Until Next Time

The night was a wild one.  The wind lashed the coastline sending plumes of sea spray out over the esplanade to soak everything within a hundred metres of the beach.  The row of palms swayed and buckled in a fight with nature's irresistible force.

This evening, the sun had disappeared a lot sooner than usual behind the heavy rain laden clouds that had been around for most of the day.  The red neon light of the hotel shone overtly into every nook and cranny of the deserted street.

Olivia stared at the room’s window focusing on the water droplets as they trickled down the glass forming little pearls of clear red tinged liquid on the glass and wondered why he hadn’t arrived yet.

It was always like this, waiting and hoping.  The knot in her stomach tightened, a constant reminder that this was wrong.

It had started three years previous.  At the age of 37, she needed a new direction after having worked in the small printing office of H. J. Young and Sons since she had left school.  The small village she was born in, had up until then, been her only world.  The last child of loving, but overly protective parents, she was painfully shy and felt awkward around others.

By the time she started work Olivia was attractive, though most would say, not a great beauty and because of her acute shyness, never socialised outside working hours.  No one paid much attention to her for she was hardly seen and never heard.  Life was slow, predictable and dull for many long boring years.  Olivia lived with her parents up until their deaths and after much mental anguish, decided it was time to leave her comfortable existence behind in the hope of creating a new life.

The change brought with it a new job and a new city.  The large industrial conglomerate she found herself working in was far removed from the small office she had come from; big, noisy and impersonal.  The first 6 months were very hard, she felt depressed and lonely, though she was determined not to go back.

Then, he entered her life.

Steven Muirhead was a man of some fifty years of age who was, in most people’s eyes, a respectable successful  businessman.  Fit and toned for a man of his age, he was part owner of the industrial complex Olivia worked in.  She had become aware of him a lot sooner than he of her.  That all changed one late evening when most in the office were working back to finalise the end of year accounts.

Being one of the last to leave the office, Olivia was getting ready to go when quite out of the blue a deep manly voice behind her asked if she needed a lift home.  Turning around, she was surprised to see who it was, she hesitated a second before saying yes.

That’s how it started.  He didn’t seduce her at first, but it wasn’t long before she succumbed to his well-crafted charm and wit.  The attraction for her was not his fatherly looks or strong irresistible personality, but that he paid a lot of  attention and treated her, for the first time, as an object of desire. The thoughts of him being married with a family were pushed firmly back into the recesses of her mind.  She lived for the moment and didn’t want to focus on anything that would detract from that.

It was approaching 8 pm and he hadn’t arrived.  She was starting to worry.  Was this the moment she had been dreading for so long?  When the knock on the door came it startled her nevertheless.  Olivia’s heart missed a beat as Steven entered the door; a sense of relief prevailed.  Throwing his arms around her made all the difference, the knot inside her stomach unravelled.  Gently kissing Olivia's left cheek, he drew her head into his chest.  At that moment, nothing else mattered.

The curtains remained open and the rain belted upon the windows diffusing the little light there was into the room, to fall upon their bodies embracing on the grey coloured settee.  Olivia’s dark long hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders.

He whispered into her ears the things she wanted so desperately to hear.  How much he loved her; how he would never leave her; when the time was right he would leave his wife for her; she was his one and only true love.

Many times the same words had left his mouth over the years, but every time she clung to them like they had never been spoken before.  How she felt so wanted within his arms; the arms so strong and reassuring, the arms that protected her from invisible insecurities. All was well within those arms.  The love making took her to another world that was far removed from her daily reality.  This was now the only life worth living.  The drug of love had complete hold.

Two became one, bonded by a universal force so strong it defied the laws of physics.  The spark of existence itself engulfed the intertwining souls transferring the energy of love back and forth until there was no longer anything left to give.

Then, just as quickly as it started the bond was broken, one became two.

Even the wild weather outside seemed to pause to acknowledge the event.  The sounds of their ecstasy joined the forces of the wind and rain to let the world know of their unspoken illicit love.

Quiet, nothing but the silence that greeted the end.  He leant over, kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m sorry, my love I must go before she gets home.”

“It’s ok, you know I understand.”  But she didn’t really.

He got up and quickly dressed, turned around and smiled, blowing a kiss as he left.

Olivia lay there looking up at the ceiling. The spell had been broken and she just wanted to cry.  Guilt replaced comfort, fear replaced security.  The cycle had begun again.

She wiped the tears rolling down her face and proceeded to dress.

Until next time.

Courtesy of Google Images

Three Months of Being a Blogger

Saturday morning and I'm sitting in my favourite coffee shop devoid of ideas.
It's been 3 months since I started blogging and time to reflect on the experience so far.
As I have previously explained, somewhere, writing has never been a big part of my life until recently. When I did write it was because I had to and not because I wanted to.

My, how things have changed.
I always thought my ability to express myself in English was limited. English was not a strong point of mine during my school years and I didn't believe I possessed the required vocabulary or grammatical structure to be able to write successfully.

Things changed somewhat when I came to South East Asia as a middle aged teacher of English.  Doing a TEFL course to teach English helped to galvanised my rambling thought processes into a more coherent style for writing. ( Some may say it didn't work) For 7 years I taught mainly listening and speaking skills to high schools and university students with the occasional foray into the written word.

It wasn't until I came to Malaysia to live that I had some idle time on my hands to use to express myself on paper. (Just thought how interesting it is I used the word paper as I write this on my ipad.)
The blog started the end of October last year after spending time at the coffee shop I'm currently sitting in, talking to the owner who is himself an avid blogger of some 2 years.
Having already written a few short stories for my classes I decided to first dip my toes into the water by posting those.
I read a lot about how to successfully establish a blog and tried at first to encourage my friends and family to view what I had written on my blog via Facebook and Google +.
Then came a series of social observation pieces with the occasional short story thrown in that up until today totals 30.

Observations thus far.  Blogging is addictive. I find myself elated when I finish and publish a story and a feeling of steady pressure building up when I haven't submitted for a week or two.
Each morning I open the blog to see who has  read it the day before. The statistics don't uncover a lot  apart from what story has been looked at and from where.
 Of course, it doesn't tell you if it has actually been read and appreciated. Most people do not comment and those who do, give scant feedback.  Still, looking at the numbers gives a certain level of satisfaction, especially if there is an unexpected flurry of activity.

Talking about activity, its not always positive. Stats companies sometimes visit the site for whatever reason and artificially inflate the hits. Days vary with little or no activity to say for example 100 visits from someone or some group in Israel. The United States is by far the greatest hit source followed closely by Malaysia. I have had hits from every continent apart the antarctic and even from such obscure places ( for me)  as Tunisia.

The first few stories I posted were too long and I soon discovered people won't read anything that takes time to read. Pieces less than a thousand words work better and generally receive the highest hits. At this stage, my most successful piece so far has been a satirical look at weddings in this part of the world.

A good title is all important when it comes to being found on the Internet. Being at the top of the search results requires a website that receives a lot of traffic and advertisers. Mine has neither, so to find what I have written by various search engines can be difficult.

The main purpose for me to blog is not for adulation but to encourage my creative writing class students to read.  In Malaysia like most other parts of the world teenagers don't read. The art is being lost to television and computer games. If the blog succeeds in this, I will be truly satisfied.
I would encourage anyone who has something to say to blog.  It's very therapeutic to write and not at all important who or how many read it. In a sense, it's like in the old days when people kept a diary to write down their thoughts and aspirations. It's certainly a good way to express yourself and if you're lucky make others think a little differently.

Trek To Fraser's Hill By Planes,Trains, Automobiles and Buses

I always look forward to getting away, so when the opportunity came to disappear for a few days to West Malaysia I jumped at it.  My wife was asked to speak at a conference on the environment at Fraser's Hill, so I would tag along to do some much needed walking. 

Leaving Sandakan at 9.40 a.m.  for the 2 hour 45 minute' flight with the aircraft on time was a good start.  I tend to fly Air Asia these days as they are at times half the cost of MAS and apart from their lousy terminal in KL, fine to fly with. 

After an uneventful flight, we looked for a bus to take us to the KL Sentral station - the main meeting of all rail lines for West Malaysia.  So far so good; about an hour later, we're on the KTM Komuter platform bound for Kuala Kubu Bharu, a small town North of KL.  This place as the crow flies or by private car is only  a journey of some 60 kilometres but due to the state of the line, a 2-hour trip and not only that a two-train trip.  Four stations before our destination we had to change trains in Rawang.  Sounds simple but, with my ever suspicious mind I noticed the station markers above the door that flashed red when you have passed a station and green for the ones not reached, showed KKB on the same line.  

"Hmm..."  I thought out aloud.  "Does this mean this train does go all the way to KKB?"   

The last thing I wanted was to get off to discover we could have stayed on the train and saved a half an hour.  My wife had been told by one of the participants of the conference that you needed to change trains, but I wasn't convinced.  I pestered her to ask some intelligent looking commuter whether this was so.  Reluctantly, she did and to my relief, he said the train would continue on to our destination without the need to change.  I had a self-assured smirk on my face. We proceed until just before arrival at Rawang, the train auto voice announced those who wanted to continue to KKB needed to alight and transfer to Platform 2.  Wife 1 me 0.  Of course the train didn’t arrive on the said platform 2 but platform 3; despite that we managed to catch it.

About 4 p.m., we arrived at the KKB station which was nowhere near the town centre.  We had been told there would be taxis here to take us the final 30 odd kilometres up into the mountains, but all we found was a driver with his privately owned car who was willing to do so. 

The final leg up is extremely windy and not for those with a weak stomach.  Along the way, you will see the occasional Pigtailed Macaque scavenging at the side of the road from rubbish disposed by passing vehicles.

Now you might be wondering why this place is called Fraser's Hill.  No doubt you have worked out somebody called Fraser founded it and you will be right. 

Centre of Fraser's Hill

In the late 1800's Louis James Fraser a Scotsman came across the region looking for gold. He didn't find any but did discover rich tin deposits.  With the aid of Chinese miners, he established a series of mines on the top of the hill as well as an opium and gambling den to extract back the wages he payed the workers.  Obviously, he became too successful, for he went missing a number of years later and was never seen again.  

By the 1920's, the hill was established as a summer retreat for the wealthy colonials who revelled in its cool misty climate.

The last 8 kilometres is a one way twisting track that lifts itself from the bottom of the valley onto the top of the thick jungle-laden range.

The town itself is underwhelming, a central clock tower marking the centre with some original colonial buildings, a few ordinary looking hotels / resorts and a nine-hole golf course. 

The real highlight here is not the manmade structures, but the intact natural forest and wildlife.

After checking into the hotel and seeing about the program for the next day's conference, we settled in for a quiet night.  Well, almost quiet if it wasn’t for the room full of men next door who wanted to scream at each other for no apparent reason other than to be noisy and the family with 2 inconsolable children that didn’t seem to appreciate the ambiance of the place. 

After breakfast, my wife went off to her meeting whilst I decided to go bush walking.  Before  she left, I received a stern warning that the jungle was a dangerous place to get lost in, especially this place as it has a history of people getting lost.  Of course, I scoffed at the suggestion this could possibly became my fate as I was a bush walker of some 40 years experience and besides the paths would be well maintained and easy to use as they were open to the general public.

Little did I know... 

To placate my wife, I said I would text her my intended route which in hindsight was an excellent move. 

The first walk I decided on was Hemmant trail just behind the golf course and a short 500 metres long.  The path was relatively flat and wide at first that crossed a number of small streams.  There had been guide ropes in place at some stage but most of these were no longer attached to the post that held them.  Needless to say, the crossing would have been easier with them although not impossible for an able bodied 57 year old to transverse. Feeling confident I pressed on.  I passed an old Japanese communication centre from the last war and saw numerous small birds of various species darting through the dense undergrowth.  The occasional glimpse of the golf course let me know exactly where I was.  In a very short while, I was at the end of the trail so proceeded to find the entrance for my second sojourn.  Starting at the forest, 200 metres up the road from the end of the Hemmant trail was Bishops trail.  It was well signposted giving plenty of information about the area.  A little way in, I caught sight of some leaf monkeys feeding on ( I think) leaves at the top of ginormous tree.  There were other numerous rustling sounds coming from the surrounding jungle although I could not see anything because of the density.  The macaque called constantly to each other in the valley, so it gave me a sense of the primitive.  I was alone in fact during the duration of the walks, I saw no other person.  Man Vs Wild… well not quite but you get the picture. 

Spider hunter

The track after the first half kilometre deteriorated markedly and I found myself climbing over or going under fallen trees and bamboo and it had become a lot more slippery due to some light morning rain.

At this stage, if my wife was with me, I would have had to turn back.  Where I am a little too gung-ho at times, she is much more cautious.  The track was passible but the going was not that pleasant.  Anyway to cut a long story short, I ploughed on and in due course managed to reach the end intact.  

This is where I should have stopped but…

The end of Bishop’s Trail (can’t imagine too many Bishops walking it) was the start of Maxwells.  The small map I had with me was little more than a diagram with little detail.  It told me this walk was about 2 kilometres long and ended at the local Tamil school at the base of the hill I was on.  

“No problems,” I said to myself.  I was a little dirty by now, scummed my knee on a branch of a fallen tree, but most importantly kept the camera intact.

I pressed on like an explorer awaiting his fate.

The track was level and wide at first and except for the occasional fallen tree trunk and bamboo thicket, it was ok.

About the half way mark, things changed.  

Sunlight streaming through the treetop canopy

The track started to descend to the valley floor and narrowed appreciably.  It was very slow going and I found holding my SLR camera annoying as it prevented me from using one of my hands to steady.  The path did have guide ropes on the steeper sections, though almost of all them were not anchored to their original positions. 

At one stage a massive tree blocked the route; too big to climb over and with the gap underneath too small for me to fit, I had to dig a bigger hole under to scamper through.  I was now hot and thirsty having broken rule number one when walking in the wilderness - bring water. 

The track became quite steep with the edges collapsing if my foot got too close. 

You may well ask why I kept going.  A very good question indeed.  I have been known to be a little pigheaded at times and this was one such occasion.  Pride got in the way of common sense and I was determined to finish.

Onwards I pressed until the unthinkable occurred, the path seemed to vanish. I turned around but couldn’t make out any discernible markers.  I ventured another 10 metres hoping to reestablish the route when disaster occurred.

You know the moment when you're on your feet walking forward and without warning, find yourself face down on the earth.  I slid maybe only a few metres down a slope until a tree impeded my decent.  I remember hearing a cracking sound coming from my left ankle and feeling a sharp hot stabbing pain like being struck by a poker that had just come out of the fire.  

Stunned for a second or two, I attempted getting to my feet, but found it impossible.  Panic? Not quite, but a feeling of great unease came over me. 

My wife was having her big day and I was lost and injured in the jungle.  Ohhhh.  What a fool!

Fortunately I could hear cars passing that seemed not too far away and that spurred me on.  I sat for a few minutes and looked at my ankle.  It was swollen especially on the outer aspect, but appeared to be inline with the other one.  I found a vine nearby and used it to pull myself up but as soon as I attempted to walk, I fell down again.  The third attempt, I managed to stay on my feet and discovered I could weight bear a little and with the aid of a small branch I found myself scrambling down the slope looking for a way out.  It became quickly apparent that approach wasn’t going to work.The jungle was closing in the further I went. 

I climbed again with some difficulty and decided to move parallel with the slop in what I thought might be the direction of the descending path.  After traversing a small knoll, there it was.  My heart missed a beat and a sense of relief descended over me.  Five minutes later I hobbled onto the road and slowly dragged my left foot the 2.5 kilometres back to my hotel. 

Wife 2 Me 0.

Fungi growing on a dead log

The remainder of the day, I lay in bed after seeing the local first-aid man who filled me up with medication and bandaged my ankle. 

My wife’s meeting went very well, so I was very thankful I didn’t spoil it for her.  If I had been further up the track or had severely sprained or broken my ankle, then things might have turned out a lot worse.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and we had a pleasant though short stay in Fraser’s Hill.

I will recommend the place to anyone, but with one proviso - stay well clear of Maxwell's trail.

PS. Just this morning, I read how Maxwell's trail is infestered with leeches, so not too many  people bother to walk it.  Ohhhh if only I had known.

The 3rd Day Of Chinese New Year Musings

Day 3 of Chinese New Year. As you are probable aware ( the two or three people who usually read this blog)  I walk a lot around the local district and in the past few days have experienced days of total desolation on the roads ( New Year's Day)  to traffic jams. It's a time for the Chinese or their descendants to visit their families. 

They say it's a period of time with the largest mass movement of people on the planet and I believe it. 

This year, the fire cracker brigade seems unusually quiet, the use of fire works is actually banned here  in Sabah, but that didn't stop them last year.  The mobile lion dance troupe seems to have had suffered a similar fate with little public interest shown. Maybe it's because most don't look like they have the required permits or belong to the right Chinese association, so the locals are reluctant to depart with the usual monetary appreciation. 

Talking about money the only group that seem to be doing well with the gift giving, Angpow, are the children. My wive's nephews, at least the older two, are walking around with slight smirks on their faces that says it's almost worth getting dragged over to visit relatives for. 

The local coffee shop is doing a roaring trade as I sit here writing this I can see a sea of new faces occupying all the available seating. I myself have been relegated to a bar stool overlooking the coffee making machine. I must say it has its advantages, the delectable smell of freshly ground coffee and the constant sight of the most scrumptious cheese cakes you can imagine in the cabinet next to me. I have a bird's eye view of all the comings and goings. Almost all are Chinese, relaxed and happy in either family groups or young friends from out of town on their yearly get together.

It's also a time for me that demonstrates the social divide that exists here. This event is almost exclusively Chinese and celebrated as such. Very soon the Malay will have their turn. Never the twain shall meet?

Home away from home

Time Waster

Sitting in a local restaurant the other day, I happened to glance up and notice the table across the room. There sat 3 adults and a child interacting with 3 tablets and a smart phone.  When I walked to the counter, I could not help but notice all of them playing games.  Each and everyone in their own little world, eyes intensely focused on the screen. 

I myself confess to being guilty of using a smart phone or tablet when out with my feeble excuse of only wanting to catch up on the news, do some research or send an email or two.  Now, some will say plenty of people read the newspaper eating breakfast.  Isn’t that the same thing?  True in some respects, but usually some level of conversation is generated by this.  'Zombies V Plants' and 'Angry Birds' don’t reach such dizzy heights.

I am sure you have experienced the bus / train syndrome where people have their heads buried in the screen of their smart phone looking intently at the last Facebook musings whilst listening to music through ear buds.  Almost no one indulging in the old fashion concept of conversation.  My father would be turning in his grave to see this trend.  He would love to talk to anyone who within ear shot and over the years got to know many people through this activity; it was a very big part of his life. 

My own pet theories as to why?

One, time filling.  When we are not sure what to do with ourselves, we resort to pulling out the phone to check.  Checking what really doesn't matter as long as that awkward moment passes.  I myself look at phone some 40 times a day.

Secondly, notice how people who are bored with the surrounding conversation pull out their phone to show, in a not so subtle way “I have had enough”. 

“Facebook is communicating,” I can hear you say.   Can’t disagree with that, for me it’s quite impersonal - communication by remote control.  We become a lot braver when we don't  have to look into anyone's eyes with all the feelings that go with that and say things that we might not or could not say face to face.  

A lot of the conversations on Facebook I find is an exercise in banality, foodie photos, selfie photos, baby photos etc.  All a very self-deluding exercise in narcissism,  which in reality has little appeal outside the sender.  Am I missing something?  To me Facebook is more like, ”In Your Face,” book!

There, got that out of the way.  Back to the topic at hand.  Direct communication or lack of it.  With all the time we spend on our machines being constantly bombarded with stimuli, I wonder whether our ability to concentrate is being severely tested.  Few people especially the young can be seen sitting quietly contemplating, deep in thought. 

And those 3 adults and the child you ask?   All good things must come to an end.  Upon leaving, the child created a scene when he refused to give the phone to his father.  The magic, the spell had been broken.

The Day the Power Left Us

Nothing like a prolonged power blackout to remind you how dependant you are on electricity.  

Yesterday at about 11 am the State of Sabah lost all power. For a place that has frequent outages this one was a doozy - all ten hours.   Seems some issue with a power line in Kota Kinabalu tripped most of the main substations statewide. 

When I was a young lad in Australia many moons ago, I used to get excited about a power outage especially if it occurred at night.  Out would come the candles making the all familiar environment of the house seem strangely unfamiliar; ghost like shadows dancing on the walls to stir the imagination of an impressionable child.   Those days, we were far less reliant on electricity for our daily needs. Apart from lighting, the fridge and the television / radio, very little else ran on electrical power. 

Fast forward to today. 

The first hour without power was more of a nuisance value than anything else.  Living in a hot climate necessitates the use of air conditioning or at the very least an electric fan.  The modern building is predominately concrete, absorbing heat throughout the day, releasing it at night.  In other words, it’s generally hot inside regardless of the weather conditions outside.  Fortunately yesterday was fairly mild due to the preceding weeks' rain.

As the afternoon dragged on, it became apparent this was no ordinary outage.  Up until that time I was using 3G on my phone for the Internet.  Of course we all know modern smart phones may be clever with most things but power consumption is not one of them.  By late afternoon, my battery was almost dead. Disaster, no power equals no telecommunications! 

We all amuse ourselves in many different ways. I suspect these days most activities involve using some sort of power source.  My Achilles heel is the Internet.  I'm an Internet tragic. Not social networking by the way, but information seeking.  No TV for this boy.  Anyway, it didn't  matter, both require a power source.  Lost and hot was my afternoon. 

Offices in town ceased to function due to no computers.  Not all that long ago, give or take a decade, administration workers would have hardly missed a beat.  Everything was kept in files and manually accessed. 

Traffic was chaotic due to no traffic lights.  Cars playing dodgem with each other, no sense of order. He who dares wins.

By evening the full impact was evident.  The hall across the road was conducting a wedding reception. I bet they didn't expect a candlelit dinner.  Very quiet and eery.  Wondered if the bride was thinking whether this was a bad omen or not. You could read a lot into it if you were that way inclined.

By 6.30 we ventured down to the local shopping precinct to get something to eat as we couldn't see in the kitchen.    A few businesses had generators and we're doing a roaring trade. All the banks' ATMs were functioning for the same reason. The local supermarket was packed with people with the car park adjacent over full.  Bees around a lit honey pot.

After returning home and sitting in the dark for another hour or so the power finally came back on.  Up went a cheer from the wedding party across the road and the band immediately started up, amplifier operating at full bore.  After 10 minutes I was wishing the power would be cut again! 

Maybe only maybe life would be a heck of a lot simpler without our electrical appliances, but no, I jest, 10 hours without was enough to convince me that I'm a 21st. century being through and through.  

Footnote

The Internet for some strange reason failed to realise the power had returned and refused to work until the next day. Ahhhhh!  Life is way too short without the net.

The Science of Superstition and the Supernatural.

As we head towards the Chinese New Year, I have been thinking a lot about superstition, the supernatural and how it rules our lives, if at all. 

I personally don't believe in either and subscribe to the world of the rational.  Unless it has a solid scientific base, I'm just not interested. Of course, I know science cannot explain everything, but it can in most cases, through a process of logical progression.  Just because something can’t be explained today doesn’t mean it won’t be in the future.
Superstition, on the other hand, relies totally on an emotive belief system and a reliance on some form of ritual-based practice to comply.

Individual styled superstitions such as, putting your left sock on before the right, tying up the right shoe lace first etc, are quite common.  Sports people are especially prone to this.  What seemed to have worked for one winning game turns into a ritual that must continue to maintain the supposed streak of good luck. Even if all facts point elsewhere, it becomes an ingrained habit unable to be broken. Psychology has a name for this behaviour, Intermittent Reinforcement.  Suffice to say it's worth having a read about.

There is wider form of superstition the group/social phenomena that is taught through traditional "Old wives tales" folklore. Good examples are: never walk under a ladder, it will bring you bad luck; a black cat crossing your path brings bad luck, be careful on friday the 13th; never sweep the floor on the first day of Chinese New Year or otherwise, you'll sweep away good fortune. 

Notice two very powerful underlying themes at work here; no one wants to be unlucky and everyone wants to become wealthy.   Predicting the future as long as it has positive connotations has great appeal to the masses. 

Not much to hang your intellectual hat on here I fear.  Where do these examples come from? No one really knows or cares, but the idea of following a set of simplistic rules to bring the desired results is very enticing to most. 

Now I pose a question. Are we all inherently superstitious or is it conditioned through early childhood?

In my case, my parents did not, as far as I remember adhered to any superstitious behaviour, but I am sure I learnt a lot of the “Old Wives Tales” through my mother. Other members of the family I think have developed their own ideas but to be honest I am only speculating as we have never talked about it.

I suspect the answer is a bit of both. Early man needed to explain the meaning of what was around him.  Superstitions and the supernatural help give reasons for the unexplainable and gave direction for future outcomes.  Science in that age  could not help, so emotive explanations flourished.

Obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) is a condition were one has to complete a set of tasks in a ritualist way or feel uncomfortable and in extreme situations suffer severe anxiety.  Sound familiar?  I am not advocating that OCD is linked to most acts of superstition but what about those who  take it to extremes - maybe.  Lots of interesting reading on the subject can be easily found. 

This leads me to the subject of the supernatural.  The supernatural and religion are closely linked and I don’t think many people would disagree.  But superstition and the supernatural and by its association, religion is another story. Most main stream religions are hostile to the idea of linking the two together.  I am not going to go into the reasons here, (material objects vs deities) there is plenty of information on the Internet, but I personally think they are splitting hairs. Both rely on a belief system that is not and cannot be tested by scientific scrutiny.

Do you believe in ghosts?  A question that most people are asked during the course of their lives.  Most of us hate the idea of there being nothing after death.  That’s one of the reasons religion plays an important part in a lot of people's lives. So what form does “life“ after death take? No one really knows, but early man obviously imagined himself after death being delivered to a divine place to reside in or otherwise wondering around the earth for no apparent reason - lost souls so to speak.

This is the classic ghost.  Haunting because of some misdeed during life or seeking revenge on another. 

Having lived in Asia for sometime I have heard many stories of people seeing and interacting with ghosts; each similar in detail with the central character always being terrified of the experience. 

Never in my 57 years of being on this planet have I seen a ghost.  Why? I simply don’t believe in them.  People who do believe get all the sightings.  Funny, hey?

I’ll try to illustrate what I mean. The other night I was semi-dozing off when through the mist of my early dream I thought  I saw a monstrous rat standing on the window pane next to the bed.  I was startled at first and sat up immediately to observe it but of course, it wasn’t there.  Did it scurry away when it knew I was conscious?  I don’t think so, for I heard nothing and I would have because of a pile of stacked up old cardboard boxes graced the ground below the window. We frequently hear rodents scurrying around there in the middle of the night. Ghost Rat maybe?  Rat revenge?

Alas reality is not so exciting.  A dream me thinks. 

You see for the previous week, we had been catching rats in set traps, so the subject was fair and squarely on my mind.  Entering sleep, my mind in its quest to explain the shadows formed an impression of a rat. ( It hasn't returned since!)

Now, if I was a believer in the supernatural I would have probably read a lot more into what I saw.  The rat ghost could be a symbol or sign of impending problems or perhaps an old foe returning to create great mischief etc etc.  The interpretation would all depend on my original state of mind and / or  traditional background.  

Whatever one has been exposed to when young is a powerful force throughout life. If our parents believed in something and instilled that belief in us at a young age, then the chances are it will stay with us for the rest of our lives.  Even if completely irrational, as an adult we may still not be able to shake the strong imprinted messages that lie deep within our minds.  Our brains have been hardwired from a very early age.

There are many activities like Chinese New Year that are steeped in tradition that involves elements of superstition. Is there any harm involved? I think not.  Just lots of people having fun and trying to keep the old ways alive for another year. 

So there you have it.  I’ve just thrown a pinch of salt over my left shoulder and tapped the wooden desk three times and  with an ounce of luck,  I’ll see you next time. 

Footnote: Since the 1920’s, rewards from numerous scientific bodies have been offered for any one who could demonstrate under controlled laboratory conditions a paranormal or supernatural event.  Needless to say, the money is still in the bank.

Casper....who else?

A Rat's Life

The sun slowly set over the deep dense green jungle and beyond, the crest was slowly being devoured by the ever- darkening aqua blue sea; time to become active. The household would soon be quiet.  The human occupants go to bed early as they get up before dawn to work in the adjacent plantation.  Their footsteps are a constant reminder that danger is not far away. Though having said that Ratso did feel rather secure in the space below the wooden floorboards where there was only enough room for his friends, family, insects and the odd spider or two.  This didn't mean it was always harmonious, oh no siree, many a time there were scuffles over territory and food.  Ratso and his family easily outmuscled the others and had done so for a long time now; maybe 6 months or more.  No, the only thing they were really concerned about were the humans above.   Making too much noise could prove fatal.  Too many fights or scuffles amongst the underfloor occupants would result in some form of human intervention. 

Over time members of the family and other clans would go out hunting for food and never return.  Rats' memories are not very long so, they were soon forgotten.  The daily struggle for life saw to that; no point worrying about others when your own survival was at stake.

The security of living under the floor boards had its downside, the heat was stifling always and it wasn't possible to leave during the day to find relief.  The cover of darkness proved the only safe refuge for scavengers like Ratso; true kings of the nocturnal household travelling far and wide to find nourishment for themselves and their families. 

The humans help a lot, of course.  They are the perfect species to be living with. Not very clean, they leave plenty of food scraps for the family to eat: a reliable all year round supply that never dried up. 

The muffled sounds of the humans above, dimmed into nothingness as the last of them went to sleep.  Waiting for another half an hour to be certain, Ratso started his nightly routine by forcing his body through a small gap between the skirting and the floorboards. The kitchen was in a greater mess than usual, plenty of pickings tonight.  

Saturday night was party night.  The human occupants didn't have to work the next day, so enjoyed an evening of free flowing beer, food and music. 

Ratso raised his long triangular nose to the air and like the king of rodents he was, perused the multitude of complex odours that hung in the air. One simply delectable smell caught his attention.  A strong sharp pungent irresistible  odour drew him to a corner of the house he had never previously ventured to.  So powerful was the urge to get to it that he ignored the usual offerings he would normally indulge in. 

Total darkness wasn't a hindrance when it came to finding food.  A keen sense of smell was all that was needed.  This delectable rat perfume was irresistible and drew him trancelike to his final destination. 

He hardly noticed the long steel tubular frame, but as his front paws reached up to finally grasp the prize that awaited him, the snapping sound of metal on metal brought him abruptly back to reality.  Turning quickly to escape, he realised the entrance was no longer there.  Confusion reigned as he ran around in circles in a fruitless exercise for freedom.   

The first glint of sunlight graced the tops of the trees like a sleepy ballerina  trying her first movements out for the day.   Foot steps from in front of the house purposefully strutted down the side path. A hand appeared from nowhere and Ratso suddenly became airborne inside his steel prison.

A loud splashed followed and Ratso felt his fur being penetrated with frigid river water, while a cold shiver of fear ran down his spine.  Lungs engulfed, bursting, struggling to obtain air. Head arched back, legs rotating at a furious rate, frantic mouth movements; then a calming gentle realisation, the feeling of giving in and enjoying the last sensation of settling onto a cushion of the finest duck feathers, sinking deeper and deeper until there was nothing else to remember. 

Rattus Rattus

    

SHOPS

I find exploring retail areas interesting, not so much for shopping which I generally detest, but for observing the goings on. What works and what doesn't.  I'm far from being an expert in these things, so my comments are just personal ideas.  Do feel free to challenge anything I have to say about the subject. 

In central Sandakan, you will find the stock standard strip shops you find in this part of the world with Chinese metal shutters gracing the entire frontage of the premises. Most of these were built during the post-war reconstruction period and have not seen much change, including a coat of paint. These rows tend to have a back lane/small street behind that appears to have little purpose other than to collect rubbish. Even though the shop frontages have little aesthetic appeal, the lanes are worse.

The general feeling is that the centre of the city has been abandoned for new developments further out for reasons I won't go into here.

All the new shopping precinct construction follow a similar pattern. A grid like street-scape  with parallel lanes running behind each row. 

Again an arrangement like the old part of town, taking up a lot of space that never seems fully utilised in a practical sense; very similar to the old part of town. 

Why is this so?  You might ask.  In most cases, it’s convenient for hanging out the businesses washing, somewhere to let the mops dry out or put the rubbish.  Some of the restaurants use the area for outdoor eating.  When the lanes are usable, they’re open for garbage collection and access to the utilities, water, electricity etc, but in most of the newer complexes they are closed off to vehicles.  If you think about it, the overall area taken up by these under-utilised lanes eats into the space for creating wider frontage roads or even space for more shops.

I would have thought having the shopping rows back onto each other would make for a neater cleaner environment. Of course, there may be technical reasons why it’s done like this, but from what I’ve seen, most other parts of the world manage to do it differently.

Interestingly, when these complexes are first offered for sale the footpath in front of each shop is only a concrete slab. This means the individual owners/lessees have to finish off the surface to suit their particular taste or needs.  This leads to a hotchpotch of styles which at best makes it difficult to walk on or at worst dangerously uneven.  In a lot of cases the surface is never finished off, so the look and safety are far from perfect. While we are talking about footpaths, a lot of shops use that space to sell product from; an extension to their store. The local restaurants will put tables on it  and frequently electrical retailers will even have a marquee that extents onto the road.

Does this bother the locals?  Doesn’t seem to too much.  It’s what you get used to as I said earlier.  Here if you want to go to a particular shop you just park out the front whether there is a space or not.  Double parking is king in Sandakan.  The idea of parking and walking any distance to your destination doesn’t enter most people’s minds.  Even in the one and only under-roof shopping Mall, Giant where the open car park is right in front of the building, double parking reigns supreme. 

Notice the difference between a shopkeeper who tries to improve the footpath and ones who don't.

The drain covers are 20mm below the tiled footpath.