaping out of my comfort zone because I am confident in my abilities and certain of its limits. I know more of who I am and have discovered more ways to draw myself out to analyze, consider and perhaps improve or prune.

I am no longer afraid.

I am inspired.

First Impressions Are Not Everything

CS Lim is one of my outstanding good friends. Though we seldom talk or meet up these days, he's a high-flying fund manager doing what he does best - making more money, he will always be counted as one of my good friends. The best friendships are not necessarily the oldest but the most meaningful. Our friendship certainly met that criteria. He would prove to be one of the most influential people in my life. But that was not why he was outstanding for me. I have accorded him this quality because of the manner in which met.

Before meeting him, I would usually get along right from the start with all the people that would eventually become my good friends. He proved to be the exception to the rule because when I first met him I had taken an instant and potent dislike to him. We stayed in halls in our first year of university in England. I stayed in the block furthest away from the entrance, though near the tennis courts (which would prove pivotal to our friendship later), and he stayed about halfway towards the entrance. In our first week there, the tutors of the halls arranged for a get to know each other session for just the international students who were staying there. It was held in the evening and when I arrived most of the crowd was there already. There was not many of us in that hall and I think all in there were about twenty of us - Singaporeans, Malaysians, Dutchfolk, Africans, Greek and some other European countries - in the room.

When I arrived the room was buzzing with light and polite chatter, with perhaps bursts of muted laughs erupting here and there in the room. Everybody was just standing rather casually about except for this short (about five feet four), stocky, bespectacled Chinese guy with a badly cut coconut hairstyle who was diligently going about the room introducing himself to everybody, spending about two or three minutes with them before moving on in a business like fashion. His voice rose above the usual chatter and could be heard distinctly. The moment I saw him, like I said earlier I took an instant dislike to him. My impressions came thick and fast and were all but confirmed when he finally came my way, gave me his usual introduction, perfunctory chit chat and he was off to god knows where. He came, he met and he left. I hated him. Bloody, kiasu, Singaporean arsehole pretty much accurate describes my first impression of him.

After that, I took special care to avoid him as much and as far as possible. That, however, proved to be very difficult since sometimes I did sit with the other Malaysians and Singaporean (there was him and another chap called Bernard, who was much nicer) and whatever he said or did just served to make me loathe him even more. He always found room in any conversation to boast about his many and varied accomplishments, about the things he bought, the money he spent, and the places he had been to. If you played the piano, you would be certain of being informed that he had taken three diplomas in music after completing his Grade 8, played for performances once in a while and gave music lessons. If you were into martial arts, he had a black belt in Taekwondo. If you were doing a law degree, well, he was doing there on top of studying for his ACCA exams too and messing about with trading commodities on the side. If you were rich, he was richer. Everything was like competition to him. Where we finally came into contact was when he talked about his obsession with tennis. And I played tennis. When he found out that I played tennis, a game was immediately arranged the next day.

It was a cold, overcast and dull day (are there any others in England?) when we met on the tennis court that morning. I was wearing a shirt, sweater and a jacket because it was that cold and windy. He was wearing just wearing a t-shirt and shorts (which I would come to later realize was his standard outfit whether it was summer or the dead of winter). The surface of the tennis court was slippery though strangely rough when you fell down on it. It was not a comfortable surface for me since the ball tended to slide and I played mostly on hardcourts with very heavy top spin. If he played flat shots, he would have killed me. Thankfully once we got warming up it was clear that we had a similar game - big topspins and loads of power. I thought that I would have the advantage with my height, reach and serve. What's more, I had been playing a fair bit of tennis before arriving there to be fairly confident about my ability. The uppermost thought in my mind before we even stepped on court was that I was not going to lose to this bastard and run for every shot.

I was to serve first and won the first game rather easily. Back then I had a huge serve that could pretty much hold an entire game - it was fast and hard (these days forget it!). Unless you could take the speed, even if you could hit the ball, you would not have been able to control it. So he was completely bowled over by my serve first. His serve was much better than I expected considering his height. His serves came fast and quick but without much power so I could take them. But what I realized quickly was that this guy was a baseline guy who could hit from the back all day. He was also one determined son of a bitch because he would chase down every ball no matter how hopeless. And when I saw how he gave everything for each ball, I knew that he did not want to lose to me too.

He won his game on the back of some good rallies and we were even again. When the time came for my serve again, he could take it this time. He adapted very fast. Each time I served the ball came back better and better until we were trading blows on my serves as well. Each point was fought for and not one quarter was given. As the game wore on, we each held serve and it was clear from the way we played the game, there was more at stake then just a simple game of tennis. There was no more false friendly banter at the net or praising of each other's good shots any longer. This was war. This was our machismo on the line. When the score was 5-5, it began to drizzle but it occured to neither of us to stop. We kept on playing. We slipped on the ground, crashed into the fence or slid into the surrounding walls but we were not going to retire. I would sooner freeze to death then ask to stop and he was the same. Nothing else mattered except that we were not going to lose. Even as the drizzle grew heavier, we still were on court slugging it out. The battle of wills went on up to 6-6 when we headed for a tie-break. The only communication between us was when we screamed some profanity at our rackets or the sky for our lost point.

Finally, finally, I lost. I forgot the score of the tie break but I think it was something like 10-8 or 9-7. I felt miserable at the loss, more so because I really didn't like him either. It was a double blow. We thanked each other purfunctorily for the game and hurried back to our own rooms because by then it was hailing. He did not call me back for another game of tennis and I did not ask him for a replay. I figured, too bad I lost but thank god I didn't have to deal with him anymore.

After that, I had my several weeks of peace. Then one day, I went for a trip arranged by the Malaysian Singaporean Student Association to go for some sports meet somewhere. I went for it and did my part. When they sent us back in the evening, the bus insisted on stopping only at one of the halls. This meant that those not staying at that hall would have to get down and walk back to our respective halls. I got off the bus and started my walk back to my hall when I heard someone call my name and asked me to wait. I dreaded the sound of the voice and when I turned around I saw CS Lim waddling in his peculiar way to me (he walks with the points of his feet facing out). Shit, I thought, gotta small talk with him, which I eventually did.

The walk was mercifully short and after stopping outside his block to see him off I headed back to mine. After reaching my room, putting on some music and enjoying a hot cup of cocoa that I had just made, there was a knock on my door. It was a surprise because hardly anybody ever knocked on my door. The last guy that did so was one of the guys down the hall that decided that 4am and being pissed out of his mind was the best time to meet my acquaintance. I opened the door and lo, and behold, CS Lim was there standing just as I had left him. I naturally inquired what he wanted and he told me that he had left his key in his room and locked the door. Now he could not get in. What a genius, I thought annoyingly.

He immediately put me in a tight spot by asking me if he could crash the night at my place because his tutor was not around or asleep and he couldn't get his key. Now let me tell you that that was the last thing I wanted at that moment. I was tired, annoyed and now HE wanted to crash with me! But I couldn't bring myself to refuse him, so I said he could. I also suggested that I could try and help him get into his room in some other way. I am ashamed to confess that I did this not out of good will but because I wanted him out of my room. So with that, we went over to his block again and tried to first pry open his window, then contemplated climbing to the open window on the second floor and then taking the stairs down to his room on the first floor, then discussed briefly that smashing his window was not a good idea because then the room would be cold and unlivable even though it was accessible. We stood out there for probably a good 15 or 20 minutes until finally by a stroke of luck the tutor for his block happened to come back just as late and had the master key with him to boot. CS Lim and I then gratefully happily returned to our respective rooms.

I thought that was it with him and was rather pleased with myself since I had managed to behave in a civilized fashion and was helpful to someone I loathed. Little I know that that was to be the beginning of my friendship with him. The next day, he came over in the morning and thanked me very profusely and very sincerely for my offer the night before that I began to feel quite bad and guilty for thinking so badly of him.

We went for breakfast together that morning and though I didn't immediately get over my early dislike for him, his sincerity, thoughtfullness, sensitivity and generosity that he lavished on me over the course of the next few weeks eventually wore my wariness and dislike for him down until we became thick as thieves, one never for from the other. He still possessed all those disagreeable traits like boastfulness, kiasuness, etc. but the difference this time was that he was only too ready to share it with me and used it for our advantage. He was immensely generous with me - sharing his huge wardrobe of designer jackets, sweaters and shirts (we had the same top build), all the good food, books and study material he bought. It was like a saw a completely different side to him. His sensitivity was surprsing as it was endearing. He was never one for sentimentality or gentleness but one day I was particularly down after a nasty fight with the girlfriend. I was moping in my room and he came over. It was not in his usual boisterous and noisy way. He knocked politely at the door, came in meekly and patiently cajoled and persuaded me to go out for some fresh air or perhaps a movie (usually he would literally crash into my room by slamming open my door, making a run and jump for my bed and then, play with whatever was not nailed down while talking to me). He got me into the car, bribed me into the movies with promises of my favourite popcorn (instead of filling the top with salty ones and the bottom with the sweet ones that I like which he usually does and annoys me to no end) and then after that we hit the arcades and bowling alley like a bunch of schoolkids on a day out with loads of money and a car. It was one of the nicest days out and by the end of the day I was happy as an idiot on cocaine. There were many more great memories to come after that fateful night.

I often wonder why things happened the way they did. I used to think that it was because I had shown him a bit of sincere kindness that he was not accustomed too receiving and was therefore very grateful for it. But that's a little too arrogant on my part and no longer think that. I think it's beyond me to explain why things happened the way they do. What I do know is that it is because of him I have tried to curb as much as possible this reliance on first impressions and to try evaluate each individual with as much care and attention each time I meet them. A person is more than the surface they show. There is a huge universe beneath them that is waiting to be explored in which there are many facets of the person - sometimes complementing, sometimes contradicting. And sometimes the person beneath can be very different from the person displayed above. And people are always in the process of evolving and changing their internal structures or personalities. When we rely so much on just impressions and thinking statically without wanting to explore the individual, we lose out much. And when we do not give someone the benefit of some doubt in respect of our own judgments, we may have just carelessly turned away from one of the greatest experiences of our lives.

Sometimes to be Cruel is to be Kind

Recently, the wife of a friend of mine threw a party for him. He and his then ten year old son were fairly regular tennis players in our little Tuesday tennis group. Sometime just over a year ago, during a common break (there were two courts and four pairs going at any one time) I asked him how he was. He always had a big gentle smile on his face. He told me he was okay. His wife who often followed them but didn't join in corrected him and told him to tell me about the incident that happened during the week. My curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but ask and at his wife's persistence, he relented and told me that a few days ago, while he was taking a shower, he fainted. It seems he woke up a few moments later with a powerful throbbing pain in his head. That was probably from the fall, he said. When I fainted my head must have just crashed on to the hard floor. Ouch.

That story had a very sinister feel to it. And my friend, he was a very fit fourty-something. He was trim, lean and modestly muscled. He was quite the sportsman as well. There were few games he didn't play. So there was no reason why he should blackout in the shower. I suppose, the story had the effect the wife wanted and expected, no doubt. I immediately impressed upon him the urgency and seriousness of getting himself looked out. he laughed and waved it off as perhaps an overwhelming tiredness. He was working rather hard those few months before that. Undeterred, I impressed upon him not to take such telling signs so casually and told him of the experience of my somewhat distant experience of cancer through my family and friends hoping to scare him to the doctor.

I think it was only a few months later when I noticed he had stopped coming. A little later, we were told he was diagnosed with brain cancer. We were shocked. He went down to Singapore for confirmation. It was confirmed. The doctors there advised for surgery of the tumour and it was carried out. Unfortunately however, they could not remove all of it. Bits of the tumour were just too deep in his brain for them to get at. So they left it and hoped it would not grow, or at least he would get well quickly enough for them to carry out chemotherapy.

But things just did not go his way. The tumours came back with a vengeance and he didn't take well to the chemotherapy either, so they stopped it. The doctors gave him six months. That's all you have they told him. And when they told him that, he was exactly how I last saw him - fit, wholesome, and beaming away. And he was generally a great kind of guy - strong family man, fit, great at his work, generous. Brain tumour. Six months. I don't think I can ever, ever truly understand what that must be like. To be told that suddenly, one day, I'm sorry, you're checking out uh, in the next six months and no there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Mom and Dad cannot help. Your family. Your friends. Nobody can give you the rest of your expected life back. There's nobody you can bribe to reverse it. There's no lawsuit you can file to reverse this horror. There's just you. And Death.

Things went hard pretty damn fast. Amazingly he lived past the time period he was told for a good seven months by around now. That party was for him. He had a beautiful house which he had just completed when he was told of of his fate. He had designed it and supervised the building. Very tasteful. He was laid out on one of those aluminium recliner chairs with the big rubber bands wrapped around the frame, a pale shadow of his former self. His face and body had shrunk. His thin pale legs lay awkwardly, his left leg almost falling off the recliner. His hands were gripped at the joints so hard that he looked like he had paws instead of hands. The colour of his skin was a sickly pale colour. He always had a healthy fresh looking tan. He could not speak, walk, eat, or do anything you and I can do. The most he could do was shift his legs a little, move his hands a little and open his eyes. It is always so very sad and painful to see anyone like this, more so a friend or member of family.

And as he lay there, I looked at him and then was interrupted by a rather chubby Chinese lady with unusually red cheeks (probably from too much make up) clad in a dark blue shirt with bright pink and white coloured words reading 'Jesus Loves You'. She asked me whether I was his friend and I said yes. She then proceeded to tell me that when he was diagnosed with the cancer, he turned to Jesus for help and went to their church. They said that he was a very good Christian and prayed a lot. I wanted to say, Woman, I know this here's a good man. Then she prattled on about how with the power of prayer they can help the healing process. Drawing attention to my friend, she proudly announced the might of prayer to Jesus because he had lived passed the six months the doctors had given to him for up to seven months more. What finer example do we have of His Mercy (I later found out that this brand of Christianity is called Charismatic i.e. those who believe in faith healing). This I suppose is where she and I look at the same thing but see completely different things. I am not quite sure what kind of mercy that is so I just smiled politely and kept my mouth as tightly shut as I could. To not be able to live and be so paralyzed with drugs to kill the pain. To live merely for life's sake is not living indeed. This is the living death.

And while she was saying all these things, there in the living room was a projector playing a video of one of Malaysia's former Ministers preaching about God and Jesus. He's up there all alone with the microphone having a blast. Hands churning, flaying, held up, stretched out - he was working it. I wasn't listening but for the one and a half hours I was there, it was still going strong with little indication of stopping any time soon. It was on already when I was there too.

I have often thought of such a scenario happening to myself and wondered what I would do. Would I live through it, in false hope (no, I suppose wouldn't, I don't think I can even live with that) and finally let death claim me through a thick cloud of drugs, pain and sadness, or would I take my own life, quit while you're ahead kind of thing? We do it for animals when they are useless or lame (especially horses) or getting too old or even if they have a kind of cancer (yes, animals can get it too). Why do we hesitate to do so when humans get that way - when we become, so useless, our existence so meaningless to ourselves as it is expensive and enervating for our loved ones, each day a crawl up a mountain of pain where there is never a down slope? They say it is because of the sacredness of life. But then what sacredness can there be left in a life unlived, a life in anguish, in excruciating pain, lived through a drug laden haze? It is said that sometimes to be kind is to be cruel and sometimes to be cruel is to be kind. Is this not one of those latter instances?

He can do nothing about this second wave of cancer this time. This is it for him. Yet they pray, and beseech us to pray for him. But I'm not quite sure what for. For health which we know would not come? And even if he does live, what kind of life will it be? I know if I were in such a position, I should hope whoever it is that offers prayers for me would do so for the quickness of my death. For that, to me, would be an act of kindness.