My first break in months @ Genting

Just got back from Genting, and it was fun although the service staff there could not speak English well, which was pretty unforgivable considering it's a hotel. A typical exchange would go like this.

Me: Excuse me, do you know where I can watch the World Cup?
Staff: World Club? (Takes out brochure and points to it - World Club membership)
Me: World Cup! Football! Soccer! Pweet Pweet!
Staff: World Club here, this one.
Me: (muttered under breath) Malaysia, truly Asia.

In the end, I found out where to watch the World Cup, only to witness the Kings of Europe getting their asses handed back to them by a resolute Swiss side. And of course, after the match the Spanish blamed it on a sexy sideline reporter, the girlfriend of the goalkeeper Iker Casillas, who they said distracted him from making the crucial save.

The moment that made the whole pub groan in agony, especially me because I wasted money and sleeping time to watch the match.

Apparently, Iker was guilty of watching this girl, Sara Carbonero. Could you blame him?

Anyway, to me that report is bullshit. If there were a reporter who looked like that watching me play, I would score a hat trick. Even as the goalkeeper.

I also did quite a variety of things other there, like archery, where I spent the better part of an hour shooting 40 arrows at a target and hitting anything but. I learnt two things from that experience. It's very tiring to shoot a bow and arrow, and if I were a caveman, I would starve to death. Give the caveman a bow and arrow, but give me a can opener. Thank you.

After that I gokarted, rollercoastered and bumperboated, and took just about every ride on offer at the theme park that spelt thrill. Pictured above was the corkscrew ride that I took, which was damn awesome, especially at the part where it spirals upside down like three times consecutively, and round it is the gokart track.

The most memorable experience though was the Space Shot.

See that ridiculously high looking tower? Before I went up my cousin was daring me to do it. In the end, I decided to give it a shot. Heck, I mean, what's it anyway, just about 55 metres up right, no big deal, about 10 floors up only.

Actually, I think the push factor was seeing little kids half my age going on that ride. At that moment I felt like if they could do it, what more me.

After queuing for about half an hour, it was my turn. I got myself strapped in with my brother and uncle, waved to my cousins, and up it was. Halfway up, I was like holy shit it really feels freaking high. And damn freaking cold. It was about six in the evening when I went up, and the winds were really strong.

Fuck.

OMG. Fuckkkk.

At the top, it was just insane. If you think its bad enough being that high, imagine what its like to be that high on top of a mountain resort. I could virtually see the rest of the mountain below. Suddenly, I felt really alone and vulnerable. And anyone who has been on that ride will tell you the worst part is the waiting before the drop, knowing that you're about to experience something insane and being able to do nothing about it.

Then the drop. Apparently, you're strapped into a seat, but going down at 67km/h that's the last thing you feel. To me, it felt like I was sitting on a cushion of air plunging down into nowhere, and the rest of the feeling is simply indescribable.

The most glam picture taken mid drop.

The most unglam one. Check out my legs. Damn chio man. I have no idea why I didn't tuck them in but that's something you only ask after the event, when the pictures and video are already taken.

I have to admit that I enjoyed the whole experience a lot, and I would say it actually looks scarier than it actually is. I would advise everyone to take it, because you only live once. If something happens to you, that's why you buy insurance.

Two more shots, just because I have a fascination with night and revolving carousels.

The best moment of the World Cup so far.

Capello: What the f*** is this? Why the keeper so Green one? Like that how to win World Cup?

I have to admit that this whole sequence of events made me LOL at like 3am in the morning.

One year on.

It was a cold night. The pale gleam of the moon washed across the ground, and he found himself standing by a quiet road alone once again, outside the railway station of a small town. He was at odds with himself. He had missed the last bus, and the cabs were too expensive. He was looking at a two mile long trek across unfamiliar territory, in a land where he was a foreigner.

He spent half an hour deliberating, even as the wind started to bite. The cold seeped into his jacket, and his breath fogged in the cool night air, misting up his glasses.

He cursed himself for having stayed out in the big city so late, but it had been difficult for him to leave. He held the place dear for too many reasons. The shopping, the food, the hustle and bustle, and the people. Especially the people. It made him feel at home again, in a place that was his home far away from home. He had missed the last bus, and what followed was a rush to the central railway station, to catch a train back to the small town where he lived.

And now, he paced around. The men in the hoods around the corner were starting to make him nervous. He was small sized by the standards of the place, and he knew that he could not afford to stay around much longer if he was to make it home. He knew two routes home, but the shorter one took him through a whole mile of pitch darkness.

And that was what he chose. Setting off into the night, he quickened his step, hoping to reach home quickly.

As night deepened, the shadows lengthened and the streets became quieter. Occasionally, a car would rush by, sweeping up a clutch of leaves in its wake, and the sound of its passing quickly melded back into the quiet. When he reached the edge of the highway, he saw that it was like what he had expected. The road ahead was pitch black.

He walked into the darkness, and a fear gripped him. He had never walked in such darkness in his life. He stuck out his fingers in front of him, and he realised that he could not see them. He was lucky that the road ran ramrod straight, but even then, he depended on the headlights of oncoming cars for guidance. The headlights, as and when they appeared, would blind him with an intensity that was painful to his eyes, but he hurried his step even more when they appeared, because the illumination they provided would be fleeting, and the sound of their movement assured him that he was not lost.

Halfway through his walk, he looked to his left, and he saw a huge graveyard, covered in snow. An even more uncertain fear gripped his heart, especially when he saw that up ahead lay the entrance, a foreboding stone structure cast in grey, with a scary looking beast perched atop it. Even as he looked left, he saw that the graves stretched as far as the eye could see, although snow covered most of them so that only the tops of their tombstones stuck out. He wondered if anyone cared that he was out here, alone, and so very afraid. He knew deep down that the answer was no, but fought back the inevitable sadness that came along with it. He had to get home.

After walking an unknown number of minutes, he saw a road sign that indicated a branch in the road, into the area of town where he lived. He felt an immense sense of relief, that the directions in the maps of the town he had remembered had not failed him. He quickly settled into a quick jog, and ran into town across a little bridge with wooden rails at the side, and the sight of houses lining a single road on both sides, with mailboxes atop little pickets brought a cheer to him. He knew he was almost home.

It was only then he realised that he was really tired, and the backpack on his back was starting to feel really heavy. He also realised that he hadn't had any dinner, but there was nothing in the fridge back home. Dinner would once again be a packet of chips and two chocolate bars, washed down with water from the sink, or one of the bottles of beer he kept on his windowsill.

He kept on walking, past several streets that all looked the same, rows of houses with mailboxes out front. Not a single person was on the streets, and if he didn't know better, he would have assumed that it was a ghost town. A strange white gleam flooded the street. He looked up, and saw that the moon was out full tonight.

Crossing a roundabout and walking up a road, he saw the familiar sight of the university guardhouse. He flashed his identity card, walked in, and that was it. Half an hour and a two mile trek later, he was home.

A trial of faith.

Some seven years ago, I was going through a period in my life where I lacked direction and focus. Sensing my vulnerabilities, my then-best friend offered me a solution. He had just found his "calling" with a group of singing and dancing parishioners, who always seemed welcome to invite others into their fold, a thing called a cell group.

At that time, religion was hardly something that factored in my life. Religion was something that was restricted to Chinese festivals, where I would have to light a few smoky sticks and choke on the smoke as it wafted to the rooftops of what I called "smokey temples". The smoke would sting my eyes, and I would ask my mom repeatedly why I had to stay around and pray to a "God" I could not see, and endure all this suffering. She would just ask me to be "quiet and not talk so much if not the god will punish you", and then I would have to pray in random directions. I was never more relieved to be out of those places.

But as I grew older, I realised that there was something called "Christianity", and my first introduction to it was in a large cavernous hall in Boon Lay. I remember going into the lobby of the church and remarking that it looked like a hotel, it was that resplendent. My friend simply smiled, and led me down into the basement of the church.

I stepped out into the auditorium at B4, and there was a huge congregation of people already there. I had never seen anything like it, a whole auditorium of people singing and dancing to this thing they called the "Holy Spirit". It felt like a rock concert, and I thought wow this rock concert is free, although the lyrics to the songs were a little cheesy at times.

That was till they passed a blue bag around and people started staring at me. I had no idea what the bag was for. I reached a hand inside and realised it was full of money. My friend and his cell group mates then looked to me, as though they expected me to do something. It suddenly dawned upon me that I had watched their rock concert on credit. I put in $2, all the money I had that day.

I left, disgusted, never to return.

After I left, I thought about all that had happened. The whole session felt like a huge peer pressure exercise. I remembered how non-christians and backsliders had been asked to identify themselves, and walk to the front, only to be led away into another room. For some enlightened reason, I did not raise my hand, because I realised that perhaps I might not make it out of there alive. It reminded me distinctly of the Holocaust, how Jews had to identify themselves and get escorted onto trains which led to gas chambers, and we all know what happened next.

I knew that whoever it was up there already knew whether I was Christian or not, and there was no need for these people to know, especially since they weren't anything close to God, but a bunch of people who wanted my money. You can say all you want, but I stand by my assertion that day that when those parishioners looked at me, the only thing they cared about was whether I was interested in a buy-in into their church. It was then I realised how the resplendence of the compound had come about.

That friend of mine, I have no idea if he remained in City Harvest. A few months later, he invited me to join in another money-making session at a multi-level marketing company. It was six years back then, and such things were truly a novelty. I remember being brainwashed by this OCS officer into how easy it was to make money, as long as you paid $2000 upfront to buy in.

I thank my lucky stars then that I did not have $2000 to spend, or I would have found myself a lot poorer. Now looking back, I realise that my friend was ignorant. But I thank myself for having this friend anyway, because he introduced me to two things that would eventually go on to stir much controversy in Singapore, City Harvest, and MLMs.

For the latter, it is arguable that it is impossible to prevent fools from being parted from their cash. For the former, it might be the same thing, seeing as how the church has grown financially in 20 years, but it is also tied in along with faith, emotions, divine beings, thunder and lightning, a holy book, and a stubborn refusal to use common logic.

Talk about money, and people get defensive. Talk about religion, and people don't just get defensive, they get offensive even. The truth is, religion is a double edged sword, and its capacity to do good is only matched by its capacity to do evil.

The problem does not lie with the instrument of religion, but the people wielding the instrument. The instrument takes on the characteristics of its bearer, and amplifies them. It is how religion can produce figures like Mother Theresa, and on the flip side of the coin, Shoko Asahara, the leader of the cult Aum Shinrikyo, that carried out sarin gas attacks in Japanese subways in 1995.

I know not whether Kong Hee is guilty, and it is not my place to judge him. However, there are people out there who are uncomfortable with how a church is run like a business, because a church is something founded on trust. It cannot be questioned without calling one's faith into question, and as a result, it is the best vehicle for exploitation.

It is the whole premise of the church and its pastor being beyond reproach that makes people uncomfortable. It doesn't help that CHC counts amongst its members a lot of immature youth who are impressionable, always ready to defend and fight for a cause they do not truly understand. To them, its us against the world, and they do so without even realising that a root of the problem lies within themselves.

Their aggression is misguided, because their ignorance makes them afraid, and in their fear, they attack everything they perceive as the enemy. If they were truly knowledgeable about their church, they wouldn't be afraid of people attacking it. It's just like how you know that the answer for one plus one is two. If someone were to tell you it was three, would you have any problems telling him why it is not so?

If a church is truly beyond reproach, it should not fear being open about its practices. It should not be afraid of being under attack, because it would have nothing to hide. Perhaps I simplify the situation, but just as the adage goes that there is no smoke without fire, the hardest test for all flawed organisations, is the test of time.

Circle of life

I visited the Zoo for probably the first time in years yesterday, and while much of it has changed, it never ceases to fascinate me any less how amazing animals are in nature.

"It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life"

And of course, with this being Singapore, I thought I should include a shot of our national mascot.

See how bochup the lion is. Just like the average Singaporean.

Singapore, give some credit where its due.

When I first learnt that Singapore had won the World Table Tennis Team Championships, I was not exactly overawed. My sentiments were similar to that of many Singaporeans, that it was a case of China's "B" team beating the "A" team.

However, looking back, I have to admit that I am ashamed of such behaviour. I am not a government crony, and I have certainly not been paid or threatened to develop favorable feelings towards foreign talent. However, I do believe that we should give these gutsy women the credit where it is due.

The main bone of contention is probably with the controversial foreign talent scheme. However, I shall attempt to explain why this scheme is actually necessary, for a small country like Singapore to ever shine on the world stage in sports.

Singapore is a small country, and as a result, our talent pool is small. What the government is actually doing is fast-tracking the development of local sporting talent for our country. For any country new to sports, there is inevitably a gulf in talent between established teams and nascent ones.

If you are familiar with sports, you will know that it is a whole infrastructure that produces world class sportsmen. The best athletes are not just born with talent, but the talent is also nurtured out of them by the best coaches, by competition at a similar level, and by world class facilities to support their development. Rome was not built in a day, and neither can we expect a world-class sporting infrastructure to be developed from scratch in no time.

These foreign born talents are our catalysts. They come in at a level that is already higher than that of any local sportsperson, simply because they were born and bred in a system that placed sports above all else. They are the people whom we are building our sports infrastructure around, because they are close to world class, and they are the guinea pigs for the world class athletes we will one day produce.

Because of their victories, they are inspiring a new generation of youngsters to join our local sports academies, carrying dreams that will one day be the dreams of the nation. Because they are around, our local born sportsmen have talent to train with, to benchmark themselves against, so that one day, they will be amongst the best in the world.

If anything, we should salute the contributions of these people, who are selfless enough to renounce everything they had back home, to come here and train hard, enduring diet plans, strict physical and mental conditioning, and training conditions that most of us would find difficult to endure. They are willing to fight for every point to win us over, and despite that, we throw flak at them, and call them "Chinese rejects". It is a bitter pill to swallow, and if you were to put yourself in their shoes, as someone who has given the best 10 years of your life training hard for a nation that doesn't love you, would you leave?

For every skeptical and ignorant male that has thrown flak at them, if you had to serve 10 years of National Service, which is close or even less than the level of physical and mental conditioning these women endure, not to mention other sacrifices like a lack of time for socialisation due to frequent competitions in tournaments, and not have the nation you served recognise you for your services, could you take it? Would you feel a sense of injustice? Would you not wish to leave?

You might criticise them as not being locally born, and hence not fit to carry a Singaporean passport, or have a pink IC. Have you asked yourself, what is so great about your nation? Should we not even be proud that despite all the flaws of our people, like our rabid xenophobia, we have people who are willing to go to such great lengths to win victories for us?

They may not be born here, but most of our grandparents were not either. They won their citizenships with hard work and service to our nation. We should recognise people who have served us well, because citizenship earned is most valuable, not one that is given by birthright, as people who have something valuable but know not its value are the ones least likely to treasure it.

When I watched the game again, when I saw how our ladies fought for every point, and gave their all in an atmosphere that was intense and nerve wracking, how they had the courage to beat the giants when everyone was telling them it was impossible, I saw Singapore.

We have always been the underdogs, a nation built on survival against the odds, and this was precisely what the situation was. The way they achieved their victory, it was a culmination of pluck, graft, luck, and pure skill.

It was quintessentially Singaporean.

Sporting talent can develop regardless of how big a country is. It is incorrect to say that Singapore can never produce world class talent, because history is littered with countless examples of countries with small populations that have produced great talents. The best tennis player in the world, Roger Federer, is Swiss, from a nation of just over 7 million people. Annika Sorenstam, the former queen of golf, was from Sweden, a nation with a population of slightly over 9 million, one third that of Malaysia. There are many more examples, if we were just to look.

What is important is, we must have the infrastructure ready, so that when we have such talents, we can nurture them to be the best they can be. One day we will have our local bred world class sporting talents. The key is patience, and unstinting support for anybody who is proud and willing to wear Singapore colours, so that people will know that Singapore is proud of its athletes.

This car owner owns.

You will never need to worry about parking space, not when you're smart like this.

The music in the background "Empire State of Mind" is a nice backdrop, especially when they sing "There's nothing you can't do".