September 28th, 2009 by Life

Never Underestimate A Young Teen’s Maturity

Growing Urban Jungle

You think a 13 or 14 year old is easily swayed and simply not mature enough to make up his (or her) mind. Then, some would think they can be manipulated and bullied into submission. But sometimes the callow youth might be a little more resilient and mature than the aggresive one expected.

But I can tell those that want to try their hand at pushing “this teenage kid” around might be facing a far more mature young adult instead. Here’s a true story about a:

Street Kid Survivor

Not Good Enough

Pressure, pressure, and more pressure…”no, you will not mix around with those friends of yours – those creepy hooligan drug addicts!” “If you want to, get out of the house and never come back…” Sounds like he’s mixing with the wrong crowd right? But what led to that tells a far different story…

This young man took delight in learning about the forest and jungle life amongst which he lived. But while other kids in school just learnt the basic names like butterfly or squirrell, Stevey learnt the genii of the flaura and fauna about him…lepidoptera simply meant the group of fauna that butterflies, skippers and moths were grouped into scientifically. By 13 years he was a bona fide eco-tour guide. He could guide groups of visitors thorugh a wild Malaysian jungle for the whole day or part of.

Most people only wanted to see some wild animals like elephants and snakes. Sometimes they even hoped to see a tiger or two. Clients are often photographers, foreign business people out for a lark, or even models out to shoot pictures by the water fall. All the while, Stevey would point out the little fauna too…the snakes, scorpions, ants, butterflies and even some centipedes that venture across their path. There are hundreds of denizens that display themselves as the day adventurers make their way through the super dense greenery.

Now, one day, a museum curator and a science professor from a university in Australia were the clients. Of course, young Stevey would try to show off his knowledge. They asked many questions and were duly impressed. “For one so young, your knowledge, field expertise and understanding of the jungle is amazing. Would you you like to come to Australia?” Young Stevey sent in his application along with more than 2,000 other applicants. He was accepted.

“What the bloody hell is this garbage? You know you’re not good enough for such scholarships!!!” Father ripped his scholarship approval form to shreds and planted a smack squarely on his cheek. The scar is still a reminder today. Mother just snorted and told him he was just good for nothing…Through the tears blurring his vision Stevey picked up the shredded forms. He returned them to the Museum Curator the next day and silently walked away. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the professor as he watched the boy walk away. Little did they know the calling of manhood was just around the corner.

Something Broke

But something broke in Stevey. He’s suddenly not “little” any more. Some fearful determination…anger or great changed happened within him that day. Memories kept playing over and over again. Why didn’t they allow him to be part of the school selection scoccer team? Why did they stop him from the school tournament field hockey team? What happened to his multiple school scholarships for art…why did Mom deny him approval? Why, why, why??? He tried so damn hard to be better than anyone had expected of him. And his reward was always winning in school but had to suffer the dissapointments and years of put downs from home.

One day, he snapped from the mental pressure. Very soon, in the big city, he found the streets far meaner than any wild animal in the jungles. He knew how to deal with those creatures, but these ones in the city were very different…they stalk you, size you up and try to get pieces off you when they can. At every corner, it seemed they knew to find and grab what you have. He watched as small guys were roughed up and stripped bare by gangs of youths. The thugs were not just young men but also young women.

These gangs enjoyed preying on the unwary, be they young or old. They do discriminate, however. If their intended victim appears to be able to hurt them, they would avoid him or her. Young students wandering home from school are often the easy targets. Where on earth were the police? This is really wierd. On the very next adjoining street, tourists and office workers mill throughout the day, but just a few meters away, life became a jungle. Once in a while, a dead body gets carted away in a truck, a police officer takes a few notes and no more seems to be said or done about the matter.

Urban Jungle

This was a predator versus predated world. Robbery and watching out for your life and safety was the norm every minute, every hour, and every day. Survival meant stealing from another or to protect from your food and money. What’s yours can easily become theirs.

This place is not the description of tall buildings “growing” up all around the living denizens within it. It’s about the way of life within. The rats, the cockroaches, the lizards, the stray cats, stray dogs, people and some even stranger “things’ which I don’t want to discuss here, all scrape for that vital niche to survive.

Imagine his shock after just a few days in this place. This is not a place of plenty. The jungle would have been preferable and far safer and a much easier life. Food is plentiful there in the jungle, but nothing grows on concrete here.

At first Steve ran and hid each time someone or a gang approached him, prefering avoidance. He hid and slept at night in tight little corners like an animal trying to avoid predators. What little money he had he bought some food with it. But within a couple of weeks, he realized he needed a change of plans. Money had run out… 

One morning under the heavy rains that sometimes make itself known with deafening thunder and lightning searing through the sky Stevey asked himself,”Who the hell amI?” Realizing the rules of the jungle applies here, and so too in life. A new determination gripped him. He clenched both fists in his vice grip he had become famous for in school. He also knew he was much stronger than boys his age. He was also gifted of great survival skills in the jungle. He was going to stand up and BE HIMSELF! No more running.

Gang Leader

The rain stopped and out came the very first teen gang of 5. They were typically around 16 years old, but all but one was about 15. They surrounded Stevey as he prepared to leave the city. This was a very much a new gang. They formed simply to afford themselves some protection from other gangs. But attacking a determined victim is not something to be taken lightly. A very angry Stevey put them all into a monsoon drain.

Bruised, soaked and totally demoralized, they begged for mercy as they were very simply pushed back in as they tried to clamber out of that disgusting sewer matter. Amazingly, they offered him the gang leadership. He agreed only on the condition that they only attack gangs or people attacking other kids. In exchange, Stevey found proper shelter and food. He could even take showers. Within a very few days, this little gang grew to number dozens and became the “Robbing of Hoods” in the neighbourhood. They would actually rob the hoodlums that attack other kids and share the proceeds to help each other out. Victims of trouble would call on them for help too.

Two weeks later, they were approached by the police, who were admittedly totally outnumbered by thugs to keep an eye out in the neighbourhood and be witnesses against gang members who rob and injure people. In effect, this gang became a sort of unofficial neighbourhood watch…and all run by kids! For the first time, they all felt like they belonged somewhere.

The Challenge of Going Home

But now, it was time Stevey returned home to face whatever needed facing. Actually, an uncle found him and told him to come home…things could be ironed out he said. He was also a cop but Stevey told him it would be impossible for things to get any better. His respect and love for the family took a drastic change just over a month ago. Nothing would ever be the same again. And it never would be.

It was a battle never allowing himself to be bullied again. No more being a football. OK, then that his “privileges’ were totally removed. But, this now new adult would not knuckle under anyone and went into business. Giving more eco-tours netted more jobs. He was also offered a regular gig with the modelling agency that hired him for their jungle shots. These all paid very well – often paid what most people are paid for the month to start, for just a day’s work.

One day, in a driving monsoon storm, Stevey walked the same route he took to return to the home of his parents. It was on an open dam where 2 reservoirs meet. It’s where winds howl, hailstones fall, rain lashes you with the might of the heavens, thunder shocks you into a stupor, and the lightning flashes right over your head makes your hair stand on end. It was on just such a day he returned. But this is some years later. Now in the army, he’s walking away. It’s time to make his own way without the approval or dissaproval of people who would never see eye to eye with him no matter how he had tried to please them; no matter how he had achieved the accolades; no matter who he tried to become.

He came back from being on the streets for only 3 reasons he recalled:

- He did it for himself…he wanted to at least finish secondary schooling;

- He came back because he did not want to dissapoint his grandmother who wa the one who had raised him and always fought for him;

- He wanted to raise himself above the unreasonable curses upon him by those he thought were closest to him.

Ahh, one can dream. One day, “I’ll race cars, I’ll become a teen millionaire, I’ll become billionaire, I’ll be that international business man, I’ll be some tough military S.O.B., I’ll travel the world, I’ll become a writer the world adores.”

September 22nd, 2009 by Life

It so happened I was listening to some of Elvis’ best songs and “My Boy” was being played as I found an old note to a very young child.

Can this note ever get old and outdated?

Look at the stats for divorce and separations. And another set of stats that are even more unbalanced – the number of fathers being estranged by the courts from their own children. Is this an automatic law? It really more than bothers me and from the huge numbers of fathers’ stories declaring and complaining of the maltreatment they received, something within our society stinks. Having been down that road before, I understand oh so well the clear ‘biases’ against fathers as my lawyer puts it. And I can tell you, I and countless thousands of fathers have far stronger language for this situation. Fathers that waalk away are branded as irresponsible deadbeats. Those that stay to be there for their kids are simply swept aside and called some of the most despicable names in the English dictionaries by the social workers and family court judges, including the term “monsters”.

But, this is not about all that. It’s about this little letter I have in my hand. I found it while reading some old books found and brought from a storage. It’s more than 10 years old, but still so apt today.

[[My Boy, this is from your Dad.

If you ever remember me, then you will know who I am, if not, this note will be an introduction. You are not alone...not by choice. If it so happens you are reading this note at all, it simply means I am out of your life by force or death or both. I'll explain this later, but before I do, just a little reminder - I hope it jolts your memory...

I remember the laughter, the tears. You needed to be hugged to my chest to fall asleep even with your bottle and slept on my pillow. I had to hold and walk you to sleep every night because somehow you knew a very familiar heartbeat you've listened to for almost 9 months was no longer around you. It was most difficult even when you cried for that comfort - you didn't get any.

Hey, do you remember being filmed on video? That bouncy and happy little boy, always smiling when Dad pretends to toss you into the air? When you sat on my shoulders? When you sat and slept in the stroller? When we went to Ottawa to meet the prime minister Jean Chretien when you were only 10 months old? You posed very well for pictures - like a well trained actor. Hey maybe you can be one.

Yes, it became really tense. My own business became impossible to build simply because you only had one person you could rely on. By the time you were 2 weeks old, there was only 1 person present in your life. Yes, it's difficult to understand, but your mother simply decided her books and university degree was far more important than you are.

It's not your fault.

Never, ever blame yourself. I've seen too many kids do so. Ideally, you need both parents. But when you're missing one, the other has to fill in the gaps. I tried the best I could. When you're hungry, I fed you. Mother tried breast milk at first when we all came home one day from the hospital. Over the couse of the week, you could not get enough and I supplemented your feeding with baby formula. But, I'll tell you now, she could not hold you to take the time to feed you like a loving mother would take the time to do patiently, because her hands were always full of her books. Her face was fully attentive to the pages, and not your cries for attention.

But one day, I left for a business meeting for about half a day. I regretted ever doing that. You were only 15 days from birth. And not feeling good, I returned a couple of hours early. You looked so hungry and tired but cried uncontrollably - all by yourself.

Daddy scooped you up and you never let go. You stayed in my arms and boy were you ever hungry! Two baby bottles, then you even tried for a third before dozing off at last. Your diaper was dry...how long have you not been fed? How long were you left by yourself? Where's Mum?

Your Promise

This letter is really to caution you and to set the record straight in case I am no longer able to tell you myself. This is to ensure that you know the score and not fall for lies and deceit that has dogged your life and mine in this issue.

You need to be cautious in your dealings with those who will take advantage of you, and mold you the way they want you to be. Don't ever let it happen. If that has already occured, work your way right out of it.

Be your own man. You can be self sufficient and totally independant. You can be far more successful than you have ever known before. Do it step by step. Being street wise takes experience and time. You'll surprise yourself and everyone who would control you when you take those steps. Do it one baby step at a time.

PROMISE yourself you can be the best and most successful man you can ever be. Never forget that promise.

You can do it. Know how I know? Simple. I watched you grow. I was there when you first started to make your baby talk - only 7 weeks old and you'd talk like a little bird for 20 or 30 minutes at a time. By the time you were 3 months old, you could already start hitting my comupter keyboard keys to make musical sounds. You loved clours and songs. You could turn on the TV and change channels or use the video player to watch your favourite program on your first birthday. Yes, I was thankful your mother was at least here for that big day in a restaurant.

The biggest tone in this letter is about being cautious and strong. Err on the side of caution. Society does not condone the disparaging of any parent. But go to any bookstore and check the web. There are countless books, videos and "jokes" putting fathers and men down every which way. Even police records can downplay the violence caused by women and mothers on their children. But those records do exist in hordes. Read the newspapers - there are more reports of abuse and violence being openly reported than ever before. Social workers, believing they are immune from prosecution will abuse fathers with their actions and do it openly with their biases. (But check the dictionary for the definition of one or an organization that openly or habitually abuse someone or a group of people with bias - you'll understand the true meaning of their actions - it is called bigotry).

A Stranger Reappears

Once in a while, like once a month or so your mother does make her appearance - for a day and vanishes again. This is most upsetting for all of us. She's upset you don't know her. You're upset she scares you (this is now a stranger to you) and I am upset because when she takes you out even for a an hour, you came back very ill. It's either you've been chilled, crying for your Dad or been affected by peanuts that she fed you. You are allergic to severely allergic to peanuts. I've had to rush you to the hospital so many times it scares me to death. Imagine a guy in a suit running through town to a hospital and then while there, the doctors try to treat me for a heart attack! " But no! My son just ingested some peanuts - he's severely allergic..."

Such carelessness! You wonder why you need to be cautious? You need to grow up plenty quick. I have been on the receiving end of some nasty physical violence too - especially so when I am ill. Verbal abuse was the norm...good lord, and some people call this normal?

You are only 3 years old now and soon, your grandparents and your Dad will take you to Disneyland in Florida with your cousin Yang Jin. Hopefully, we can have some good times. Your Mum has refused to come...Always some exam or other.

But my money is gone and she wants more - loads more...yours, mine and grandparents' as well. Now she wants lawyers to get involved...in fact she hired one for me to be rid of me. She had gotten her hands on some Singapore Citizenship application papers for you. But is she nuts? You're a Canadian! She wants to dispose of you into her Singapore relatives' hands unless she gets $2 million...since when have you become someone else's property? Well, no way will that ever happen while I live. I was no longer a Singapore Citizen by then, but a Canadian. I forbade her but I know she filed them anyway...So, My Boy, be careful of strangers.

Grow up well and fast My Boy,

Your Dad.]]

This note was never delivered, so it stands to reason the Dad is still there with his son. Go for it Dad!

September 16th, 2009 by Life

The Jerks of Society.

Jerks of Society

Why is it some people, when you’ve had it all you can take – the abuse, the lies, the outright bullying and then they still blame you for all their ills when they’ve run every single thing into the ground, they still blame you. I want it all to end – leaving just about every single thing, avoiding all fighting, I burn the bridges and simply go away and start all over again. It was legally settled – or was it?

But it doesn’t end there – the louts still return – going out of their way to find me and then start their shit all over again. It’s like they own me. “So use the cops! So call your lawyer!”

Are they so sick? To what extent must I exert my freedom of choice???

Listen, I’m not talking about a phone call. I’m talking such aggression for years and years…more than 20 years – off and on. In another case, 11 years. Is it something about me that they can’t stop abusing???

Get lost you jerks!

How loudly do you need to hear this? Even lawyers and police can only do so much. You jerks keep coming back for more, driving me into total illness from stress.

There really is only one way to keep away from all this harassment – Leave the Continent for good. The laws but more importantly, the exertion of the laws in Canada are simply not conducive to personal safety. I’m very definitely being victimized – but the victims have few rights in self protection.

What manner of psyche these people have that would totally disparage me during our time together and then seek me out to re-embrace our relationship that is already no more but ashes?
They still want the green gardens, the beautiful homes, the easy demeanour and more personal development.

Do they seek more power over me that they had lost? Yes, I was their daily punching bag, their football. My shoulders are only meant for their emotional burdens. They unload their garbage of generations upon me.

Sick fun?

Why does it give them such a ‘high’ to be able to tear me apart every day? Then to every pair of ears out there, I am being put down. They revel in turning me into an enemy of the entire family.

Even society prefers to shun me – some would actually see through the charade, but for the sake of their own position, follow the tide…I am made friendless, penniless, homeless. Lies are far easier to bear than truth!!!

Then when I leave they declare their great love. When told to leave, right at my door, the same abusive tirade that I’ve heard for decades return. Their demeanours turned on a dime right then and there.

They think they can take more??? Sick, this is sick. And society’s structure and allowances allow them that freedom. Hence mine, the victim is all but trodden upon. Even when I am fully righted, I am powerless.

Get lost you jerks of society!!!

Failure, failure, failure!!! 1 failure after another. No planning, just by the seat of your pants. Snap at me when I advise or help. My fault when you fail. It repeats and repeats and repeats. My faith and smile never wavers.

But I am,”Oh, so ARROGANT.” Huh??? Why so? Must I be torn apart and not have any shred of dignity left? Unbearable pain I’m in tears. Laughter and taunt, I’m not any good. You’re best, good at eveything, you do all that is right, I’m spat upon. When did I become the slave; the whipping child?

When the semblence of structure and foundations are built, you stomp on it, fight, rant and rave and create battle after battle. I lose. They are always broken. And so is our relationship. Then the threats and accusations come in droves. Lawyers are called. Lies are told. Hence, the very first person that contacts me “Confronts me”. Why? But the damage is done. It is all broken. Too late a mistake has been commited.

You are such a jerk within this society we live in.

Perhaps, you said it right and best when you called me an old fool for love. I do love, deeply and apparently unshakeable too. But you have the ability to break the unbreakable. So, my grip is no more. I release you but you still see fit to destroy me. Why? I have already turned my back and is set away from you.

But it is my back you do not wish to see. Is your desire to punish me so great and so sweet? Is it my groveling you wish to experience again? Is it my corpse? Or is it your fear that you have lost all control that once loved you so dear.

Nay, I still say, “GET LOST YOU JERKS OF SOCIETY!!!”

September 14th, 2009 by Life

The Lamborghini Miura still stirs the emotions of days long gone.

I’ve looked at many cars in so many autoshows and trying them on streets and track, but still, the Miura somehow could not be topped. The sheer emotive stirrings and memories simply cannot be unseated.

Lamborghini Miura SV RHD

Back in the early eighties, when the evil looking Countach was becoming the king of super car looks, the Miura’s looks stuck with me.

Here was one right hand drive example back in Singapore where speed limits, narrow streets and super heavy traffic made it impossible to drive. Yet, I enjoyed it supremely – especially when we took it up the trunk roads to Batu Tiga – the then Malaysian international race track.

OK, I’ll admit it…I did not own this car. A friend – a girl friend was given this red beast by her uncle for her 20th birthday. She could barely drive it in the city, but like I did, enjoyed the open road sojourns. Back in Singapore, I drove and also on the track where she was always the willing passenger cheering on for ever more speed. But the race track straight topped us out at 145mph.

Now, frankly, other than fantastic looks, even in its day, this car was really a beast compared to other vehicles. It was heavy to steer, it smelled of leaking oil, it sounded totally too loud and evil, it spun its rear wheels too easily in the rain (even in the dry it smokes its tires easily), the air-cond never works, the brakes needed race car strength to apply, and it was woefully in need of a full time mechanic to take care of it.

But once out on open roads, the heavy steering became alive, the engine gave it a shove and velocity seldom experienced then, in short, this was a beast, a raging bull.

Alright, all that and the times that came along with it – a pretty, sporty, outgoing (OK, and very sexy) girl from a wealthy family…fun and fancy free…with that bellowing engine right behind us…the windows were open at over 100 mph (160kmh) on narrow roads. It was sun and fun all the way until it rained of course, then the windows came up part way and the speed subsided somewhat to about 60 or 70 mph…along the twisty snake like roads. It was white knuckling to drive in these monsoons, but young blood loves to throw caution to the winds. Hey, but wake up man! You’re her boy friend, yes, but you’re officially mandated to be her body guard too…

Now, it may sound fun to drive, but there is a reason I call it a beast. I mentioned how difficult this car is to own and drive downtown. Now, I’ll tell you that after a few hours in this thing you’ll likely be overwhelmed by the engine heat, your left thigh and foot could be so sore from the super heavy clutch and the brakes (if you use left foot braking – necessary to drive fast). Heel and toeing is all but impossible in this car. But, if you’re up to the challenge, this is one fast and fun writhing, bucking beast.

All fun must one day come to an end. She had to leave the country one day along with the car. I was still under contractual obligation then.

Memories die hard.

One day, just a few years ago, a brilliant someone created a replica of the Miura and it made the international auto show rounds…if only they’d ever build this one this time – but left hand drive please…and also, with all the modern niceties except one…please lamborghini, or VW, please let it remain that BEAST!

Lamborghini Miura Re Concept Model

September 14th, 2009 by Life

Society made a field day of Father Bashing

Father Bashing

Hey, there’s a complaint that there’s abuse going on in that household. I heard the gossip floating across my fence about that house over there.

*They think the father should be tossed out of his house and thrown in jail.

*And how, the viciousness, the indignation, the just must be done for the kids…

The complaint was about someone first screaming at a 10 year old boy; then several slaps were planted hard on his face; he was pushed to the ground and then kicked and yelled at to get up; he was grabbed by the ear and dragged into the house. It’s a scenario still common 30 or 40 years ago…I still remember them and feel them all too well. That version of “discipline” should never be allowed. But this is a contemporary time. It’s today, such barbarism cannot be allowed.

I’m all for it…that violent person should be thrown out of the house and stuck in a barred facility somewhere.

The cops came and interviewed the father alright.

He was quized for over an hour. And so was the boy. 2 police cruisers sat outside the house for about 4 hours. An expectant crowd was now forming outside waiting to witness the expected outcome. Some kids even had rotten tomatoes and eggs ready. They all wanted to show this man what they tought of such violent abuse of your own kid…

At last, cowering under a jacket, the abuser was very firmly led out of the house by the arm and into the cruiser. But there was strange silence from the lynch mob. The father walked up to the cruiser and yelled, “We’ll make it, we’ll make it better, don’t fear, I love you”. Tears streaming down his face, he hugged his son as his wife, the boy’s mother was driven away.

Turning to the crowd, he told them all with courage, what are you all looking at? Go Home…

Like meek children they all did. Eyes to the ground and rotten tomatoes and eggs dropped on the lawns, the crowd dispersed – not one word of condolence or support…shamed.

Why is society so adamant to blame and lynch the father?

I’m not writing this to gloat. No, I did not participate in that fiasco. You see, I can tell you now, some similar incidents had occured to me.

Yes, it’s blame the father first syndrome.