The BTN story, from the inside.

There is a lot of hoo-ha about the Biro Tata Negara (BTN) these days. The National Civics Bureau is being accused of a lot of things, from being a brainwashing centre to sowing racial and religious prejudice and many others in between.
However, none of the articles that have come out so far (the ones I've read at least!) have actually interviewed a person who's gone through the BTN course.
So, I took the liberty of getting in touch with somebody who did, just to hear what it sounds like from someone who's "been there and done that".
I know this piece will not have a snowball's chance in hell of making it into the pages of the NST, so I'll just go ahead and put it up here.
Here, in the person's own words, is the BTN experience:

Yes, I'm a graduate of the program and hated it but unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't talk. I would love to, but I'm waiting for an answer for my scholarship extension and really need it to finish my studies next year.

However, I can tell you that there is the "Malay supremacy" idea in the program esp by some of the speakers, and there is no 1Malaysia concept whatsoever. And the instilling patriotism thing... well, let's just say (it's) patriotism according to how they want us to feel. So felt like brainwashing although at the end of each day I would complain about it with a friend there who hated the program as well.

The experience was not that bad for me since it was for sponsored students (Mara, JPA, universities) who will be doing their graduate studies overseas. They were not particularly strict on us. Probably because there were some Chinese and Indians students in the group. I heard it is worst for undergrads since there are some political play in the program (I managed to avoid not attending them while in UiTM).

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So there you have it - BTN in a nutshell.

In Defence of Democracy

Let’s face it - rhetoric flows out of politicians’ mouths like milk from a cow’s udders.

That’s why some media hacks jump at the chance to cover certain politicians – they’re good for a quote beyond the usual, mind-numbing balderdash.

Tan Sri Rafidah Aziz was renowned for her acid tongue. Tun Dr Lim Keng Yaik was notorious for his bawdiness (and his tendency to…spray) and Datuk Seri S. Samy Vellu, for his feistiness and drama. Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim is still known for his charm, charisma and ability to sell sand to an Arab.

And then there’s the elder statesman of Malaysian politics – Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad.

His soundbites have become the stuff of legend, whether it’s accusing Jews of ruling the world by proxy, popularizing the term “flip-flop” or coming up with nifty slogans like “Look East”, “Malaysia Boleh” and “Vision 2020”.

It has to be admitted that even his more controversial statements, delivered in that famously knowing and somewhat cynical voice, tend to make one think and reconsider notions long held as gospel.

Recently, during a talk entitled “Asia and the 21st Century”, organised by Universiti Malaya’s Asia-Europe Institute, he spoke glowingly of authoritarian regimes like China’s and compared them unfavourably with the democratic systems, such as India’s.

His exact words were that India “made the mistake of being too democratic”. At a press conference later, he elaborated, saying that democracy can be a hindrance to progress because it makes people spend too much time politicking and added that China’s development was because “there’s not much politics”.

More interestingly, he identified the West’s focus on democracy, civil rights and individual freedoms – its decentralisation of power to citizens and civil society - as being the reasons behind its lack of productivity and current economic flaccidity.

One has to admit that Dr Mahathir does have a point. It’s definitely easier to control, prod, push and, if necessary, drag a country kicking and screaming towards advancement, modernisation and progress if one stifles dissent and does away with the necessity of having to deal with pesky citizens who demand to be allowed to decide their own fates and futures. His critics would argue that this was the exact style of leadership Tun himself practiced as he jet-propelled this young nation into the 21st century.

The problem with this line of thought is that it ignores one basic fact – absolute power corrupts absolutely. History is strewn with examples of totalitarian – the most extreme form of being authoritarian - regimes where the masses suffer amidst their leaders’ lives of opulence. This was true in Stalin’s Russia, Mao’s China and still is in Beloved Leader Kim Jong-Il’s North Korea.

It takes a big man – one could suggest that such a man has yet to be found – that can wield such power wisely and properly. Authoritarianism, with its insulation against criticism of any kind, often inevitably leads to cronyism, nepotism, despotism and every other kind of –ism in the book. Its lack of transparency also means that citizens often don’t even know what their governments – or should we say, masters? – are up to.

A democracy, while arguably less “efficient” and “productive”, has the checks and balances that guard against such abuse of power. Proper separation of powers between the executive, legislature and the courts, along with a free and fair media – beautifully described by Edmund Burke as the fourth estate of government – and viable opposition parties ensure that politicians’ hands don’t get too grubby or their actions too bloody.

It is undeniable that there are democracies in which people are still financially insecure and in some cases, literally starving to death. India – the world’s largest democracy - is proof enough of this. And at the same time, China is proving that its brand of governance doesn’t necessarily mean people have to live in squalor.

Still, it could be argued that India’s struggle and China’s triumph aren’t because of their leadership styles, but in spite of them. China’s experiment with democracy at local government level is an indication that the country is beginning to admit and appreciate the benefits of the ancient Greek ideology.

The assertion that democracy is the root cause behind the West’s decline is flawed. Yes, their trade unions are strong – sometimes to the point of holding governments to ransom with nationwide strikes and such. But the point is, they democratically represent and speak for the working-class, who, if left untended, would most likely be trampled by Big Business. The West’s increased costs of labour and of doing business are down to increasing standards – and costs - of living, a problem we are now seeing and one that will eventually bedevil China as well.

Dr Mahathir justified his viewpoint by saying most people “don’t understand the limits of democracy.” This isn’t a reason to do away with democracy, but one to strengthen it further with more awareness, education and institutional reforms.

After all, if we breed a nation of sheep, how are we ever going to cultivate another generation of leaders brave and brash enough to exercise their democratic rights, even if it means using freedom of speech to advocate totalitarianism?

Goodbye, St. Louis!

Dreaming of change.

I'm beginning to grudgingly accept that all that psychobabble about dreams is true. About how dreams provide insights into the workings of our subconscious and all that jazz.
I've been having some very vivid dreams lately. They range from idiotically bizarre (playing football in a condominium construction site built in - get this - outer space!) to the poignant (mending bridges with a recently deceased, estranged aunt) to pretty fucking terrifying (can't remember the dream, thank goodness).
The dream I had last night though, is the one that really makes me wonder whether my subconscious mind is trying to tell me what my conscious mind refuses to accept.
This is what I dreamt about.
I'm driving a car up a steep, winding mountain road. On my left is a wall of rock. On my right, a sheer cliff with an endless drop. The road basically corkscrews its way up a mountain. It's dangerous and full of gravel. My car doesn't have traction.
Yet, I'm pressing on, full steam ahead. Tyres screech as they fight for purchase. My heart pounds away in fear as time and again I almost fly off the road.
I'm getting closer and closer to the top and I gun the accelerator even harder. Eventually, the expected happens. I lose control and veer off the cliff.
I plunge down into the murky depths. And I wake up. As I wake up, I realise that my last thought as I'm falling is not one of fear or terror. As I fall, I'm thinking that this was expected. That I knew I would fall from the moment I began the ascent.
That dream sums up my fears and insecurities pretty well actually. Let's face it. I'm doing very well, career-wise. In fact, I think it's fair to say that I've never been in better shape as a journalist.
The problem with that is that every mountain I climb, every small triumph I savour, is replaced by an even bigger mountain, an even greater challenge.
Before I came on the AFPF fellowship, the fear was whether or not I was only a reporter who could cut it in his own backyard. That I wasn't really as good as I imagined myself to be.
Coming here, I proved to myself - as well as to the folk back home - that I may actually be a half-decent journalist. Well and good. But now that I'm going home, it means that I'm going to have to take everything I've learned here, all the stuff that I've picked up and somehow try to apply it to a Malaysian setting.
I've got to go back and be an even better reporter than I am now. After all, that's the entire point of the fellowship, isn't it? The mere thought of it tires and depresses me. Won't there ever be a time when I won't need to prove myself to the world, and more importantly, to myself?
The nagging thought at the back of my mind though, is whether I'm actually doing any good at all. Whether my work is, even in a small way, changing the world.
That's all I want in life. I don't really care about money or fabulous things or whatever. I just want to, corny as it sounds, make the world a better place. Even if it's just one tiny little piece of it. I want to be remembered one day as somebody who made it just a wee bit brighter.
I was listening to Playing For Change's cover of Peter Gabriel's Biko in the car today. The song, about the martyred South African anti-apartheid activist, was one I've been listening to over and over since coming here.
I don't know why, but when I heard it today I got goosebumps all over my skin and tears just sprang to my eyes. I mean, think about how great a person has to be to inspire people to write and sing songs about him? How tremendous must his impact be for folk to still be recalling him more than 30 years after his death?
As a journalist and a writer, I have the opportunity to make an impact too. Most probably not the kind of impact the Steve Bikos or the Mahatma Ghandis of the world. But an impact nevertheless.
The question though is, am I doing so? Or am I so afraid of moving out of that cocoon of financial and career security that I want to challenge and change neither myself nor the world around me? If that's the case, wouldn't it mean that my life has been a wasted life? After all, what good's a life if a person has come into and left the world without making even a little bit of a dent in it? Surely as humans, as the stewards of this realm, we have been entrusted with greater responsibilities?
Even as I ask myself these questions, I know that I know what will happen in the future. I'll go back to Malaysia, surround myself with people, places and things comforting and familiar and slowly but surely slip back into the old routine.
I'll tell myself that all this idealism is not practical, that I'm a poor boy with aging parents and no silver spoon in sight. I'll tell myself that the responsibilities to family and self come before any notions of honour, nobility, glory or martyrdom.
Eventually, I'll euthanise myself into actually believing most if not all of it. And the only place where I'll face the truth is in my dreams.

The Demonisation of Islam.

These days, it seems that for every column I write, there's one that gets rejected. Why is this happening? Am I getting too radical, starting to think that I can write whatever I want just because I'm a columnist? Am I getting too big for my britches?

But then again, isn't that what column writing is about? Airing your opinions? As long as it's not libellous, seditious or otherwise illegal and damaging, shouldn't the column be the voice of the columnist? If only. Newspaper writing in Malaysia has never been that straightforward.

So, once again, thank God for this blog, where I can rant the rants that would never otherwise see the light of day. This is another one that didn't make the cut:

It was just one of the many forwarded emails a person gets on any given day, with the “Fwd: Fw…” heading, familiar to email users, indicating that the message has been passed around to many people.

I would have deleted it, if not for the heading, which piqued my interest. The email was titled “Eye Opening and Mind Shocking: Mass Marriage in Gaza.”

Since it was in a region of the world that interests me and from a friend who doesn’t usually send me rubbish, I opened it.

Pictures of doe-eyed Palestinian brides greeted me. Their faces were expertly made up, hair prettily coiffed, white gowns resplendent and hands protectively enveloped by their grinning husbands-to-be.

The girls looked like they were between 6 to 10 years old. The grooms, on the other hand, were strapping young men in their 20s.

Yes, it was disturbing. But what was actually more disturbing was how this unsettling event was used, along with other carefully picked pieces of information, to launch an attack against Islam.

The article, apparently written by a PhD. holder, accused Islam of encouraging pedophilia and the Prophet Muhammad of being a child molester because of his marriage to Aisha.

It’s at points like these that I wish cursing were allowed in columns. I would have a few very choice phrases to throw at the author of this particular piece of excrement.

All around the world, there are people who dedicate their lives to promote better inter-faith understanding and greater tolerance between religions. People make all sorts of sacrifices, sometimes even their lives, just to make the world a better place for all faiths.

And while these unsung heroes go about their Herculean labours, there are others who make it their life’s work to tear down other people’s faiths.

Very often it is Islam that is on the receiving end. Almost every day emails are circulated among millions of people. They denigrate this religion, painting it as being a vile and evil belief practiced by bad people. Almost every day, some new condemnation is cooked up and hurtled at the believers of the religion which’s name means peace.

People often forward these emails without even trying to ascertain where they originate. After all, with our busy daily schedules, who has the time to do so? But sometimes, it pays to see whose message it is we are spreading.

This email was originated from an American-based anti-Muslim website that spews venom, oozes hate and calls for violence against Muslims. All those who don’t subscribe to this stance, including the F.B.I. and even President Obama, are considered enemies.

To put it simply, it is the American-Christian equivalent of Al Qaeda’s propaganda machine and recruitment spiel. “It’s us against them. We are on the side of God, they are the evil Satan. It’s a Holy War. Defend your faith against these infidels, blah, blah, blah.”

Isn’t it amazing though that these defenders of the faith, be they Christian or Muslim or whatever, are always eager to point a damning digit at someone else but ready to make excuses for their own skeletons?

Take this crusader for example. He’s so eager to point out that Muhammad married a child bride. Does he mention that Mary, the mother of Christ, was married when she was about 13 or 14? Granted, Christian dogma states she was a virgin and remained one till she was assumed into heaven. The point, though, is that she was a child bride too, right? What about King David,
who sent a man to his death simply because he coveted his wife? Not very nice, is it?

The email also spoke and criticized the fact that the Prophet had more than one wife. What about King Solomon, who was said to have had a thousand wives and concubines? What about the Mormons of today, who believe in polygamous marriages?

Islam was spread through the sword? What about the Spanish Inquisition? What about the great Hindu empires of the past? What about the pilgrim fathers in America, who brought Christianity, disease and big guns with them on their boats to the New World?

Many of the practices of yore seem weird, barbaric or inhumane by today’s standards. The Egyptian gods and pharaohs married their own siblings. Hindu widows would commit sati, immolating themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres. Pagan Romans used to serve lions a diet of Christian du jour.

But upon closer inspection, most of the things that happened then often did so for a good reason, if only people would take the time to learn what those reasons are. For example, women got married younger because life expectancies were much lower. Looking at everything through modern eyes would be to get a cock-eyed view of the past.

What really bites is that it is Islam that continues to be demonized. The responsibility for acts committed by some deluded souls is placed squarely on the collective head of the whole global Muslim community. Muslims and Islam is painted with broad brush strokes as being hate-filled, violent, terrorists and extremists.

Yes, some Muslims are jerks. I mean, we had a whole bunch of them dragging a severed cow’s head on the streets of Shah Alam recently. But some Christians are jerks too. There are also Hindus who are jerks, just as there are jerks in Buddhism, Sikhism, Judaism and just about every other religion under the sun. They’d probably be jerks even if they were agnostic!

These card-carrying defenders need to realise that most religions have a spotted history. You can’t go through centuries and millennia of existence without slathering yourself in ignominy at some point or the other. So, for every finger that you point at other people, you’d find four more pointing back at you.

It would be better if these physicians healed themselves.

Pig-headed cow-head protestors.

The idiocy continues.
The Selangor Menteri Besar tried to hold a forum with the residents of Section 23, to discuss the controversial relocation of the Hindu temple to the Muslim majority area.
What was supposed to be the exercise of democracy turned into a farce. The Malay residents turned the proceedings into a mob scene, hurling curses, insults, threats and obscenities.
The Indians, far outnumbered, mostly sat quietly in their seats. The placid and defeated looks on their faces said it all - this wasn't a fight they were expecting to win, or even make an impression on.
Malaysiakini's video of the incident illustrates the whole point better than anything anybody can say.
The worst part of it was when one Indian man stood up to make a point. He drowned out by the jeering boors. That was expected. What was unexpected, and really low, was when he took his seat again.
One of the men in the room - one of the loudest and crassest, I might add - snuck up behind him and pulled the chair from right under him.
That moment said it all. That moment was a snapshot of the childishness, the cowardly belief of their strength in numbers and the complete lack of respect and understanding these residents displayed.
The Malaysian Insider published an interview with these people, asking them why exactly they didn't want a temple near their homes, which they had previously attributed to "Muslim sensitivities." (I wonder if any of them realised the irony of their insensitive behaviour in the name of their sensitivity) None of the interviewees could give a decent reason for their stubborn resistance.
One said it would "disrupt traffic flow". Others said it was the "smell" and the "noise".
Traffic flow??? Hindus, unlike Christians or Muslims, do not have strict worship schedules. Devotees go in drips and trickles to perform their obligations. The only time Hindus cause traffic congestion is during Thaipusam. And that too is only in certain spots, like Batu Caves, around the country.
Smell?? Since when has the smell of incense permeated an entire neighbourhood?
Noise?? Are temple bells really louder than the call of the azan five times a day?
Why don't these people just come out and admit it. They are religious bigots. They are racist pigs. They are bullying cowards.
And their arguments don't make sense. Going by their twisted logic - which is that there shouldn't be a temple there because it's a Muslim majority area - there should not be a single temple, church or tokong in the whole country, since it's a Muslim majority country.
Likewise there should not be a single mosque in China, in India, in America, in the UK or anywhere in the many countries where there aren't at least 51% Muslims.
While we're on this tack, these Section 23 Muslims really should only be eating Muslim food, wearing Muslim attire, listening to Muslim music, trading with Muslim businesses, working for Muslim people, going to Muslim schools, learning Muslim curriculum, etc. After all, God forbid that their Muslim sensitivities be offended by Miley Cyrus's latest song or Nike's latest line of shoes.
I mean, once you start down this line of thinking, where does it end?
I'd call these folk "pig-headed", but we wouldn't to offended their sensitivities, would we?

The Column That Never Was.

It can be very frustrating writing for the mainstream media in Malaysia. Stories have been killed because they're too "sensitive". Articles have been made to disappear sometimes because the of the subject's friendship with the higher-ups in the company. Worse still, reporters are sometime made to write stuff because of connections certain people have.

I feel it a little more now that I've become a columnist. There are certain "no-go" areas, certain things we're not supposed to write about. One of these things is the recent spate of religious fucked-upness that's been going on in the country.

Thankfully, I still have this blog. So, here it is, the column that never was:




When I was a child, my favourite song at church used to be called Pass It On.

It had an opening line that I really loved, which went, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going.”

A very positive message indeed. But those same words can be used to describe the possible outcome of the repeated poking and prodding of the religious hornets’ nest that is being carried out by some elements in our country.

I refer to the increasingly shocking cases of religious baiting that have suddenly become the “in” thing to do for protestors who want to make a splash, people who want to make a flashy point or journalists that want a cheap headline.

In January, a student found a pig’s head on a PAS flag in a surau at Universiti Malaya’s Islamic studies academy. A month before that in Malacca, a wild boar head was found hanging next to a banner highlighting issues concerning Malays there, including that of a pig farm in Paya Menkuang.

Then, a couple of months ago, there was the case of the two crusading journalists from Al-Islam magazine that “infiltrated” a church hoping to land a story about Muslims being surreptitiously converted to Christianity. When they didn’t find any, they decided that they would partake of the Holy Eucharist – the holiest of Catholic rituals. They then spat out the sacred wafer, took pictures of it and published the story in their magazine.

And now, we have the case of Shah Alam’s Section 23 residents who were apparently so angry at the relocation of a Hindu temple to their area that they thought it warranted a cow’s head being dragged and defiled in front of the state secretariat.

All it takes is one spark to get a fire going. These insensitive actions are being uneasily tolerated by the larger segments of society. But, it’s impossible to expect that cooler heads will always prevail. It’s inevitable that the more people tear down each other’s dearly held beliefs and values, the more likely it is that we will eventually arrive at a disastrous flashpoint.

We’ve seen it happen over and over again in many countries around the world. The Bombay race riots of the 90s. The lynching of blacks in America’s Deep South. Hitler’s persecution of Jews during World War II. Time and time again blood has been spilt because insular and chauvinistic beliefs have held sway. Time and time again evil has flourished because good people have done nothing.

What if one day, some decide they’ve had enough? What if they decide to strike back? How long will it take for it to descend to all out racial and religious warfare? How long will it take for our streets to become as troubled as those in Sri Lanka or Gaza? How long will it take for Malaysia to literally become tanah tumpahnya darahku, spilt by our own brethren?

It’s not as farfetched a scenario as you can imagine. After all, the instigator behind the cow’s head incident proudly told the media that the residents will not budge an inch, “even if lives are lost and blood is made to flow.”

In To Kill a Mockingbird, lawyer Atticus Finch, in an attempt to divert his children from his town’s bigoted worldview, tells them that they can never understand a person until they consider things from his point of view, until they climb inside his skin and walk around in it.

These people would do well to do the same. The protestors, who say they are residents of Section 23 insist that there shouldn’t be a temple there because 80% of its population is Muslim (reports vary on the actual demographic mak-up). They would do well to put themselves in the skin of the remaining 20% and ask if they too deserve a right to have a place to worship. How would they have felt if residents in a non-Muslim majority area were to have paraded a pig's head in response to reports of a mosque being built?

The reporters from Al-Islam should ask themselves how unhappy they were when the caricatures of Prophet Muhammad appeared in Scandinavia. Or, closer to home, when The Herald used the word Allah in a Christian context?

The culprits who put the pig’s head in the surau should do well to ask themselves if they’d like their house of worship desecrated in such an awful manner. Is it too much to ask for everybody to just treat others the way they themselves would like to be treated?

What can the larger populace do about this though, is a question that still boggles many. A veteran reporter I was talking to about this voiced his own dismay and confusion at the terrible turn things are taking.

“It doesn't go away any more. It goes everywhere, immediately, and stays forever,” he said. “What do we do? Forgive them, for they know not what they do? Or crucify them? Make examples of them?

“In the past, education was always the answer. One learned. One understood. One figured things out from the facts - even the facts of others' myths. Understanding wasn't impossible. I'm sure this still holds true for many but, I fear, not for most,” he told me.

The authorities are quick to come down hard on civil rights’ protestors. They’re quick to use the various laws of the land to incarcerate those who are deemed to be disturbing the peace. They’re quick to come up with harebrained ideas to censor the Internet (and equally quick to dismiss them when they see that they don’t find favour!). Why can’t they be equally quick to do something about this, be it through education or enforcement?

At the same time, the rakyat these days are becoming increasingly aware of their rights. They’re becoming increasingly effective in finding ways to air their grievances. Isn’t it time for people of all stripes to get together and tell those among us that would sow strife and discord that hate will not prevail, that we, as a nation, want peace, love and harmony?

It’s impossible to expect Malaysia to be a utopia of rainbows and daffodils, where everybody loves each other. But is it too much to ask that we at least respect each other?

Notes from St. Louis.

I've always loved books and reading. It's unsurprising then that one of the first things I did when I came here was to enroll in the local library.

It was one of the best moves I made. The library system in St. Louis is wonderful. The books, the CDs, the DVDs, the programmes - they're fantastic and the perfect example of the gulf between a developed country like the United States and a third-world country (I will not call it a developing country until I see signs of development in the mentality of its people) like mine.

The Central Library on Olive Street is a thing of beauty in itself. With it's massive arches, vast marble floors and beautiful stained-glass windows, it has a cathedral-like grandeur that takes my breath away every time I go in.

With all the time I spent in the library, it was inevitable that I would eventually end up writing a story about it.

Fact is, my article on libraries was a labour of love from start to finish. I conceived the idea, wrote the story, took the pictures and got the graphs and statistics. Seeing it published has got to be one of the most satisfying moments of my time here. It's not the biggest story I've ever done, but I just loved this one a lot.

That being said, work recently has been a curious mixture of triumphs and disappointments, of satisfaction and frustration.

The library story was definitely a triumph. The disappouintment was my story on human trafficking, which I was really keen on. Human rights coverage has always been my area of interest and one of my early forays into contact building was with the International Institute in St. Louis. The Post-Dispatch already has a reporter, Doug Moore, working the beat. So, finding an untapped angle and not stepping on his toes was the key. I thought I had managed to do that with the human trafficking story, which was basically about people being brought to the US under false pretexts and being made to work in slave-like conditions.

It was not to be because my contact person at the Institute said the victims were unwilling to be interviewed, even after I offered to not take pictures or use their real names.

I could deal with that. After all, this kind of rejection is part and parcel of every reporter's life. What annoyed me was the unprofessional way in which the person at the Institute handled it. She promised to get back to me after I had gone to see her and discussed the story with her. However, two months and several emails and voicemails later, she still hadn't told me what the situation was one way or the other. I hate being left hanging like that and really expected more. Oh well...

Work on the whole has been good though. I've had stuff to do regularly and that's always good for my mental health.

That being said, I have been getting a little frustrated at the number of parades/fairs/street events I'm asked to cover. Sometimes, it feels like all I'm doing is parades. In the past month alone, I've done stories on Baden Taste, the Corvette caravan and Festival of Nations. It's nice to attend these events, but I'd really like to get a greater diversity of coverage while I'm here. I don't mean I want to be assigned to all the front page stories. What I do mean is that I'd like to not be the "intern" that's given the stories that can't be screwed up.

It's galling also because I've been getting compliments from my editors and colleagues on the quality of my work, which makes it hard to understand why I'm not getting more challenging stuff to do. Well...at least they're receptive to the ideas that I pitch.

However, it is this that I feel is one of the weaknesses in the fellowship. While we have mentors - and I have a great one in Elisa Crouch - it appears that in my case at least, the higher-ups in the newsroom don't really seem to be on board with the fellowship's ideas and ideals.

Don't get me wrong. They're all fantastic people and have really made me feel welcome at the Post-Dispatch. It just seems that they often don't know what to do with me. For the benefit of future fellows, it might be a good idea for the foundation to work with the higher echelons of the company and come up with a work plan based on the fellow's goals.

All I Want To Do...is shag you silly.

<--- Would you throw these babes out of your bed?

If there were to be an award for dodgiest song ever, Heart's All I Want To Do would be right up there, along with Extreme's More Than Words.

Both these songs could definitely be voted as the official anthem/theme song of playas too. I'd have to say though, that All I Want To Do just about nicks it for sheer hypocrisy and blatant playa-ism.

But don't just take my word for it. Let's have a look at the lyrics of the song and then you can decide for yourself.

ALL I WANT TO DO

It was a rainy night

When he came into sight,

Standing by the road,

No umbrella, no coat.

So I pulled up alongside

And I offered him a ride.

He accepted with a smile,

So we drove for a while.

I didn't ask him his name,

This lonely boy in the rain.

Fate, tell me it's right,

Is this love at first sight?

Please don't make it wrong,

Just stay for the night.

Let's take this one verse at a time. First of all, what is she doing picking up strange men on rainy nights? Hasn't she watched enough slasher flicks to know better? This song could have just ended right here if she'd picked up the wrong man. You know..."He accepted with a smile, so we drove for a while....acckkk!!! Gurgle, gurgle, moan, moan, Kersplatttt!!!!"

Plus, she didn't ask him his name! Wtf?? You give a ride to somebody and don't even ask his name? And, love at first sight? C'mon. Call it like it is! It's lust at first sight. Ain't nothing wrong with that!

So we found this hotel,

It was a place I knew well

We made magic that night.

Oh, he did everything right

He brought the woman out of me,

So many times, easily

And in the morning when he woke all

I left him was a note

I told him

I am the flower you are the seed

We walked in the garden

We planted a tree

Don't try to find me,

Please don't you dare

Just live in my memory,

You'll always be there

My question is, how does she know that hotel well, hmmm? Sounds like she's paid more than one clandestine visit, hasn't she? And 'he brought out the woman in me so many times, easily"? Puh-leeze! He gave you multiple orgasms is what he did! And in the end, what did you do? Bailed out on him without even splitting the hotel bill. The guy can't even afford a car. You think he can afford to pay the bill? Poor dude. And she has the nerve to tell him not to look for her. Some people...

Then it happened one day,

We came round the same way

You can imagine his surprise

When he saw his own eyes

I said please, please understand

I'm in love with another man

And what he couldn't give me

Was the one little thing that you can

And now we get to the climax (no pun intended) of the matter. They meet again. And he sees the fruit of his loins. And what does she do? She tells him she's in love with another man and the only reason she shagged him was coz that dude either couldn't get it up or was shooting blanks. And all this comes after she's earlier said it was love at first sight and warbled chorus after chorus of how she wants to MAKE LOVE to him. She justifies it by saying she just wanted a kid. What about IVF or adoption? The Wilson sisters were reaaaaallly stretching it there, weren't they? Jeez. And to say that he gave her a 'little' thing was a low-blow. There's absolutely no need to do that to the boy's ego.

They should have just titled the song "I'm Horny and Need a Shag. Fertile Studs Apply Here."

Fire!!!

My apartment building caught fire yesterday! Since nobody died or got injured - except for the cat which suffered some slight smoke inhalation - I can say what I'd really like to say without sounding like an insensitive twat.

And what I'd really like to say is - how cool is that??? Woo hoo!

This is what happened. Unit 105 usually has a guy, his aunt, his dog and his cat living in it. His aunt, at the time of the fire, had been hospitalised due to depression and thus, wasn't home (a very good think, coz the guy later told me that she was quite old and very heavy.)

So, our friend goes to sleep in the living room and next thing he knows, he wakes up to the sound of roaring flames and the sight of thick smoke.

He grabs his dog and his laptop, looks unsuccessfully for his cat (that much vaunted feline independence ain't so hot now, is it??) and runs out, with only his shorts on. No T-shirt, no shoes. Nothing.

While all this drama is happening, I'm at home, in unit 501. (105:501 - what are the chances?) Usually, I'm at work at that hour - about 4:45 p.m. or so. But today, for the first time, I'm actually working the afternoon from home, due to the fact that my just concluded interview was at a nearby library.

I hear the smoke alarms and pop my head out of my unit. All appears normal. I get back in again and decide that it's a false alarm - which has happened before.

Something tells me then just to go out anyway. So, grumbling and cursing I throw on some clothes, grab my wallet and passport and head out. Still thinking that it's not a real fire, I don't bother bringing my laptop, camera and most importantly, my reporter's notebook.

I take the stairs down and that's when I realise that the building really is on fire. Acrid fumes hit me the moment I reach the third floor. For a moment, everything is black and I feels the stirrings of panic in my guts.

Here's where that fireman training I went for back in Malaysia held me in good stead. Squinting and stuffing my face into my shirt (good thing I wasn't loaded with my camera and laptop), I crouch as low as I can and head for the exit as calmly as possible.

I expect to see pandemonium reigning outside. Instead, what I do see is impressive orderliness on the part of the residents and superb efficiency on the part of the firefighters.

The blaze, which thankfully consumed only one unit, was put out in less than 15 minutes. While debating whether or not to call the Post-Dispatch and tell them about the itty-bitty fire, I get a call from Elie (yes, I grabbed my phone too!) telling me she's covering it and asking if I'm taking pics. I had to disappoint her by saying my camera was stuck upstairs (what kind of reporter leaves behind the tools of his trade when a story literally falls into his lap? So embarassing!)

But, I managed to borrow Elie's notepad and pen and jot down some quick interviews with the guy as well as the fire captain. So, my honour has been regained somewhat.

Oh, and the vic was wearing what I thought was one of those fancy jogging GPS/odometer devices on his ankle. Elie later told me that it's a tracking device for prisoners who are under home arrest. So, now we're speculating that the cause of the fire was a meth-lab accident and not a falling shitty lamp as the guy claimed earlier. Hmmm....

Making crime pay.

It's been an interesting couple of weeks here. There've been quite a few developments, personally and professionally.



My time at the Post-Dispatch is almost coming to an end, with me hardly even realising how quickly time has flown by. All of a sudden, I find myself with barely enough time to do all the things that I wanted to do when I first came here (visit Memphis, Chicago, as well as check out several things in St. Louis itself). And I still haven't even come close to doing any of the souvenir shopping that I need to do! Having so many friends can be a tough proposition sometimes, you know!



The good news is that I have, since the mid-term seminar at Poynter, managed to dispel the feeling of homesickness that used to descend on me every few days. I've finally settled nicely here, made some friends and have started slowly counterfeiting what passes as a social life.

I've started going clubbing (courtesy of the Post-Dispatch, which wants me to do reviews), properly checked out some of the many attractions of Forest Park and even attended a Cardinals baseball game (and it was a cracker of a game too!). Go Cards!



But, I digress. This posting, as we Fellows keep being gently reminded, is about the trials, triumphs and tribulations of the 2009 Alfred Friendly Fellows as we muck about at the newspapers in our host cities.



Since my last posting, I've come up with the aforementioned club reviews, a piece on my Disneyworld experience with Hoon, as well as a story on a fire that killed three children.

Each of these experiences has been an interesting learning experience in itself.



I'm particularly proud of the club reviews, because it contains an innovation (I think!) which I suggested all by myself. Our editor, Evan, asked us to do the review in a conversational form. So, I suggested actually having a Gmail chat session with Sherice, the other reviewer. It's worked very well. Having a real chat session enabled us to have a very natural sounding article written in the dialogue form. It also helped us inject some quirkiness (like me ordering a vodka martini, shaken not stirred) as well as some informality (like asking if a dodgy foreigner can pick up a girl at a club) into the proceedings. Check out the finished product here. Btw, in case you're wondering, the vodka martini gag was for a different review. I'm now considering suggesting a similar club review form - probably called Saturday Nightlife - to my paper back home. I really think it will work out well.


The Disney article , on the other hand, was both an opportunity taken as well as an opportunity missed. It was an opportunity taken because I got off my backside and pitched it to the Features editor, Christy Bertleson - who I have to say, was very supportive. Don't you just love editors like that? What started off just as a lark for Hoon and I became a story which got some interesting feedback from readers. Some people - including one guy who works at Disney and had a half hour long phone conversation with me (phew!) - loved it. Others actually called and told me that I went for the wrong rides and should have done other things in that time. One lady left a message saying that I was an 'amateur' for only being able to do so much in one day. Lol!

It was also educational because I got to see how an editor who thinks outside the box can completely change and improve on a story. You see, my original was a long-form feature which ran up to 1,600 words.



Needless to say, it was too long. However, I was pretty much brain-frozen by the time I had done it and asked Christy to surgically remove anything she felt like removing.



However, instead of doing that, she changed the style of the first few paragraphs, from an actual narrative to a snappy, timeline-based almost point-form article and told me to do the same for the rest of the article. It dramatically reduced the length of the story but retained the style, the humour and the flavour.



That being said, the same article also presented an opportunity missed for me, as in I finally didn't get to insert multimedia elements like I wanted to. I had an idea of doing a picture slideshow, along with audio narration for the website. However - and this is mainly my fault. I dawdled - in the end, there just wasn't enough time for it and it ended up being just a regular text-based article on the website as well. Worse still, for some reason, the picture used in the paper was not put up along with the website's article, making it look rather unimpressive. Oh well...



Finally, I worked on a story about a fire that killed three children. It made the front page (woo hoo!!). It was a tragic story, but very interesting from a professional point of view. You see, in Malaysia, most crime (i include accidents and disasters under crime) stories - unless they're really sensational - rarely make the front page. Most of the time, we just give it the regular, run-of-the-mill treatment and it ends up stuck wherever there is space to stick it in. And most of the time, one reporter is sent out to do the story and he comes back with the essentials.



But, what happened here was this: I was sent to the scene, to interview witnesses, get some atmosphere and wait to see if the surviving members of the family returned to the scene.

Another reporter, Michael Sorkin, remained in the office and worked the phones, calling the police, fire department and other authorities to get the nuts and bolts of the story.



This division of work actually makes a lot of sense. Leaving the reporter on the scene free to get anecdotal information and letting somebody else get official statements means both reporters are free to concentrate on one specific element of the story. Hence, nobody is rushed, nobody is pressured and nobody is overwhelmed. Also, when the two different sides of the story came together, the result was interesting - the officials said the smoke detector was not working, while the residents said it was. And that became the crux of the story.



I've got two projects still in the pipeline. One is about the library system here and I finally got all the interviews done today. I'm hoping this might sneak into page one as well. Fingers crossed! The other, a human trafficking story which I would say is a more likely candidate for front page treatment, seems to have hit the skids, mainly because of a lack of response from certain authorities. Very inconsiderate of them, really! But, I've still got a month and a half to go and will continue bugging them until they either tell me yes, or tell me to bugger off. Watch this space. :)

The Column. Uncensored.

On (or is that In?) hindsight, I should have known that my last column for NST would be heavily edited. I mean, what was I thinking? Writing such a risque piece for a stodgy establishment like mine? I don't think I'll live to see the day when talk about condoms, porn and the missionary position will be printed in my paper. And no, I'm not bitching, nor am I angry or bitter about it. I completely understand why the cuts had to happen. Seriously!

But thanks to the blogsphere, the original incarnation of that dirty ditty will see the light of day. So, here it is. Bigger, longer and uncut.

Tun Dr. Mahathir must be sorely disappointed in us. After all, hasn't he for the longest time wished, hoped and aimed for a Malaysian population of 70 million souls?

And instead of heeding the old man's call to be fruitful and multiply, what do we do? We go and reduce our birth rates from an ego-boosting 6.2 to a measly, morale-sapping 2.2. Shameful, really.

I for one, know exactly who is at fault. Ladies and gentlemen, the finger of blame should be pointed at none other than Ananda Krishnan.

Yes, the billionaire industrialist is to blame for the lack of fruit falling from our loins these days. No, this is not the plot for the latest James Bond movie. My reason for blaming him can be summed up in one word: Astro.

Think about it. What do most of us do when we go home these days? Do we rush home, tear off our clothes and jump into bed in a frenzy of lust. I wish.

No. We plop ourselves down in front of our flat-screen plasma TVs, turn on our decoders and gobble up the latest tele-novela on Astro Ria, the newest never-ending drama on Vanaavil, the current soap on Wah Loi Toi and the flavour of the week on American Idol.

And what about Saturdays and Sundays? What used to be date night is now more often becoming a night where we men would rather watch 22 other men sweating it out on a football field a zillion miles away instead of cozying up to our better halves. And don't forget those European football games in the wee hours of weekday mornings. Since we all have to be at work the next morning, what are the only things left to sacrifice? Sleep and sex of course!

But, it's not solely Ananda Krishnan's fault.

U.P.M, I think, had a point when it said men were at fault for the declining number of Pampers consumers in the country.

Think of 1980s fashion. I for one don't believe it's purely coincidental that birth rates plummeted in the 90s. Remember those crotch-hugging jeans of the 80s that all but cut off the blood flow to the nether regions? I don't have scientific evidence to back me on this, but I dare say all that confinement was not good for the unborn children we men had swimming inside us. I mean, how would you feel if you were stuck in a car all day with the windows rolled up? A trifle toasted?

Then there's the issue of underwear. I clearly remember the kind of underwear my grandfather - a fertile fellow if there ever was one - used to wear. They were either the Crocodile/Scuba brand briefs (spectacularly unstylish, very roomy), or striped, baggy boxers.

And what do we wear these days? Tight, 'bikini style' briefs designed to make a cocktail sausage resemble a frankfurter. Very flattering, I'm sure. But all that mashing up is bound to do some damage. No wonder my grandpa had 7 kids while I still don't have any little Marcs scampering around.

Equally culpable are those 7-11 joints out there, with the rows and rows of colourful condoms (some of them are more gaudily packaged than candy!) neatly stacked on the front counter. Where would we (or should I say, wouldn't we) be, if these slimy pieces of rubber had 50 years ago been as widely dispensed in sundry shops? And ended up in the wallets of our forefathers? The next time you find yourself reaching for a condom in 7-11, think of what the wise men of Monty Python told us – every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great.

And what about pornography? Surely there's some blame to be accorded in that direction too. 50 years ago, when 'blue' movies weren't so widely available, most folk were satisfied to 'do it' the good old-fashioned way – missionary style.

But now, after being weaned on years and years of illicit porn viewings, men are under pressure to live up to the skills displayed by all those pony-tailed, mucho-macho dudes with elephant trunks hanging between their legs.

Now, the trusted missionary position is no longer adequate. Instead, we've got ourselves twisting into positions and formations that even contortionists would find difficult to replicate.

Yet, most of these fancy techniques don't have the one crucial thing the missionary position does when it comes to sowing oats – gravity on its side. After all, isn't it easier to walk downhill instead of uphill?

But thinking about it, perhaps it's better to have fewer kids these days. I mean, I certainly don't want to have any while the nation's education system is still – to use a Mahathirism – flip-flopping. Or while the killers of sweet little girls and boys are still walking free. Or while nimrod politicians still tussle for power and prominence.

Maybe it's a good idea to hold back on trying to reclaim our pride until we get these things sorted out first. After all, we still have Astro, sexy underwear, colourful condoms and illicit porn to keep us occupied in the meantime.

Sacriliege. Desecration. Just another day in the life of Malaysia.

A lot of what's going on in Malaysia slips by me these days. It's hard to keep tabs on the country when you don't live in it. One that I would have completely missed, if not for a chance email I got from a friend, was the 'investigative' piece written by Al-Islam magazine.

Two 'intrepid' reporters from the magazine were tipped off that Muslims were being surreptitiously converted into Catholicism by churches in the country and saw it as their duty to go undercover to find out if it was true.

As a journalist with pretensions to being an investigator myself, I can understand their excitement in getting the tip-off. After all, I too would be similarly excited if I were to get onto a story that was so obviously sensational and so obviously up my alley.

So, these two men went to a church one fine Sunday and decided to find out if the allegations were true. They discovered it wasn't. Their curiousity satisfied, they should have done the right thing and left.

They didn't. Instead, they stayed on and during the Mass, joined the Catholic congregation in accepting the Holy Eucharist.

After that, they left, spat out the sacred wafer and took pictures of it, probably not even realising the gravity of the sacriliege they had committed.

What they did insulted, infuriated and hurt Catholics around the country. The government's predictable lack of a response only made matters worse.

Emails began flying around (I got one of them). Police reports were lodged. Angry missives were sent to the magazine (once again, I was one of the writers). Blogs and letters, including input from people like Martin Jalleh (who wrote a fantastic open letter which was picked up by many outlets), Khairy Jamaluddin (the cockroach probably wanted to score points), and Lim Kit Siang (also never one to pass up the opportunity to score brownie points), were plastered all over the web.

And ultimately, nothing has happened.

Some time back, Herald - the Catholic weekly got into a court battle with the government over the use of the word Allah. They were threatened with closure if they didn't rescind the usage of the word.

Cast your minds back to an incident that took place sometime before that, when the Danish publication drew a caricature of Prophet Muhammad. The furore that greeted that piece was awesome. Even in Malaysia, there were calls for public apologies, threats to boycott Danish products, etc.

Yet, when the shoe is on the other foot, these same people, these defenders of the faith, are nowhere to be seen or heard.

The lack of respect, the lack of grace and the lack of understanding shown to other races and religions in Malaysia is becoming worse by the day. From having to deal with catcalls of 'immigrant' and 'squatter' to playing on uneven fields during court cases to now having our most sacred religious rites - Catholics believe that that little wafer is literally the transfigured Body of Christ - desecrated and defiled.

Our Muslim brothers in Malaysia are in an enviable position. They have the full machinery of the government, an Islamist opposition party and the institution of the Sultanate to protect and speak out for them.

What do we non-Muslims have? Only the leaders of our churches, temples and tokongs. That's it. I suppose that makes us easy meat - sitting ducks for all would be crusaders to target.

It's precisely these kinds of things that make Najib's high-falutin' 1Malaysia campaign come across as just a lot of wind being released from the rectum of another political gasbag. All this talk of unity and togetherness, my dear P.M., rings shallow when you don't walk the talk.

I can bet that if the situation were reversed, that if, say, a journalist for the Herald were to go undercover into a mosque, he would be locked up under the ISA faster than you can say Al-Islam. I bet that the paper would have been shut down unceremoniously in the blink of an eye. I bet politicians would have jumped up and down spewing all the rhetoric that they could come up with. I bet that the more fanatical of our Muslim friends and politicians would have taken to the streets, swearing the bathe the keris in blood. After all, they've threatened to do so for far less before.

And what do we do? We gather in our churches and pray for things to become better. We write our letters and wait, mouths open, for responses that never come. We lodge our police reports and get fobbed off with fine words and empty promises. We turn the other cheek, while at the same time, keep getting slapped over and over and over again.

~ I'm not concerned with you liking or disliking me. All I ask is that you respect me as a human being ~ Jackie Robinson.

Flouncing about in Florida.

Going to Florida was always going to be the highlight of my July. Meeting my fellow Fellows, seeing Katie again, checking out sunny Florida - all these prospects had me in a state of high excitement.

I was also actually looking forward to Poynter itself. All my colleagues at the Post-Dispatch had told me what a cool place it was. Former Friendly Fellow Audrey Edwards also said that the mid-term seminar would actually be the point where I would start to see things differently and begin to settle down.

So, it was no great surprise to find out that they were all right. On all counts. Poynter was a really cool place and it was the point where I began to see things in a different light and feel more settled. Which, if you think about it, ain't that great a thing, considering that I'm settling just as I'm beginning to get ready to return. - _ -

The weeks preceeding Poynter were relatively quiet for me. I did a couple of interviews - one a follow up on an earlier story, the other a Q&A with a college student who gave up his studies to volunteer with the American Red Cross in Baghdad.

Going to Poynter, I had a pretty set idea on what I wanted to learn. And multimedia wasn't really high on my list of priorities because my paper back home seemed hell bent on having the world's worst (and ugliest) newspaper website.

In a happy coincidence however, they revamped the site to give it a more streamlined and multimedia intensive look, giving me the impetus to actually learn more about multimedia myself.

And we certainly did learn about multimedia. There was so much information given to us that at times I felt my brain would just go kaboom! Soundslides, Audacity, Audioboo (for my Iphone), Bubbleply and the entire battery of online tools we got from Ellyn Angelotti (though most of them aren't available outside the U.S.) all open up such an array of storytelling possibilities for reporters. I'm still so excited about them!!!

And it wasn't only multimedia. Roy Peter Clark focussed on plain, old-fashioned writing skills and that was just as interesting, challenging and exciting as all the multimedia sessions. After all, no matter what happens, I'll always consider myself a writer first and foremost.

One of the most unexpected things was the heavy focus on training our fellow reporters when we go home. I really enjoyed this part, especially since I do enjoy guiding and mentoring my younger colleagues anyway. To be actually given tools and knowledge to do this better was an enriching experience. To be given these tools by folk as seasoned as Bill Mitchell and Paul Pohler was both humbling and uplifting. Humbling because seeing them in action made me realise how far I had to go if I really want to be a good teacher and mentor. Uplifting because it showed me that these gentlemen, men who'd been there and done that, were still humble, approachable and down-to-earth despite their experience and their achievements.

I took what I thought was a vacation to Disneyworld with Hoon after our Poynter session. However, I - quite cleverly if I do say so myself - managed to sell the idea to my editor. On top of that, I also managed to work in a multimedia slideshow to go with it. Not bad, huh?

I've managed to also get quite a nice gig at work now - doing club reviews. So, essentially, I'm going to be paid to eat, drink and be merry. Not the worst job in the world.

Life's looking good.

Bullshit, bullshit and yet more bullshit.

Is it just me or has my newspaper's claim to being the most literate (a position not too difficult to achieve in Malaysia) paper in the country gone to the dogs lately?

Yes, we are BN flunkies. But at least we've (almost) always been BN flunkies who wrote in polished, grammatically accurate and intelligent-sounding English.

The quality of the writing these days however - and this is down mainly to one culprit - has made us the laughing stock of many a reader, blogger and reporter out there.

Using multi-syllabic words and lengthy sentences is a tricky enough proposition when the writer knows what he's writing about and has a good command of the language.

When the writer doesn't and has, at best, a tenuous grip of English (and reality, judging by the content of his comments), the results are farcical articles couched in absurd turns of phrase (like 'Anwar Ibrahim moshes his way surrealistically to the House') and totally inappropriate usage of words (like 'cadre' to describe an individual).

Here's my particular favourite - 'If you are to base last week’s rampage of putting the blame solely on the MACC and implicating senior Government leaders, Pakatan Rakyat minions will insist no less than a guilty verdict, that some MACC perp pushed Teoh Beng Hock out of the 14th floor to his death for no reason other than wanting to torture the young man.'

Forget about the incredibly unwieldy length of the sentence. Forget about the weird choice of words and the inappropriate use of the second comma.

Just think about the last part of that sentence - 'some MACC perp pushed Teoh Beng Hock out of the 14th floor to his death for no reason other than wanting to torture the young man.' Is it just me or is pushing somebody to his death a little counterproductive to torture? I mean, you ain't gonna get no joy out of torturing a dead man, are you?

I can understand grammatical slips. I'm as guilty of bad grammar as the next person. Not all of us know when to use the semicolon instead of the comma, whether to hyphenate the words or not and when to use '...' instead of "...".

But what I don't get is why use so many big words when you can say the same thing more succintly and clearly with small words. What are people like this trying to prove? That they're clever? Even Hemmingway and Orwell were able to get by without the 'benefit' of such idiotic bells and whistles, for crying out loud!

If they would just google their name, they'd find out what people actually think about their 'command' of the language. I'd prefer to be repeatedly kicked in the balls while at the same time have root canal work done without anaesthesia rather than be subjected to an article like that. Seriously.

Even more baffling is how such shameful goings-on can...well...go on, with absolutely no intervention by the editors and the powers that be. Toeing the party line is one thing. Doing it in such a shambolic manner is another entirely. When us 'normal' reporters fuck up our articles, they usually end up on the wall of shame at the office. But when some people routinely inflict grevious bodily harm on the English language, the result is an online posting trumpted on the home page of the newspaper with the grand tag of 'Online Exclusive' attached. It would be funny if it weren't so damn embarrassing.

There are so many good and potentially good writers in the company. Writers with wit, grace, insight and charm. Many of our sub-editors are handy with a pen too. Yet, it is the grotesque work of certain twerps that we are promoting. Why? Why? Wwwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy????????

The paper is moshing its way surrealistically to the bottom of the junk heap.

My week as a shutterbug.

<---- This is probably my favourite picture ever taken. I love the emotion.

It's been a good couple of weeks at work. The training plan that I worked out with Elisa and Christopher saw me spending a week in the photo desk right after my stint at the editorial desk was over.

I had really been looking forward to this because the new camera had given me photography fever. In a big way. I've been so taken up with it that I spend hours online looking up Steve McCurry pictures (Thanks for pointing out to his website to me Kamsie!), and visit websites that give photography tips.

The craze has gotten so bad that I'm beginning to see the world in terms of pictures! I'd be minding my own business, walking down the street and then I'd see a person, a tree, an animal or even something like a doorway or a window and I'd get immediately excited about how it would look in a picture. Then I'd cuss myself out for not having my camera with me at the time.

<---- This father-son moment at the Central West End Art and Taste Fair brought back memories of my own childhood.

But anyway, back to work. The week spent in photo desk was fascinating, probably the most educational time I've had since coming to the Post-Dispatch.

I covered the Central West End Art and Taste Fair, the Missouri Botanical Gardens' 150th anniversary and adventurer Dan Cook's visit to St. Louis, among others.

<--- I experimented with being arty-farty. Not too bad, if I do say so myself. :)

Some of the pictures were used as slide shows online while others were published in the paper. The week culminated with me being sent for an assignment on my own (the previous ones had me shadowing Elie Gardner). I was assigned to do a portrait of a lady who collects and makes blankets for sick kids in hospitals. The assignment went well and the picture got published a week later.

All in all, I emerged from my week as a photographer with a greater understanding of the technical aspects of photography, such as how aperture, shutter speed, lighting, etc affect the quality of a picture. At the same time, I also managed to develop my 'eye' for a picture better, improving my composition and framing skills.

<---- What's Oscar de la Renta or Versace compared to the beautiful gowns mother nature dresses her children in?

To me, these skills are very important because I want to ultimately become a self-contained journalist who's output will include articles, pictures and multimedia and will need minimal, if any, editing before being ready for the paper or website.

With the added knowledge and increased confidence in my photography skills, I'm just that little bit closer to getting to where I want to be.

Once the photography week was finished, I went back to the newsdesk only to find that Iran was in the throes of its post-election unrest. Christopher suggested I do a story on local Iranians and how they felt about what was going on in their homeland.

Getting the story done was a little tricky, because I didn't have any connections here. I got one contact from fellow reporter Doug Moore, but the guy didn't want to be interviewed. I also tried going to a mosque to see if I could find anybody. The first time, nobody was there. The second time, the only one there was the imam, who said the last time he had been interviewed, the report got skewed, resulting in him losing his job and being interrogated by the CIA. Needless to say, he didn't want to talk.

So, I googled up Iranian restaurants in St. Louis and started from there. I spoke to the owner of the restaurant and once I had interviewed her, asked her for other contacts in the area. From then onwards, it got progressively easier.

Their stories were compelling and I think the editors agreed with me because they decided to out it on the front page. :) One of my stated goals in my fellowship application was that I wanted to get a front page story for the paper I would be working at. Looks like that goal has been achieved a little ahead of time.

And so, as July beckons, I'm working on what has become something of a pet project for me. As always, I'm a little paranoid about giving out details of a story before it's published. But let me say this - the angle is interesting and if the pieces fall into place, it'll be an interesting story and hopefully my second page one. :)

Missouri meets nasi lemak.

I'd promised Elisa and Elie nasi lemak even before I came to St. Louis. No, wait. Let me correct that. I'd tantalised Elie and Elisa with descriptions and pictures of nasi lemak even before I came to St. Louis.

Upon hindsight, it wasn't the smartest thing I've done. Setting the expectations so high was asking for trouble. The pressure that came with cooking the best possible nasi lemak (well, the best nasi lemak a bachelor living in a foreign country can cook anyway!!) had me in a dither for more than a week.

Even organising the dinner wasn't easy! Everybody's schedule seemed to clash and we couldn't seem to find a single night when everybody was free. Somehow, we finally decided on last night and the only casualty was Jeff, Elisa's husband. Those who could make it were Elie, Repps, his wife Stacey and Elisa. Also present was Derrick, the guy who was repairing my computer. But since he was allergic to shrimp and couldn't eat, let's not count him.

So, anyway, I got lucky on Monday, when I found pandan leaves, some decent looking coconut milk, lemongrass and even banana leafs (to line the plates with) for my Malaysian meal. It seemed that I had every single thing I needed to make the dinner a success and I decided on shrimp sambal.

But, the omens didn't look good from the moment I woke up today. I went online early in the morning to read up on background for my assignment today. Then some stupid software update came from my Internet service provider and the bloody thing just lobotomised my entire operating system! Kaput! My whole computer died! Finito! Adios amigo!

I freaked out! My songs (there are 19,000 of them now!), my pictures (God knows how many thousand of them I have!), my videos, my documents, my files....I could see them all disappearing in a puff of smoke in the shape of the Internet explorer logo.

And that was just the beginning. It just went downhill from there. I got lost three or four times on the way to Ballwin (a nearby city) due to highway closures. I reached there only to find that the place I was aiming for was closed. Then I got lost three or four times on the way back. Embarassingly, I ended up in the same place I got lost on Monday when I was shopping for food. So much for the convenience of GPS...

There were other speed bumps during my day as well, and all these led my superstitious heart to believe the nasi lemak dinner was doomed.

In the beginning it seemed like everything was going to be alright. The nuts and anchovies turned out fine (but then again, if I can't even fry the bloody things right, I've got no business attempting nasi lemak!), the eggs were boiled perfectly and the cucumbers were just on the right side of crisp.

<--- (The rice looked absolutely fine BEFORE it was cooked!)

And then came the rice. I had bought the best possible quality of rice and the best possible coconut milk i good find. I estimated how many people would be there and decided that 4 cups of rice would be enough. Which meant 8 cups of milk. Only prob was, that would take everything right up to the brim of the rice cooker.

Against all the alarm bells jangling in my head, I put it to cook, the edges of the milk coming crazily close to overflowing from the cooker. I said a little prayer and left the rice to its own devices while turning and addressing the shrimp.

The shrimp sambal was a little tricky, coz the lime that i used as a tamarind substitute turned out to be too sour. But, nothing I couldn't balance out with a dash of sugar.

I hadn't even finished with the sambal when I heard the pop of the rice cooker button and knew my coconut rice had been shot to shit. One look confirmed it. Instead of a beatiful, moist and rich bed of pearly white grains, I saw glob of crummy-looking, 1/4 cooked crap which was basically inedible.

Btw, Derrick the computer guy was on hand to watch me freaking out.

So, a little McGyver action was called for. I chucked out half the rice (oh how it hurt me to waste the Thai jasmine rice like that!) and put the rest back on to boil and quickly decided that if it got screwed up again I'd just make normal rice.

Thank God, it was okay the second time around. I decided that if that wasn't enough for the gang, I'd just make another batch later.

The next problem was the flies and the smell. The shrimp paste (belacan) I used stank up not only the whole house, but also the whole corridor of the 5th floor and the whole elevator for good measure. The stench attracted a swarm of flies (the first flies I've seen in St. Louis!). Arrghhhh!

Stashing all the food where the smell wouldn't escape, I went on a merry run around the house trying to chase the flies out. Have you ever tried herding flies? Not the easiest exercise around, let me assure you. In fact, I would not be surprised at all to find that I have one hardy soul still clinging on to the edge of my couch or something.

Even more embarassing was that when I was going down to pick up Elisa later, I bumped into one of my neighbours who was bitching about the smell in the place. She said it smelled like "week-old Doritos" or something.

I nodded sympathetically and said, "Thank God my apartment is okay. All I get is the smell of the food I'm cooking." (!!)

Ultimately though, everything turned out fine. The guests at my fancy dinner party (did I mention that everybody had to bring their own chairs coz I didn't have enough?) enjoyed the food, even though Elisa was worried at first about the smell (her exact words were that "it smelled like feet.") In the end, she even packed some home for Jeff, who's a big fan of spicy food (and whose Mexican chilli, which I ate a few weeks ago, actually made me sweat!)

<--- (The final result sure looks good though!!)

And so, I now am looking forward to cooking more for my friends without so much fear of messing up or not doing justice to Malaysia's awesome cuisine.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da...life goes on....

The Beast that is Blogging

I've always viewed blogging with equal amounts of trepidation and contempt. Trepidation because it mainly seemed to be a hotbed of malice, spite, bitching and backbiting. Contempt because most of what passes as "news" on blogs is a combination of hearsay, rumours and fairytales.

Yet, it's undeniable that blogging has caught on and irreversibly changed the Internet and the newspaper industry. Publications that at one point turned their noses up at blogging are now desperately trying to get onto the bandwagon, while papers that embraced it are now looking for the next best thing. Most have realised that blogging, coupled with proper journalistic ethics and principles, can be a powerful tool in reaching out to your audience.

One of my main aims when I came to the Post-Dispatch was to explore blogging and online journalism. While it's embarrassing to admit that the New Straits Times is still in the stone age when it comes to our online presence, it does mean that there are a lot of innovations which other papers have successfully implemented which we can cherry-pick from.

And so, these last couple of weeks were notable for the fact that I was stationed at the editorial page desk and churning out at least one editorial blog a day.

The experience has been fun and illuminating, and has raised just as many questions as it has answered.

What have I learnt? Well, mainly, and most importantly perhaps, I've learned to develop a thicker skin. Almost every blog written by the editorial writers, including myself, has been subjected to a barrage of criticism and complaints. This is even in cases where the blog entry is one which is, say, about the necessity of having a helmet law, or the need for stricter control regarding texting in vehicles. What appears to be a matter of safety and common sense for the writer can be a totally different issue for some people and they will vehemently, passionately defend their rights not to wear helmets or to text while driving.

This raises a very interesting question. If much of the blogging receives such a negative response, does that mean the writer is out of touch with the common man? Has he become too highfalutin for his own good? Or does it mean that it's only the crazies and the ones who have something bad to say that respond? Do the ones who agree with the ideas just read the post, nod and move on? For my own sake, I hope it's the latter and not the former. To be out of touch with your audience is to hasten the demise of your career as a journalist, methinks.

However, the blogsphere is amazing because it gives you an interactivity that you've never had before with your audience. Done properly, it can engender great discourse with a great flow of ideas from all sides.

I've experimented with this notion, both in the tone and in the content of my blogs. Unlike the other editorial writers, I am not an expert on any of the subjects debated on in America. As such, the tone of my blogs is that of a person who is seeking answers and asking questions of the audience instead of telling them how a thing is or trying to "educate" them on a certain issue. I've noticed that people seem to respond well to this. Maybe they feel good that their opinions are being sought or that their ideas seem to count to the writer. I don't know. But it is something which I'll seek to delve into more fully when I get back to Malaysia.

Blogs are also useful when you want to gauge what people's sentiments are on a certain matter. For example, I've been curious about the ethical debate surrounding undercover reporting in the US ever since I came here. But, most of the opinions I got were from journalists and pseudo-intellectuals who were dissecting the issue and I wasn't sure how attuned they were to the sentiments of the reading public.

So, I just put the question to the readers and got some pretty candid and revealing answers - which were quite often, totally different from the views of the people who dreamed up this notion of ethics.

Blogging is also as much about new techniques in presentation as it is about new techniques of communication. With blogs, you can include pictures, sounds, links, animations, videos and all manner of multimedia. It's an amazing playground for a journalist as it enables him to exercise his creativity to the fullest. While I haven't had much time to explore a lot about this element of blogging, I have a rudimentary grasp of the basic ideas and fleshing out this skill is on my wish list of things to pick up before I go home.