The hardest thing

The hardest thing is watching those three words change from present tense to past tense.

Old House

Down the street on which old leaves sleep
Is my old house, where I used to live.
It is the same place, with the same sights and smells
With the same inhabitants living there still.

It had been 27 days since I last left the place,
27 days since I last said goodbye;
27 days since I stopped calling it home
27 days since I had gone.

I had decided that it should have ended,
though I hadn't want it to.
I could carry on and just pretended,
But it was best for me to go.

So
Forcefully
Painfully
I excised that which suffused
With my very being.
It hurt a lot.
But what scared me the most
Was finding relief
From the cleanness of the cut.

Today, I walked past my house again
and the memories come streaming through my mind
There are remnants of the place, some traces I retained
That still won't leave with the passage of time.

Down the street my house I passed,
With a twinge of nostalgia for memories past,
Of the same sights, and the same smells,
And the same people living there still.

But all the same, I walked back home,
The new home to which I had gone;
It is where my soul joy and solace finds,
From the day I entered till beyond time.

Macam Yesus tapi Bukan

We live our lives based on expectations. Our expectations are shaped not so much by what we wish for, but more on how it matches up to the promise that we perceive it offers.

So if something, say an advertisement of a product, a holiday, our achievements, a relationship, looks promising, then we expect it to be so. And it's the same if it's the flipside. That's the rational way of looking at it.

But lately I've been reflecting on how reality doesn't always coincide with our expectations. Sometimes we get pleasantly surprised, if our expectations had been pretty low. But if we had set our hopes on something that we thought was promising, then... it can be pretty heartbreaking.

I cope by trying to have the most minimal of expectations. I don't think it's necessarily a good thing, neither is it necessarily a bad thing. It's just a personal way of managing expectations.

But I think while it's alright to hope for the best for all sorts of promises - material things, career, relationships, life in general - to put all our hopes and expectations and joy on these things would only lead to a hollow, empty feeling.

All these things, in this lifetime, will bound to let us down one way or the other. Our career might take a step back, the object that we bought doesn't work so well as advertised (boy, that's usually the case), a parent/sibling/spouse/friend/pet will hurt us. We will sometimes (or often) be placed in life's deepest pits.

All these things that we seek out for won't give us complete, perfect, fulfilled joy.

It may sound like I'm a downer, or that I'm just a weak person who can't cope with letdowns in life.
But it's more accurate to say ... I've savoured something so good, so precious, so infinitely wonderful compared to any goodness I can squeeze from the things I've mentioned.

I've tasted the gospel, I've seen how God's promises are yes in Christ (2 Cor 1:20). I know how Christ alone far surpasses anything I can enjoy in this lifetime.

So I'm thankful that when my wandering heart strays from Him to find less magnificent treasures, even God-given ones, God is pulling me back to show me that all these pleasures "macam Yes(us) tapi bukan".

11pm weird thoughts

Opposition political parties will be more effective if they stop playing the victim of The Establishment, and instead work to actually being a viable alternative to the government.

Brief reflection on Trump's election

“Were you expecting the result?” someone asked me.

I was, actually.

I was anticipating a closer fight, but I did have a gut feel that Trump would win.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t rooting for him to win. But recent global events like Brexit showed a swing towards protectionism and a preference for tough, no-nonsense, heavy-handed leaders, like Duterte.

I’m not saying that protectionism was the only reason that Trump won. From what I understand, there are those who, after a long and painful struggle, decided to vote for him because they could not bring themselves to put faith in Hillary. (A decision I would admittedly struggle with too, if I were in their position).

But I do think protectionism did play a role in Trump’s victory. People are scared. Fearful. Uncertain over the future.

Those fears and doubts may be justified: some people may genuinely be coming from hard places and undergoing difficult times. Some would have thought they had legitimate reasons to vote as they did. 

However, it could also be that their uncertainties have been stoked by the twin flames of the politicians and the media.

Either way, the inclination towards protectionism and Clint Eastwood-type leaders do indicate a yearning for security. Or rather, a yearning for someone who seems like he / she can offer that security. As humans, we naturally feel that protecting our own interests is better, easier, more practical than reaching out to others, rubbing shoulders with others, sharing our lives with others.

It is after all, a lot harder, a lot more painful to live alongside other people.

On a (not so) side note, hopefully those of us who have found security and refuge in Christ – are willing to love others, with a kind of reckless self-sacrifice. Not because we – on our own – are capable of loving, but because Christ first loved us and poured out that kind of reckless, self-sacrificial love. 

Did Jesus preach the gospel?

I do sometimes wonder if evangelicals tend to read Scripture lopsidedly, if we have erred in using a "Pauline perspective" in our readings of the gospels and the Bible as a whole. Was justification by the cross really what Jesus taught?

This video teased out some of these questions. The discussion is a good introduction to the topic of what do we make of kingdom language in the synoptic gospels? (Mark, Matthew and Luke). Especially when the tone does not seem to fit (apparently) with other parts of Scripture, such as the gospel of John and Paul's epistles.

I would have loved for the panelists to delve more into what "kingdom" means in the synoptic gospels, Mark, Matthew, and Luke, and really tease out how kingdom is to be perceived and lived out in our current Christian context. Nonetheless, the speakers' point about taking Scripture as a whole rather than having a "canon within a canon" is an important on, especially Tim Keller and DA Carson's point about John's gospel.

That was the mistake of the disciples - the mistake of misconstruing Jesus' mission as establishing a political, bodily kingdom. And it was a mistake that was presented consistently in all four gospels. The desire to usher in God's future kingdom in the now can actually detract from the gospel. And what a shame that is, for it is such a beautiful gospel.


Winning line: (1:00:45)

I've seen a lot of people say 'Here's the gospel presentation: Jesus Christ came here and established his kingdom, it's not completely here but it's really a people of God who are carrying out His kingdom program to renew the world and to work for peace and justice, and you need to join it.' I have to say 'If that's the gospel, I don't know why you'd ever sing "My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth and followed thee." Where's the release, where's the joy, where's the transformation? 

What is Theology?

Theology means the study of God, and to some, the word sounds scary. It sounds like something that only smart, intellectual people can engage with. That makes them uncomfortable, for it suggests that the gospel is exclusively for the elite.

People are suspicious of theology because some worry that it would puff someone up with pride. People are worried that too much focus on the Word of God will only lead to head knowledge without changing the heart.

There is some degree of truth in these statements. It is true that there are certain Christians who see theology as a means of looking good. And there are some Christians who say that in order to be a Christian, you must be able to perfectly express all kinds of theological doctrines.

Some may use special words such as “propitiation”, some may critique in detail a verse or a book they have just read, some may talk about theologians and church history thoroughly.

Christians can be so over-eager to share what they have learnt about God that they may have not realised that they drew a blank with the people they are talking to.

But it is also equally true that Word ministry is of great importance. Our minds need to be shaped by it.

In Romans 12:1-2, we are called to renew our minds, so that we are able to think God-patterned thoughts, and thus able to live out holy, God-pleasing lives.

And in the gospel, Jesus quoted Scripture to say that we are to love God with all our heart, soul, strength and mind. (Luke 10:27).

What our minds think about God is important.

Theology is not a collection of dry facts we know about God. Theology shapes our ideas about who God is.

For example, when I say I want to know more about somebody, this does not mean I want to gather cold, hard facts about them. It means I want to spend more time knowing them as they are. It means I want to spend time listening to what they have to say.

God has revealed Himself in His Son Jesus. (Hebrews 1:1-2) When we read the Bible, we know Jesus more and more. We say we know Him better and more deeply.

Theology is less about rationality and intellectualism, and more about the person of Jesus. Theology is learning about the gospel more.

Learning about the gospel is hard. First, it is hard emotionally. It tells us of our sin and our need of a Saviour.

Second, it is hard understanding it. There are a great many things that we have to learn when we become a Christian. Like in a relationship where we have to understand a person’s complicated backstory, or their complex personality.

But though the gospel is not easy to understand, it is in its essence very simple

.

The gospel is simply God, who came in the person of Jesus, to die on the cross to save us sinners from His judgment on sin.

That is already the gospel.

Growing in theological understanding gives us more to appreciate about this great truth. Like when you know someone more and more, you are able to better appreciate who they are too. 

But let us also not think that we must store up various facts about God and His church in order to become a Christian. And may we not let our knowledge cause us to stumble younger Christians! (1 Corinthians 8:1-11)

Nonetheless, we must try, in our weakness, to grow in knowledge of Him (Philippians 1:9-11). We mustn't be  discouraged if studying the Word is overwhelming at first. The more our minds and hearts are exposed to gospel truths, the more we understand Him better. 

We can only love God if we understand rightly - not necessarily in such complicated terms - who He is.

Storygram: On the Road

Haven't done one of these in ages....

The hands were on the steering wheel but the mind was elsewhere.

She does not think. Her mind does not register the sights and sounds gliding by.

She felt, as though they were not part of her body, her hands moving to the tune of Waze.

Dazed, stuck in the hazy fog of morning traffic, it led her on roads she does not know and does not care to remember.

Turn left, turn right, the cool automated voice drove her as she drives the car. 

What a sermon should do

What a sermon should do:

1. Preach from the text
2. Preach to the heart
3. Preach Christ.


Good reminder from a brother-in-Christ in Growth Group :)

Go Set a Watchman

SPOILERS ahead. 

Sequels are usually not good. Sometimes it’s because it’s merely a lazy rehashing of the original. At other times, it tries to do something new and creative that fails to meld perfectly with the original plot. Most often than not, though, sequels are doomed from the very start because the audience expects – even demands – for the movie to possess all the elements of the first story, and wants these elements to surprise and astonish them anew.

When it was announced that Go Set a Watchman would be published as the sequel to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, I was wary more than I was excited. It had been decades since Lee published her writing and she had said before that she would not be releasing any more novels after Mockingbird 

There had been huge controversy over the novel. Prior to this, Lee had not made known any plans to publish he novels. Many critics had noted that the announcement came a mere two months after the death of Lee sister and caretaker, Alice. The circumstances seem to point to Lee having been taken advantage of by lawyers, literary agents, and publishers.

Yet, putting aside the questionable publication of the novel, the novel sold like hotcakes. People were excited by the prospect of reading the sequel to a beloved classic.

Some, if not most, came out feeling disappointed.

I’ve read some of the reviews and opinions of the book, and having read the summary, I knew to expect the revelation of “another side” of Atticus Finch. A Wide Sargasso Sea-esque twist that tramples upon the reader’s original opinion of his character.

I was dreading it. I was dreading it not so much at having to witness dirt being thrown at a much adored character, but more so because I was worried that it would not be handled delicately. That it would be exaggerated. Sensationalised. And quite frankly, lame. I’ve not been impressed with Dumbledore’s “dark past”, just because the way he talked, the way he acted – his motives, his actions, really jar with what we know of him throughout the books. And I think it was even worse when he was explaining his backstory. It’s fine if he’s done a complete U-turn in his life, but Dumbledore just acted so strangely after the big reveal.

So I was readying myself for a “transformation” or a “retelling” of Atticus a la Dumbledore.

But as I read the novel, (admittedly I bought the book despite the controversy), I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe I had low expectations of the book in the first place, but I’m glad to say that the book was gripping and had me devouring its narrative quickly.

There are flaws in the novel, however. No doubt about that. For one, the cast of sparkling, diverse characters in the original is not there. We  have a few interesting characters by way of Uncle Jack and Henry Clinton, but even they were not explored in-depth for us to have insight into their inner lives. Jem, my favourite character from the original, is announced to have been dead on page 13. It was hard for me to accept.

The writing, crisp and smooth in the original, is uneven here. There are passages that are downright clever. But there was a lack of clear structuring, a lack of pruning. There were times when Lee used more Modernist techniques like stream-of-consciousness, or even pastiche by weaving in little ditties or hymns. But these seem really out of place with the rest of the novel.

There can be a lack of subtlety in the language as well. Everything seems to be right on the surface. While in the original – poignancy was overlaid with a host of other emotions, this novel can at certain points seem like a hysterical rant.

Yet despite its technical failings, the novel could have potentially been a great artistic masterpiece simply because the ideas and complicated tensions it raises are in truth much richer than that of the original. Writer Ursula Le Guin notes that Lee explores a lot of questions the original evades. In TKAM, right was right and wrong was wrong. Atticus was the hero that every reader was rooting for, and it was easy for us to pledge our allegiance to him.

But what I love about this novel is not that we are given new “horrifying insight” into Atticus. Jean Louis had her perception of Atticus crumble, as do ours. But I thought Lee handled this shift brilliantly. Atticus did not pull a 180-degree turn, he didn’t have a dark history that we stumble upon, he wasn’t secretly racist all this while.

Atticus wasn’t a Dumbledore. He didn’t suddenly act strangely after the big reveal. He was still him, everything he says or does is in keeping with the character we know.

In the novel, Jean Louise becomes disillusioned when she discovers her father, who had defended a black man who was falsely accused of rape, is fighting against a Supreme Court’s decision to declare state laws establishing segregation as unconstitutional.

Yet the “moral case” here is less straightforward. I don’t personally agree with Uncle Jack’s assertion that “every man’s watchman” is his own conscience or that there is no such thing as a “collective conscious”. In short, I don’t think that ethics and values are relative or subjective. But I think that Lee was fleshing out the implications of imposing moral values upon people who live by a different ethical coda.

There are those who are utterly sickened by the thought that Atticus would oppose the Supreme Court’s decision, or the efforts of the NAACP, the organisation that serves to advance the education and rights of African-Americans. Yet Atticus challenges the normative views by raising interesting questions. Can what the Supreme Court decrees be imposed upon counties in the South – whose sociological fabric is much different from that of its northern neighbours? Does the NAACP care about how to systematically bring about education and welfare of the blacks in the South, or are they merely concerned with giving unlimited democratic power to a group who may or may not be ready to govern themselves?

I think what was interesting too is how Jean Louise goes from railing against the racism of her family, to realising her own bigotry. As much as Jean Louise is disillusioned about her father’s moral judgment, it was a great moment when she had realised her quickness in shunning the opinions of others. Her inability to give elbow room for the opinions of others ironically exposed her fragile faith in her own convictions. If one were to truly hold strong to one’s belief, accepting and understanding (though not necessarily conforming to) other views becomes okay.

I think I was especially enraptured by the novel, given the current political climate in the US. I see some parallels in the way members from both parties dismiss the views of the other. And the way some label those from the South as uneducated and ignorant; and how those from the North are labelled as being uppity and “elitist” to an extent. Instead of coming into a dialogue with them, they have shut them off.

These were interesting issues that have huge relevance in our time as much as in Lee’s. Had it been crafted more lovingly, it would have been a  perfect standalone book.

The thing is, however, this “sequel” was actually the first draft for To Kill a Mockingbird, lending greater credence to the assertion that Lee had been coerced into publishing it. I detest sensationalism, and how sequels have typically been marketed to offer a “retelling” that most often than not should have remained untold.

But I think keeping in mind how Lee used this draft as a means to shape her ideas for TKAM, the novel doesn’t disappoint. In fact, some of the complex questions it raises adds to the novel rather than detracts from it. It is a message of seeing things through the eyes of another, which is drawn out in the original, but explored in a more layered, nuanced way in this draft-sequel. 

If you can

A parched soul does not recognize its thirst until it drinks from the living water. This wonderful line has encouraged me greatly.

Badminton in the Olympics... and the Gospel

He flicked. He lobbied. He smashed.

The entire nation watched with avid eyes and pounding hearts as the national shuttler Lee Chong Wei faced off with his adversary, Chen Long. Back and forth the shuttlecock bounced from one side of the court to the other. Lee Chong Wei was at his top form in this year’s Olympic Games. He beat his longtime rival, Lin Dan, for crying out loud! The gold was his, for sure.

Yes, Chong Wei was at his top form. But, Chen Long seems to be doing well too. In fact, better than just “well”. He was able to match Chong Wei’s shots, able to return all his best smashes, lobbies, and flicks. The world No. 2 that we all thought Chong Wei was going to beat was at his top form too.

By the end of it, Malaysia grieved as a despondent Chong Wei apologized to the nation for having lost the gold. I was shocked, and so sad. Here was a man who had trained so hard, prepared so hard, for the Olympics. “He deserved it”, I said over and over again.

I like to think that hardworking people will get rewarded, that sheer grit and determination will get us where we wanted. We champion Lee Chong Wei because he embodies all these qualities – diligence, perseverance, a never-say-die attitude. He is our pride because of that.

But here, in this match, we see how far the human spirit is willing to stretch itself – and yet, so horribly, also its inadequacy to hit the mark.

Yes, he did his best, he did a great job, he is one of the best badminton players our country has ever seen. But the truth is, he failed to reach the standards that were set for him to win a gold. 

We feel for him, because it feels all too familiar. The many, many instances when we thought we’ve done our best, we’ve fought tooth and nail to give our all – and yet, our all still falls short. It could be a sport, in school, at work, in our relationships, or as just as a compassionate human being. We can never reach the standard that we think we should be at.

When Paul writes that there is no one righteous, not one that turns to God (Romans 3:10-11), he’s not merely saying that we are sinful. He’s also saying that we’ve missed the mark, we’ve fallen short of God’s goodness and glory (Romans 3:23). We may think we’ve worked super hard, we’ve been a good person overall, we’ve done enough good deeds – but are they really adequate? Chong Wei fell short of a gold because he couldn’t match Chen Long’s standards. When set alongside the absolute standards of a pure, holy, righteous God – do we too fall short?

In James 2:10, it is written that “whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it.” It’s a tall order, but it’s exactly the standard that you would expect a pure, holy, righteous God to set. We may do overall good things. But who has not had a moral misstep, a burst of anger, a spiteful word, a lie?

On one hand, we might shrug it off and roll our eyes. It seems as though “sin” is just a result of stringent, over-critical nitpicking and faultfinding. But if we go along with this line of argument, we’re basically going on a slippery slope. What is okay then? What is the level at which someone can be considered to have “done enough”? I thought Chong Wei had “done enough”. I thought Chong Wei had deserved the gold medal. But it didn’t turn out that way.

On the other hand, these standards are too high, too overwhelming – they’re a cause for despair. How can any one person ever live up to this standard? We’re caught in a rat race of never doing enough, never being enough.

As I watched Chong Wei cry over his failure of securing a gold, my heart sank. I talked about his interview with someone that I was close to, saying that it was really sad to see him like that. This guy said in jest, “We need to stop mollycoddling people” and that what we need is a “stronger, harsher new bunch” of players. Is this the solution to our problem of “falling short”? To work even harder? To keep trying to be more, more, more? Or die trying?

Or maybe the solution is not an action, but a person. A person named Jesus Christ. He lived a sinless, perfect life, so that His good record can be counted as ours (2 Corinthians 5:21). He fulfilled every single point of God’s law and moral standards so that His people are considered righteous. All our life we’ve been seeking to do, do, do – when it’s already been done. He’s given us a righteousness by taking our penalty, dying on the cross – and ultimately defeating sin and death, being raised to life.

In Christ therefore, I have attained the standard that God has set. Not on my merit. Not on my works. Not on my efforts. Not by my best intentions. But by Christ, and Him alone. 

Storygram - Cease the Moment

One said to stop all the clocks
He didn't want time to go;
Another bewailed Time's chariot
For not staying its course;
Yet another wants to grasp time
Before its leaden circles dissolved.

But why wait? Why stop?
Why cease the moment?
Current goes like the current
Ever flowing on

Time will wash away the sediment
And all unwanted things
Old grudges, old hurts, old feelings
That should be left behind.

Yes I think I'll let the clocks keep ticking
And Time's chariot fly by
Let the circles dissolve in the air
And I think... That it's alright.

Security and Transparency

The issue of national security has been thrust into the limelight as the recent attacks on Paris, Nice, and Munich are added to a growing list of terrorist attacks. The security systems in Nice is called to question when policewoman Sandra Bertin alleged that she had been told to alter her report to cover up lapses in the security force. Germany’s Interior Minister proposes tighter security measures after a spate of attacks in the country. A little closer to home, Southeast Asian countries are under a ticking timebomb as it was reported that terrorist activities are brewing in the region, with countries such as Malaysia and Indonesia are target countries for the recruitment and transit of Islamic militants. Jakarta was attacked early in January and Malaysia experienced the first terrorist attack on its shores as Movida, a nightclub in Puchong, was bombed.   

It is in this state of high alert that the Prime Minister of Malaysia introduces new security measures to beef up efforts against the threat of terrorism. Last year, the controversial Prevention of Terrorism Act was passed, and only recently, the National Security Council (NSC) Act was launched. The National Security Council has the power to declare security areas – zones that are perceived to contain security threats, and that will be subject to martial law – and the council is chaired by the Prime Minister himself. The act allows the military full authority to seize properties and make arrests without warrants.

Many human right activists sounded the alarm that such wide-ranging and unchecked powers could lead to potential abuse, and that the crackdown on terrorist threats is done at the expense of civil liberties. Josef Benedict, the Deputy Director for South East Asia and the Pacific of Amnesty International, even asserts that “There is good reason to fear that the Act will be yet another tool in the hands of the government to crack down on peaceful protests under the guise of national security”. The Prime Minister’s response to such allegations is that the safety and security of the Malaysian public must be prioritised.

The contentious debate surrounding the trade-off between security and civil liberties germinated as skepticism towards governmental surveillance emerges. The American Civil Liberties Union asserts that "[h]istory has shown that powerful, secret surveillance tools will almost certainly be abused for political ends and turned disproportionately on disfavoured minorities." The stakes got higher as the advent of the Internet made it easier and easier for state secrets to be leaked and disseminated. When whistleblowing website WikiLeaks burst into fame in 2010 for releasing data on the Iraq War, it was hailed as a shining example of fulfilling the watchdog mandate with which the media is entrusted. In a 2010 Al Jazeera article, it was claimed that had WikiLeaks existed pre-9/11, the fatal attack that had left such an indelible scar on American consciousness might never even have taken place.

The whistleblowing website epitomizes the power of transparency, and it has emboldened and enabled journalists to be more radical in their disclosure of information. The calls for greater transparency has never been louder. The Foundation of Free Press, set up by a group of journalists, advocates for more freedoms to report news. More than that, it was not solely the journalists and media reporters who opined that transparency must be upheld at all costs. A Pew Research survey in 2015 discovers that  54% of Americans stated that they disapprove of the government's collection of data in the name of national security. As John Cusack, a journalist at the Guardian, once wrote, “People know they have a right to know what the government is doing in their names.”

Yet a survey in 2016 by the Pew Research Centre also observes a trend back towards a “security first” mentality, as terrorist attacks occur the world over. Public opinions are now shifting back towards maintaining greater security, even if that comes at the expense of privacy, civil liberties, and the ideal of transparency. In the very same society that hailed Julian Assange, WikiLeaks founder, a hero, there is also a tremendous amount of unease and fear at the thought of having national secrets made publicly and internationally known.

“You can’t handle the truth,” goes the famous line from A Few Good Men. Parodied countless times, the quote has become stale and even hammy. yet when one hears the monologue of Colonel Jessep (acted by Jack Nicholson), who tries to justify the murder of a soldier in the name of national interest, one cannot but hear the disconcerting truth in his diatribe:

“You weep for Santiago, and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall.”

Now as society has been thrown into a debilitating sense of instability, the value and benefits of indiscriminate leaking of state secrets are questioned. WikiLeaks, once seen as the exemplar of fetterless and fearless journalism, became the subject of much heat and public outrage when it published the Democratic National Committee’s (DNC) emails without redaction, disclosing private information such as Social Security Numbers and addresses. Other than revealing the DNC’s attempts to undermine Bernie Sanders’ campaign, the emails did not disclose any outrageously reprehensible dealings of the DNC. On the other hand, WikiLeaks has been accused of allowing Russian authorities engineer the US elections by leaking documents in order to wage a smear campaign against Hillary Clinton. The organisation is later embroiled in another scandal when it promised to leak emails from the server of Turkish President, Recep Tayyip Erdogan. This it did in bulk, but the sheer volume of the documents made news outlets unsure as to exactly how incriminating or relevant the content of the leak is.  Meanwhile, the indiscriminate leaking has actually allowed for the publication of the personal info of over a millionTurkish female voters, jeopardising their security. 

Transparency for transparency’s sake has become dangerous for wider society, especially as the global community is gearing up to combat terrorism. Edward Snowden, famous for exposing the National Security Agency’s unethical surveillance programs, is more carefulin publishing leaked documents, preferring to go quietly to reputed news establishment to give the inside scoop. He has come to criticise Julian Assange and WikiLeaks for their “hostility to even a modest curation” of leaked documents.

A TIME article claims that WikiLeaks is getting scarier than the NSA. A WIRED article lambasted WikiLeaks for having served its own personal agenda and interests, and very astutely, the writer reminds us that the humans behind WikiLeaks are just that – humans. Humans with biases, prejudices, and motivations. Journalists may have different opinions on what type of expose constitutes national interest, but they must have a justifiable reason for thinking so. Acknowledgment of one’s biases is more honest, more frank, more beneficent to the free press movement than harbouring what The New York Times claim Julian Assange as having, a “noble causecorruption”, which is a conception that celebrates vigilante justice even by morally dubious means.

The WIRED article concludes by calling WikiLeaks a “damaged filter”. Chris Blackhurst uses the similar term “unqualified filter” in an article lamenting how news establishments has become a dumping site for all sorts of leaked documents and dirty laundry. Glenn Greenwald has criticized Blackhurst's journalistic ethics on the grounds for not wanting to publish stories because he was told to by authorities. But one cannot ignore Blackhurst's question about publishing hacked state secrets, “Where is the story?” In trawling through the myriads of top secret official documents, we have gotten so caught up in the details that we lose the plot. The implications of the documents need to be at the forefront driving discussions, not the sensationalism surrounding the notion of leaked documents – a phenomenon not unlike the gossip mill. We need journalists who play their role as the government’s watchdog, not a channel for publishing anything remotely top-secret for a surge in sales or pageviews. We need journalists who pick out stories to highlight wrongdoing, not ones who produce mere chatter.

We should laud the journalists who, as Roy Greenslade defends, “have trawled through the documents in order to ascertain which of them were in the public interest”. However, we must also be wary of his unqualified assertion that society should “revel in the opportunity to increase transparency”, even if that should come to “journalistic law-breaking”.  If the government is to be faulted for its unscrupulous dealings in the name of “national interest”, what makes it more acceptable when media outlets and journalists do the same? The role of the journalist, the lengths to which reporters would go in the name for public interests must be re-examined.

In delivering a lecture at Durham University’s St Cuthbert’s Society, journalist-turned-writer Ted Gup notes that the public does not want transparency. What they want is a government that would be discriminatory and scrupulous about how they handle sensitive information. In short, they want a government they can trust. The media is not excluded from this remarkable responsibility of being vanguards of public interest. They are placed in that unique position of selecting and filtering what information is absolutely imperative for the public to know.

Even there exists a tug-and-pull between security and transparency, there is one common overlap: trust. In the aforementioned 2016 Pew Research piece, it was found that members of the public are less opposed to government surveillance activities when explained that it was done for “national security”. Ultimately, the public wavers between the two, for essentially, trustworthiness involves both keeping and disclosing information – but in a discriminate manner. Is it right for governments to infringe upon our freedoms in the name of national security? The crux of the matter is not one of transparency, but of trustworthiness. For this, context matters. Governments who have track records of serving their own interests instead of the public, who have motives other than the greater good of society, are less likely to be trusted even if they claim that they are prioritising the safety and security of the public.

The anti-establishment faction would not like this, for it means placing their trust in bodies that wield great power, and that may abuse that power. However, all the more, it calls for greater judgment, as it requires the public to observe the character of security officials and media journalists. It requires the public to stress great importance on being fastidious with whom they select as the vanguards of both the public’s security and their freedom. The question we should ask ourselves is no longer to what extent is someone transparent, but rather – how much can I trust them, given what I know about them?

Peninsula: A Story of Malaysia

People move about fluidly nowadays, so much so that mobility is seen as a gateway to happiness and fulfilment, and is even regarded as a right. Never has the adage “the world is your oyster” been more real than in this century, in an increasingly cosmopolitan society stirred up to seek fortunes, security, and adventures the globe over. To settle down in one place seems too confining, too suffocating, too constraining.

Yet this book reminds us that no matter how far our travails take us, a piece of our heart is still attached to that place we call our homeland. Rehman Rashid takes us on a journey through Malaysia:  literally, through reporting the tangible scenes, facts, histories of different places in Malaysia; and literarily, through blending his keen insight of Malaysia’s socio-political climate with the compilation of anecdotes and stories that he’s gleaned from the land.

The book doesn’t just sit in the memoir category. The author’s skills as a journalist are drawn out by the extensive research he’s done, and the rational, astute observations he makes on the beauty and ugliness of Malaysia. Yet, the tapestry of loaded details, references, and allusions that he’s woven into this memoir resists prosaicism. There is such emotion, such poignancy dripping from the words that it truly feels like you are sitting with the author, listening to him as he tells his story. In this book, the author makes a sweeping exploration of the land, conducted both temporally and geographically. The result of that twofold exploration is the story of Malaysia, carefully lifted out from the dusty forgotten annals of history, and breathed out in all its heartbreaking splendour. 

Storygram - City

This was the place where she grew up. This was what she called home.

Now, however, she felt like an alien even as she drinks in familiar sights. There were many decisions to make, many of them irrevocable. The contentment, the comfort, the stability she associated with the place has all but dissipated. No longer was her heart yearning for the contented past she cannot grasp, or the exciting present with its glittering opportunities. It had liberated itself in a flight across time to a city infinitely more magnificent than this. 

Mere Christianity

Mere Christianity is one of those books that has become such a huge Christian classic, that it is not unusual to find its numerous quotable quotes inserted into sermons, shared on Facebook, or discussed among Christian friends. Its words are almost ubiquitous amongst Christian circles. Knowing our own proclivity to dull ourselves to what we think we already know, it is important to (re)read this gem with fresh eyes and an open mind.

C. S. Lewis challenges those who dismiss Christianity as merely another religion or those who are apathetic towards it, while clarifying the basics of the Christian faith for the believer. What is so wonderful about this book is Lewis’ commitment to keep his language simple, using everyday metaphors to illustrate a point. Yet the message of which he is speaking is profound, and his treatment of the subject matter is rational, incisive, careful. He organizes his thoughts in such a clear, precise manner – bringing us from the notion of sin, to pointing out the solution found in Christ, to declaring the gospel-centred life Christians can live. Despite the meticulous way he structures his broadcasts and essays, this book never lacks heart. Whatever he writes, he writes with the greatest sincerity.

The word “mere” in the title might fool one into thinking that this is a straightforward and easy explanation of the Christian faith. But what we have is a grand tour de force of the Christian belief. It is a book that is not easy to read, for it deals with things close to the heart, and is thus are hard to swallow. Yet, its one key message is simple and plain: God, in the person of Jesus, came to save us, sinners, by dying on the cross and being raised to life. 

Horatius Bonar

Upon a Life I have not lived
Upon a death I did not die
Another's life, another's death
I stake my whole eternity.

Storygram: To bee or not to bee

“What on earth am I doing here?” he thought to himself.

He had stumbled across a field of sunflowers bursting forth in bright yellow hues against a cloudless blue sky. It was every tourist’s dream, a prize trophy to be liked and admired on his Instagram. He felt his fingers twitch excitedly as they rest upon his camerabag.

Yet, how quickly his dream morphed into a nightmare. As his sensible hiking shoes crunched the dry, dusty soil of Tuscany, the nettles and weeds assaulted his sunblock-protected ankles and calves, biting and tearing his white cotton socks as he attempts to outmanoeuvre those pesky plants.

He stopped.

His ears detected an almost imperceptible buzz wafting through the air. His eyes picked out a small insect resting upon the middle of the sunflower. It was a bee.

No but wait. Each flower had a bee, some even had two, three. They all buzzed, hovering dangerously close to him as they flit between the flowers.

He cautiously began to extract his feet from the nettle-infested ground. But his camerabag swung and hit a sunflower, dislodging its bee-occupant.

The bee shot forth from its flower, buzzing angrily for having been so ungraciously displaced. It flitted in the air, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Clutching his bag, the tourist stayed still. Perspiration gathered on his forehead as the bee landed on his nose. 

In summary: Life in Durham Uni

Before viewing my university results slip, I asked myself “Would I still be praising God – even if I don’t get what I wanted?”

I had told myself that the results weren’t important, and that I did the best I could. And I sincerely believe that. But I had not realised that I still craved for a First. When I opened the slip, I didn’t see what I wanted to see. All of  a sudden, the high of graduating and being done with my degree dampened. It had seemed like my entire academic career fizzled out into a nothing instead of ending with a bang. It had seemed to me a very sour failure.

What perhaps stung the most was that it was a subject that I thought I was good at and that I was passionate about. I wasn’t a standout in a lot of things at school: I flee from numbers, science wasn’t my forte, sports was done only for fun, and ask me to sing or play a musical instrument and banshees would boo me off the stage. My peers, on the other hand, seem to wield talent in multitudinous fields, and always there are those who are better than me in every single thing. But I derived consolation from the thought that I was good with words.

Coming to Durham University, I dared not harbour any ambition. It was daunting coming to the motherland of English Literature, and intimidating to be set alongside peers whose native tongue is English. I just wanted to pass my tests. But doing considerably alright for my second year, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I would have a shot at a First?

So when I finally received my results, all notion of (perceived) self-worth dissipated.

Will I still praise God?

There is much danger in settling your identity and hope on things outside of God. Danger – not only because God often cripples our petty attempts of “self-definition”, but also because we don’t understand the hollowness that undergirds the fruitless enterprise of seeking fulfilment that is not Christ Himself. To give an example, I had only first wanted to enter university. Then I had only hoped to pass my degree. And then soon, I wanted more and more and more. I suspect that even if results went the way I wanted, I would still be looking for the next “big” thing to achieve.

Reflecting upon it, the motive is to fuel my narcissism. And narcissism is something that can never be satiated. Instead, it can only be trampled down by gratitude. Looking back in retrospect, I’ve learnt so much in my journey in Durham, and I am growing more and more content that it was not in vain. He, in His sovereignty, has placed me here in this little city, and there is so much to be thankful for.

It was here where I learnt much about the beauties of the English language, where I first dared to publish my writing publicly – both in the university newspaper and at this blog - where I appreciated the necessity of precision and the importance of defamiliarisation,  where I dared to critique and discuss ideas that challenged and stretched me and oftentimes overwhelmed me.

It was here where I could delight in taking long walks along the river, admiring the abundant riches the scenery lays forth. Durham is beautiful in all seasons, and the city – small, quaint, yet dignified – shines in magnificence. I could walk through the cobblestoned streets or the leaf-strewn footpaths for the millionth time, and still be amazed at this gem of a city.

It was here also where I could enjoy some solitude, to carve out time to reflect, to think, and to be lifted out from my comfort zone, exploring new ideas and experiences. Living out, cooking meals (that are actually edible in most cases!), managing finances, and handling bills (and all the utter chaos it entails). It was here where I tried new things like Zumba, ceilidh dancing, rowing, park run, eating haggis, going to seminars by professors I admire from afar. Seeing new sights, travelling within the UK and without. Most of all, meeting people from all over the globe, seeing how different cultures intersect, or more funnily, when they do not.

On the subject of people, I am grateful for the family I have here. God has placed such wonderful friends around me, in college, in my course, in Malaysian society, in church. I remember World Web where I met some of the loveliest people who cared for me, nurtured me, disciple me. And where I met others whom hopefully I have helped in their walk with God too. I remember my flatmates, who have to put up with my silly dances, my lame jokes, and my general weirdness. Who had to live each day with my imperfections and are still willing to care for me, dance along with me, watch movies with me, cook for me. I remember iFocus, the Bible study group for international students over at Christchurch Durham. When I first joined, I never thought that we would become this close. We had been through much together, slight rifts, misunderstandings, hurts, challenges. But I am glad that God preserved our relationship and brought good out of it all, strengthening our excitement in His gospel daily. We love each other much, and I am glad for this group who had challenged me to grow in my love and knowledge of God, and who cared for me enough to say things that were at times hard for me to swallow. They have encouraged me daily to look to Christ, and I am grateful for that. And man, can this group play music / Articulate / Sardines like no other.

Yet, as much as Durham has monumentally shaped me, I am perhaps right in saying that the euphoria I have felt surrounding my existence there will melt into a memory. As I leave the town, I felt a poignant sadness, not so much because I would be leaving the city, but because I would soon be okay with the separation. Life is such. You taste the delights of one stage of life, but you will move on to other stages. I will miss Durham and the people there, but time will soon wear away my attachment. And I too will be forgotten.

Will I still praise God?

My reaction to my results will show that although I know in my head “Soli deo Gloria”, I still have a while to go before I live it out fully. And perhaps it is a struggle that would continue till eternity is ushered in. But truly, God alone deserves the glory, and that I am happiest when offering Him due praise. He had created me, and has moulded the universe. He has given me good things to enjoy. But above all, I was and am a sinner, and He has plucked me from eternal separation from Him to eternal enjoyment of His presence. The things I had in Durham – as great and beautiful and wonderful as they are – still cannot compare to the unsurpassable joy of this honour: that of knowing Jesus Christ, and being known by Him. 

Storygram - Unaccustomed Earth

The earth knew her tread, welcoming her steps as her boots crunched on the leaf-strewn ground. She had walked this footpath a hundred times before. But this would be her last walk here. Soon, the earth would wonder why she no longer walked there. And soon, it would matter no longer.

It was strange how homecoming could feel like displacement, or how familiarity could intermingle with the foreign.

But time would pass, and a new familiarity would rise up to take the place of the old. A new routine would be built on the decay of the old everydays. The scenes that she sees, the little places she encounters, the faces she meets – with the passage of time, this would be ripped away violently, and new sensations, new locations, new people would seep into her mind instead. And it would be the same for the others.

She wished she could carry it all with her, she wished to bring back something tangible to show that there is a difference between the girl who went away and the one who came back. She would return to the same house, with the smell of the earth she knew and loved so well hovering so tenuously, like an ungraspable vestige of a half-forgotten dream. 

Poem - I asked God

I asked God

Why did you withhold from me

The recognition I craved,

The results I wanted,

That scholarship I sought,

The university I applied for,

The brains I would love,

The prize I would coveted,

The internship I desired,

The job I longed for,

The First I thought I worked for,

Life rose-tinted as I would like it to be.

God told me

But did I withhold from you -

My love everlasting

My peace unending

My faithfulness assured

My grace boundless

My compassion pure

My justice right and true.

I did not withhold my son

I did not withhold His blood

I did not withhold His sacrifice

I did not withhold His pain

I did not withhold His righteousness

I did not withhold your inheritance

I did not withhold my promises

I did not withhold my goodness savoured deeply

I did not withhold eternity with me.

And I kept silent and worshipped Him. 

Storygram: Mrs Pang Wu Nan

(Photo taken in front of a shop in Ipoh)

No one can correctly guess her age. Old, decrepit, and neglected, the most accurate answer people can come up with is that she had lived for a long time. A very long time. Fault lines plague her face, spotty blotches dotted the walls of skin which hang loose and occasionally peel themselves free from the prison of her body. She is bulky and sturdy, with flesh bulging out from her purple-flowered samfu. She is an anachronism, an ancient relic that-should-no-longer-be, at odds with the new, shiny, technology-clad crowd that clusters around her. Her hair, permed and set in the style made famous in the 1960s, and the traditional jade bracelet that encircles her wrist, only serve to bring this contrast out even more. Yet, despite the state we find her in, she bears with her still the lingering vestiges of a glorious bygone era, with a spirit of quiet dignity, respectability, and perhaps nostalgia of simple and beautiful times.

Mrs Pang is a stalwart presence in Ah Wah’s coffee shop, or as the locals call it, kopitiam, which has stood overlooking the brown Gombak River since 1952. Since the time Mr Pang passed away from lung cancer, she is Ah Wah’s tenant living in the small, dilapidated, leaky room upstairs. Patrons of the place see her as a permanent landmark of the place, and like all permanent landmarks, her presence is rarely - if at all -  registered. Situated at the far corner of the kopitiam, next to the hawker stall selling dim sum and steamed buns, she sits on a plastic green chair, occupying a coffee-stained table. Amidst grey crinkly Sin Chew dailies and with an alley cat slumbering at her feet, she never moves, her looming figure radiating both isolation and familiarity. Her eyes stare straight ahead looking at goodness-knows-what, as empty and vacant like lonely windows of an abandoned building…

Three people sat at the table next to her. After having exhausted the topics of grandchildren, politics, and the appropriate wateriness of half-boiled eggs (“I always tell Ah Wah don’t cook it so long” is Xin’s favourite refrain), they settle into a subject of discussion that intrigues and infuriates them: what were they to do about Mrs Pang?

            “What do you think about her?” Johnny asks his companions.

“I dunno what to think,” Xin starts, but before Johnny could reply to this, Xin continues “she’s okay lah as a person… but she don’t talk a lot, just sit there quietly only. Want to be friends also cannot. One time I ask her ‘Hello, Mrs Pang, how are you today?’ but she just sit there diam-diam.’” Xin huffs. He is quickly balding, but this was overly compensated by the thick, tiger-like eyebrows crowning his forehead. He likes to think he is a self-made man now that he is a successful entrepreneur dealing with big, important contracts.

“Yes, but I think she was just thinking abou-“

“So rude you know. I think because she so used to being rich, don’t know how to treat people.”

“Hmm maybe,” Johnny acquiesces, trying to be polite despite having been interrupted. “But I think she’s grieving over her husband’s death.”

“Wah, I tell you... so rude. Never listen to people,” Xin ploughs on, his eyes fixated on the figure of Mrs Pang.

“Yes, like I said,” says Johnny, starting to get irritated. “She’s grieving for her husband.”

“’Grieving’,” Xin scoffs. “You and your English education. Aiyo. Just say “cry” lah. Always using bombas-teek words. Summore don’t use it correctly half the time.”

Just at that moment, black flip-flops squeak on the brownish-blue tiled floor, signifying Ah Wah’s arrival and subsequent delivery of the kopi-O they ordered. “Nah,” he says to the group. A small pile of one-ringgit notes exchanges hands, and Ah Wah retrieves the change from the fanny-pack secured around his waist before depositing it on the circular table. The group continues staring at Mrs Pang, not realising that they had been short-changed.

Johnny feels the heat creeping up to his cheeks as he mulls over Xin’s previous biting remark. Talking always came hard to him, and it always seems that he was saying the wrong thing. He had been educated in a cluster school in Kuala Lumpur in his youth, but whilst he scrupulously consumed the Oxford Dictionary when he was a child (upon his teacher’s suggestion), he was not fastidious enough about using words accurately. Or perhaps, his anxious disposition and half-cooked ideas made it such that his sentences come out as awkwardly constructed as poorly-planned train projects common in certain quarters in the world.

But he is determined to prove Xin wrong. Feeling the rush of adrenaline swelling within him, a sensation he associates with making grand speeches, he drinks some coffee to calm his nerves. Of course, the process is a rather long one: he first pours a portion of it onto its saucer before swirling it and lifting the saucer to his lips. He is now ready to make his speech, the speech about Mrs Pang that he has built up all morning by painstaking pieces.

“From what I know,” he begins, “well, from what I heard, she’s had a fascinating past. I think she’s lived a hard life… she’s had to live through the Japanese occupation, and I heard from someone, her mother was sent to a concentration camp. Didn’t come back. After the war was over, she went to a teaching college and she met her future-husband there.”

Xin grunts in acknowledgement. Warmed by the fact that it isn’t a total dismissal of his efforts, Johnny continues. “It’s sad though. The school burnt down and there just weren’t enough funds to build it again. They had three children, so you could imagine they had quite a struggle getting the money to pay for everything. So they started a shop selling cloths – you remember how it was back in the day – and managed to get the three of them all through to university.”

The group falls silent. Johnny is caught up in his own narrative now. “They all went abroad, left her and her husband here. In a way, it’s their fault. They were the ones who told them to leave for elsewhere. I mean. It’s not their fault. But, you know what I mean.”

Xin makes no sound. Johnny continues anyway. “So what if she’s old? So what if she doesn’t do anything? She had been great once, wasn’t she? She had helped the nation once. I mean. Maybe she didn’t help in a big way, but she was a teacher, she taught students. I always thought it so sad that she gave up most of her pension for her husband’s operation. She nagged him to death – I mean, not to death, but you know, it’s just a figure of speech – but in some strange way she loved him.”

By now, Johnny is disconcerted by Xin’s unusual silence. “I think… I mean Ah Wah… He should let her stay upstairs… There are nice community homes… put her there, and preserve her… he could send her there… of course the cost of rehabilitation is too high… But it shouldn’t matter… oh but of course, this is only if Ah Wah really doesn’t want her to stay with him… But I think he should…”

“Aiyo, stop it lah, you and your words and your fancy ideas, trying to act like some professor. Are you going to do anything about her?” Xin’s words cuts through Johnny’s monologue, his head tilted backwards in exasperation, his palm looking like it was about to present a slap on Johnny’s face. Johnny keeps silent under the gaze of his friend who is working to demolish the speech had made.

            “All you want to do is just go round and round in circles,” Xin complains. “Go straight to the point! Don’t keep the conversation to yourself. Nah look, Sun Yi didn’t get to say anything also.”

Indeed, Sun Yi had not said a thing. Sun Yi has very plain features, looking like any other ordinary Malaysian, with eyes that suggest knowledge and understanding, but with lips that suggest immobility and silence.  The third friend is listening and watching with the attention of a half-curious spectator, passive and reticent as a ghost.

The other two look at Sun Yi, waiting for a speech that would not come. “Well,” Johnny starts again. “I just think that given Mrs Pang’s history, Ah Wah should just let her continue staying upstairs…”

“Adui,” Xin is bristling. “You know how much is the cost ah? All these things cost money, you know. So why would Ah Wah do it? Not that Ah Wah share history with her, or that she pretty to look at now…”

“The cost of rehabilitation,” Johnny is using words in a strange way again, “is indeed high. But certainly in historical and aesthetic terms,” poor Johnny, not in control of his words, “she proves invaluable. I’d like to think Mrs Pang had a part in shaping his history, giving him tuition lessons all those years. And she’s a bit worn-out now, but she used to be quite the looker in her glory days.”

Ah Wah approaches their table. “You want to order some pau maybe?”

“Eh, sorry boss, not hungry,” Xin jokes in genuine jollity.

 “Eh, come lah, I need money to survive too you know. I’m just trying to serve you.”

“Ah okay lah, okay lah,” Xin says. “Just tapau some kaya pau, I’ll bring some back for my wife and kids.”

“Don’t want to share with me and Sun Yi?” pouts Johnny.

“Bah. You can feed yourself,” Xin shoots back.

Mrs Pang shifted ever so slightly in her seat, almost imperceptibly.

“We’re forgetting one thing in our entire conversation,” Johnny points out.

“Ah Wah is a great fellow,” Xin cuts him off, not even noticing he was doing so. “I’m sure he’s doing the right thing.”

Johnny muses this for a second. “I’m not sure… I don’t quite trust him.”

“If Ah Wah wants her to go, she should just leave. She should just be grateful with what he has given her so far.”

Johnny gets frustrated. “Stop interrupting me! Can you listen? Can you listen to reason for one second?”

“You call me crazy ah?” Xin challenges.

“No, I’m just saying you should think…”

“You calling me stupid now lah!”

“No, no, can you just listen?”

Xin says “Can we stop fighting about this? I don’t want this to come between our friendship. We’ve been friends for fifty-eight years. Let’s stop this.”

There are many things Johnny wants to say. But he just let the words drip on his tongue, slip through his lips, and fall noiselessly down onto the dirty floor.

“I don’t want to fight you. But I want you to listen,” Johnny says instead.

Xin had already made his peace with the first phrase of the sentence, and thus neglected the second part in favour of staring at Mrs Pang again.

“What an eyesore,” Xin says.

“Nah, Xin,” Ah Wah arrives, bringing Xin his kaya buns. He chuckles, hearing what Xin says. “Yeah lor, she’s been getting in the way. I’m thinking of renovating the shop-lot, and I can’t let her stay there lah, she takes up too much space, and she cannot do anything also.”

“Eh, you want to renovate ah?” Xin asks Ah Wah in surprise. “I like your kopitiam like this. It’s like your own small world, you know.”

“Yeah lah, but times are changing mah. I need to be competitive. Sorry ah if my prices go up a little bit. Difficult now lah.”

“Sure, sure,” Xin says mildly, his eyes zeroing in on Mrs Pang again. “I’m happy to help.”

Ah Wah bustles off, needing to draw up bills under the supervision of his wife, Rosie.

“Huh. Whatever you say now,” Xin addresses Johnny, “won’t be any good. Ah Wah will do what he wants, why bother saying anything?”

Johnny reflects on this. “I don’t know. I guess I’m saying. Because I’m scared, one day Mrs Pang would be me.”

It is the only thing Johnny said during the whole conversation that struck through the haze in which Xin has enveloped himself. But Xin was practiced in the art of haze-patching.

“Okay lah, I go first,” says Xin, getting up to leave. “Good talk.”

“Ah yeah okay,” Johnny says. “I think I’ll see you around, Sun Yi.”

Sun Yi nods, and both of them left.

The next time the three meet up, Mrs Pang Wu Nan is gone. Ah Wah says that it had been no use dragging it out, that she had been an interference to his plans to expand his kopitiam. Quietly and firmly, without anyone knowing, he had asked her to leave his shop, indifferent to the shambles and rubble to which he had reduced her life.

There is now a space in Ah Wah’s kopitiam where the great Mrs Pang Wu Nan used to sit. All that remains in her usual seat is the old newspapers and the old alley cat. No more 1960s haircut, no more purple-flowered samfu, no more peeling skin flakes and vacant eye-windows.

Johnny says it is a shame, it’s a shame. The frequent patrons too would shake their heads empathetically, perhaps they would go a step further, cursing Ah Wah for being so cruel. But they wouldn’t do anything. Conversations would remain as that: conversations. At the end of the day, they would still come back to Ah Wah, anaesthetized by the haze arising from their kopi, fresh kaya buns, and forgetfulness.

To read more: The Big Read: Penang - Whose Version of Heritage?