NO

I'm not a parent. And by no means am I about to be one soon. But like most other Malaysians, I can't help but feel extremely sad by the number of child molestation and rape cases suddenly being reported in the media. It's almost as if we woke up one day and became a society of child molesters.

Of course the reverse is true. Child abuse, sexually or otherwise, has always been here. It's just that no one bothered to pay attention to it. Either that, or the children who suffered were not taught to speak up. And they've become adults who carry the burden blindly in their daily lives.

But what about our children? What can we do to protect them? Personally, I think one of the best means of protection a child has is probably NOT to do what he is told.

Imagine the typical scenario where a parent is trying to coax his child into greeting an adult friend. And the child is hesitant. More often than not, parents are likely to chide the child. Honestly, if it were left to me, I'd probably just let the child be. A part of me believes children, in their innocent state, are like animals. Since their rational thought capabilities are new and developing, they probably rely a huge amount on their natural instincts for judgement.

Which brings me to the subject of school. Why is it we don't learn the most important life skills in school? Forget writing a check, changing a flat tyre and paying bills. We don't even learn self-defense. As children we were reliant on adults for protection. We were never taught how to safeguard ourselves. Aside from not talking to strangers, did anyone tell us to scream if we were being harrassed?

No, good children don't do that.

And if someone were to tell you that your Mommy was in an accident and you should hop in their car, did we know what to do?

Why, yes of course, we should follow the nice Uncle.

I do think our current rape sentence is not adequate. I don't think any sentence will deter rapists. After all, most of the time these fellas aren't quite right in the head as it is. It's like waving a bat at a rabid dog.

I think victims should be better empowered within our legal framework, yes.

And I think we should do a better job of teaching our kids how to say no. Even if it sometimes means they say no to us. It's OK, Mom and Dad. You'll live. And so will your child.

Animal Farm

Last weekend my supernatural friend stayed over. We ate and ate too much, laughed, gossipped, exchanged beauty secrets and played this super addictive board game called Risk. If you're a strategy game buff and you haven't tried it, do. It kicks major behind in the intellect department. And it's a whole load of fun. When else can you entertain ambitions of world domination? OK, maybe if you're Osama.

But that wasn't the most amazing part of the weekend. Like all good stories, my favourite bit came at the end of the five-day Chinese New Year stretch. In the midst of my complaints about having to start work the following day, my supernatural friend slipped in the fact that she talks to animals. Specifically, MINE.

Again, I am serious. I still don't know whether to laugh myself off the couch or smack my arm. I've done both. Still doing it.

If you have a pet you may like to know that it appears these furry friends of ours DO have thoughts - not just about their little universes but about us, their owners. According to Ms Super Natural, my cat with whom I have a love-hate relationship would miss me a lot if she went to a new home. Despite the fact that she described me as "that Makcik who cakap banyak." Figures. I always knew deep down she loved me. Otherwise she would have skedaddled.

I recently contracted someone to build a giant dog kennel in my backyard. I just checked on it and it looks more like a horse stable now. It's almost six feet tall, probably eight feet long. I am now convinced, RM5000 poorer, that it will finally contain a particularly athletic female dog of mine. She's been a real challenge all seven notable months of her life. Because of her, three of my friends were up odd hours one night trying to build a makeshift fence to keep her from jumping out of her compound. Because of her my contractor had to raise the garden gate. Needless to say, it took all of ten minutes after the gate was erected for me to discover that she was able to sail over five-foot heights without as much as a struggle.

According to my reliable source, said female dog yesterday confided that she is confident she will be able to wriggle her way out of her new kennel. And it's not even finished yet.

Sometimes, I believe there is truth in the old adage, the less you know, the better. I wonder if they will allow dogs into National Service???

Weddings 'R'Us

My sister rang today to tell me that she has officially set a date for her wedding. Then she went on to tell me about her already emerging battle with Mom about the wedding arrangements. Not the marriage, mind you, but the wedding.

Three receptions vs one big bash, alcohol vs no alcohol, kampung guests vs close friends, the list goes on. I think if I had to go through the same thing myself, I would elope. Either that, or emigrate.

I am always amazed at what big productions weddings become in KL. My friends in the US are constantly bowled over when I tell them that an average wedding reception here has a guest list in the 500s. And that's average. Truthfully, weddings here are often the most boring, protracted affairs you can ever get invited to.

Don't get me wrong. I am not for or against the institution of marriage. I think a marriage is a lot of hard work. It's fantastic if you put your heart and soul into it. The only problem is I increasingly find KL folks so focused on the ceremony, with little thought as to what happens after. I know numerous thirty-somethings who have entered nuptial bliss with all the fireworks and huge receptions, only to be divorced three years later and re-marry in a quiet ceremony with only five people present. And somehow, the latter seem to last a little longer.

The other prevalent trend I have observed with weddings is this insistence in keeping up with the Ahmads/Lees/Chelliahs. If so-and-so's son had a big reception, we need to have one for our daughter too, so we can invite so-and-so.

I am sure everyone will be familiar with the phrase "weddings are for parents." That's why often times you end up dressed in a kebaya that's too tight, sitting with strangers through a two-hour ordeal of a cold dinner. There's no merry-making. Half the people there don't even know the bride and groom. Sometimes they also only vaguely know the parents of the couple. And if you're a friend of the bride and groom you inevitably walk away feeling you were all collectively robbed of an occasion to celebrate their new life.

I think this whole wedding business needs a major re-think. If a wedding is to celebrate the union of two people, shouldn't it be just that? Not an excuse to blow RM50,000 that could probably be put to better use on a downpayment for the newly-weds' first home?

I know parents have all good intentions when they plan their children's weddings. They only want the best. But does best always have to mean big? I don't know any bride who has gone through the massive, multiple reception ordeal and come out sane. Most of them sleep through their honey moons! Either that or they end up in bed nursing flus.

I thought the whole reason (or at least the immediate one) for getting married was to have torrid, legal sex. And then some. But how the heck are you supposed to do that when you are burnt out? Worse, some couples even end up postponing their honey moons for lack of leave. All their time off was taken up togging up for the million and one receptions with strangers. So they end up honey mooning a year later.

Parents, consider this. If your intention is to really give your kids a headstart in their married lives, why not apply some basic financial logic, as you would any other major step your child is going to take. Assess the situation, and weigh the pros and cons. I bet you most times you will realise the best thing you could do with the "wedding fund" is to put it down on a house for your kids. Got one already? Give them the money for renovations or a first child fund!

Most new couples I know struggle to set up home and family. No matter how much you earn, living with someone else inevitable ends up being more expensive. In the extended family society like ours, marrying means inheriting a whole new family, complete with third aunts and fifth uncles. Things like "Gong Xi Fa Cai" are enough to send a couple fleeing to a nearby resort, just to avoid the massive cash outlay for satisfying the ang pow frenzy.

Yes Moms and Dads, you probably end up with a nice album filled with photos of your kids' weddings. And lots of compliments that evening from your friends. But honestly, how long do you think your child's wedding is going to remain in other people's minds? And will it change your friendships with those you have known since college?

On the other hand, putting the money to wiser use could end up having a much deeper impact on your children. It could help make or break a marriage in its early, fragile state. It could be the difference between you having grandchildren or not.

My Funny Friend And I

I have a super-natural friend. Or maybe hyper-natural is a better word. In my little universe of people that's small enough to fit a dining table (mine, to be exact), her state of heightened being has become so normal to us that I wonder if others eavesdropping would think we are ALL slightly off our rockers. Not that I'm implying she is.

Let me be absolutely clear. This woman is amazing. She dreams of other people's future partners. She talks to her plants so well that she even avoids certain ones when they are PMS-ing. She also sees things.

If you think all this is good fun, talk to anyone of us. Every time we go somewhere, especially AT NIGHT, we always pre-warn her not to say anything if she sees "extras on set." And believe me, we usually do find out just how many were travelling with or alongside us a couple hours later.

Right now she's been working on her abilities to communicate with dogs, seeing that most of us in the group have pooches. Apparently, my blonde cocker spaniel is exactly the same in thought as she appears -over-excited at best, and vacuous at worst. Someone else's GIANT, and I mean giant, bull mastiff is very thoughtful.

Really. I'm a fairly cynical person. Whenever I meet people who claim some sort of spiritual credence, my first instinct is to go "Yeah, right, and my mama floats." Especially those new age damselles whose idea of water therapy is drinking fiteen gallons first thing in the a.m. Must explain why they are rake thin. I don't know how anyone can contemplate ANY meals after all that.

But this chick is something else altogether. When my dog went missing once, she predicted the approximate day and provided us descriptions of the person who found her, along with the place where we finally met the man.

Currently, her latest talent being revealed to The Circle is her ability to sniff things out. She says that people smell different when they are in different mental and emotional states. Think about it. Cynics among us, it probably explains why dogs can smell fear. Projects of the day include figuring out whether someone she knows is gay, and whether someone else is having an affair, or at least contemplating one.

I'm having dinner with her in the next two days. I'd better remember to lay on the perfume and hang "DO Not Disturb" signs on my potted plants!

It's the holidays. I CAN'T be serious. But I am. She DOES talk to plants. And I don't think mine are too happy at the moment, seeing that one of my dogs has a penchant for Zen gardening. It's the only way I can explain why all my leafy plants are now only stems.

Starving Artists?

In my novice attempt at surfing the world of blogs, I stumbled onto a link to kakiseni.com which talked about the recent staging of Turandot. But that's not really the subject of today's musings. Above the article was a banner calling for public votes in conjunction with the Boh Cameronian Awards. Much as I wanted to cast my own opinions, I resisted, because I realised that for once in a long, long time, I actually have had very little exposure to the local theatre scene.

The reason behind my self-imposed exile is really a matter of principle. Many, if not most, local theatre productions are held in a specific venue which seems to be the favourite and I suppose most accommodating when it comes to opening its doors to recent or non-established local talents. My problem is not with the place but rather the owners - two very well-known and respected yet sometimes personally loathed figures in Malaysian theatre. Professionals of a different but related field, they, I believe, are now fully focused on theatre as their raison d'etres.

It's fine to pursue your own passions, but when it is at the price of other people, I think it is misguided at best and selfish at worst.

On leaving their full-time careers it has been made known to me that they also failed to close the books - literally. They "skipped town" with little more than a generic communique that cited differences with management as reason for them to quit their jobs and head for the theatre frontier. This despite the fact that they were, for all intents and purposes, the public figures of their company. This despite them knowing that their debtors' list was long because people trusted them personally and implicitly, and were willing to extend them a favour or two in the absolute trust that they would honour their promises.

This, is despicable. Especially when two people who are purportedly broke are spied dining at a Bangsar restaurant, enjoying a three-course dinner with wine. And my friend, to whom they owed a sum of money (which was small in the larger scheme of their promises) was at home counting pennies.

Theatre is not for a venture for the faint-hearted. In Malaysia it is developing at best, and a financial struggle at the base level. Anyone in the arts understands the scarcity of the almighty Ringgit. Yet, within this city of the monied poor, there still exist pockets of artistes who lie, cheat and squander. If this is the foundation of our arts scene, then how can we hope to achieve breakthroughs in artistic truths?

I can fully understand why people keep going to the infamous two. There aren't very many alternatives in town. But it's a case of the chicken or the egg. For as long as KL supports them, there will be no other alternative.

So, in the same way I have denied higher powers my vote, I will keep my Ringgit where I think it deserves to be - in the hands of someone else who is hopefully more transparent and genuine in their artistic intent. If this means giving it away to the buskers who think they entertain the Bangsar mamak-stall go-ers, so be it.

Heck, I think even my dogs deserve it more whenever they make me laugh. Come to think of it, maybe I'll go get them a bag of treats.

Tea With A CEO

One of the few perks of my job is that sometimes I get the opportunity to share rare moments with some of KL's best. I have seen CEOs whose staff quiver at the mere mention of their names appear vulnerable, puppy-eyed and desperate for me to say something that will help them feel less nervous. And sometimes, just sometimes, I have the good fortune of getting a glimpse at what makes them tick.

Today I was rewarded by Lady Fortune, one might say quite literally, when I got to spend a little over an hour with a notable banker in KL. I looked forward to this afternoon date, because he is a man whom I have always thought of fondly for his self-effacing demeanour and gentleness. He is the antithesis of the banker stereotype in that he has never come across as mercenary, arrogant or a know-it-all, unlike some of his minions with whom I have had too many unpleasant encounters.

I was mainly curious about one thing, as I always am when presented the chance to dissect a leader. How did he become so successful? The answer was over 90 minutes long in conversation, candid and full of humility. We talked about how he started in banking and what kept him loyal to his profession and employer. I learned of the risks he took and their big pay-offs. Underneath it all was a consistent thread of acknowledgement to the people who were by his side throughout the years, and an unwavering belief in his own ability and judgement. I discovered that beneath the ready smile there wasn't just a man who was determined and competitive, but someone who has a built-in need to constantly be in motion - and have a whole load of fun while accomplishing his tasks. It was akin to talking to a marathon winner whose drive to run stemmed from a desire to be part of the best party he could find.

In that aspect, he is exactly the same as every great leader I have met, both new and established ones. Contrary to popular belief, these folks are rich simply because they never focus on the money. Not once in our 90 minutes did the banker cite being paid well as the reason he has remained with the same employer for three decades. He is not alone. Other leaders perhaps put it more succinctly when they talk about passion as their main motivator. That, and a deep personal satisfaction from delighting their customers. I'm not kidding. These guys really take customers to heart. You and I and our little bits of money that we spend on their services or products really make or break their days. Their proudest moments are built on occasions when people have told them how they have personally made a difference in someone else's life.

These leaders know the names of people who are important and peripheral to them. They shake the hands of janitors. They attend weddings of their tea ladies. They want to know about you, and not just what you do for them. They care and truly give a hoot. They are sincere and trusting. Above all, they actually are happy.

And in the end, they last.

In my career I have also met the worst of them. The suspicicious one-man shows who carry the weight of a whole corporation on their shoulders, despite the fact that they employ hundreds to share the burden. These are the CEOs who hide in the shadows of their own image. Those who insist onf fifteen-minute meetings and frighten their employees into either agreement or deference. Those for whom "discussion" or "debate" are sure career limiting moves for their underlings.

These are the ones who have fallen, and I have seen oh so many of them fall, especially in the last seven years. And when they did, little of their empire turned back, let alone offer a helping hand. So they find themselves, post-recession, with almost nothing and a reputation in shreds.

After all, if you treat people like they are deaf, blind and mute, you can't expect them to suddenly notice you're there, do you?

If you have the fantastic luck of knowing someone like my afternoon date, think it over the next time a job offer comes along, dangling that extra RM100 in front of you. In the greater sum of your life, is that really enough for you to take the plunge and risk opening yourself up to a huge mistake?

And if you have the awful misfortune of a boss who thinks he runs an institution for the all-round challenged, pinch yourself - HARD. If you squeak, it's time you high-tail it outta there, bonus or no bonus. Otherwise, you risk a possible lobotomy over time - and then you'll never know what hit you.

Morning KLass

In a little club down a back alley of a prominent office building in KL, the music apparently doesn't start pumping till 4:00 am. And it goes on till 9, way after the sun has come up and good folks are on their way to church. Out of sheer curiosity and dance music deprivation, that's where I found myself at 5 am. And it was jumping! The place was packed, ventilation was bad, the music kicked ass, boys walked around topless and girls wore sunglasses.

So I only lasted an hour and a half. Hey, you gotta cut a girl some slack. Ninety minutes bopping virtually non-stop on a small square of space ain't bad for someone who was a day ago contemplating hanging up her dancing shoes. It was comforting to know that some things haven't changed. Those of you who used to frequent Backroom in its hey day will surely run into some familiars. People minding their own, clad in very little to weather the sweat and body heat.

The only thing worth noting was the presence of certain clusters of people who were anomalies in my previous party days. Seemingly forty-something year old Dato' wanna-bes. Since when did they dig dance music???? It used to be that party people partied, and slimy forty-something straight men stayed home or hung out in certain apartment blocks with their mistresses. They didn't go clubbing! And these guys didn't appear all too attached either. They were dancing on podiums, eighties-style Ray Bans and all. Okay so they didn't wear tight t-shirts (thank goodness!) and the usual leery looks they emanate in broad daylight were absent. But it still didn't explain what the heck they were doing there!!!!

I remember a conversation I had several years back with a die-hard clubber pal which lasted till noon the following morning. To cut a long story short, over Eggs Benedict at Coffee Bean, he summarised today's Melayu Baru male as such: "Marriage for the new Melayu male is not about love or sex. It's about the journey. If you're going on a long journey, you're going to make sure you take someone who is compatible with your needs. That's what the Melayu man of today marries." A mother to his children, a housekeeper to keep the home spic and span and him respectable. Not someone to have torrid sex with or lose sleep over.

That was when I realised he had just described my dog. Pretty thing, very attentive, wants to be with me all the time but accepts her station in life is to remain at home and wait for me to come home. In the meantime, she just needs to ensure she doesn't wreck my furniture or take a dump on my carpet.

Because we were both sleepy by 1 pm, the conversation never resolved the role of the mistress. Although I am want to believe that hers would have been defined very differently from that of a wife.

Back to our Melayu Baru clubbers. Here's the bare truth - they were on drugs. Very clearly, and distinctly, on drugs. Probably recreational substances, much like what most of the other clubbers there were on. But drugs nonetheless. Which probably explains why they were there to begin with. It isn't every where that's open at that hour of the morning - and one has to find a place other than home to go if you're still feeling residual effects of a chemical dinner.

Let me repeat - these were straight forty-something Melayu men. On drugs. And they weren't only one or two bodies in a sea of perhaps 200. There were enough of them that made their presence noticeable.

The thought was enough to keep me awake well till almost noon.

The thing that bothers me most is the fact that these were probably the same men who would outwardly agree that the degree of morality in KL is declining. And slam a woman for being raped - just because she was in a tube top. And marry some unsuspecting tudung-clad chick. And keep a young teenage plaything on the side.

These are the men who are fathers and sons. These are the men who shape the Bumi middle-class. These are the men who used to be boys with whom my brother used to go to school. They are the same ones I meet today, married but sans wives, clubbing the night away.

But don't get me wrong. I'm not putting them down. It takes two hands to clap, or in this case, stay silently folded on society's lap. For as long as their wives let them lead double lives, who's to blame them for taking advantage of the freedom it affords?

Post Party-um

There was a time, not too long ago, when this time of the week would have found me out partying somewhere in KL. Tonight, I'm at home, enjoying the fat pipes my new broadband connection provides. I LOVE IT! It kicks ass. It means impatient me is no longer subject to the worldwidewait. Or at least, not yet.

But I digress. This whole partying thing, it used to drive me mad, crazy and down to the ground. Good, bad and ugly all in one. Here's the routine, let's see how many of you know it. Get home from work (or skive off Friday afternoon if you can get away with it), kick back, think of what to wear, try not to eat too much and make the serious plans. Five hours later, jump in the shower, put on your party clothes, quick dash to 7-11 for cigarettes and the ATM for cash. Otherwise plastic would have to do - but that was almost a guarantee of inebriation to follow.

12:30 am and you arrive at the club. Not that you're expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen (although that's probably the reason you're out there to begin with). Stake out your spot (hopefully a regular one), order that damned watered down free drink that came with the cover charge and wait.

Heck I used to have lots of fun. Till the sun came up - and sometimes beyond. Some of you may recall the open air raves in the early days. I remember one in particular, on a hill top behind the zoo or thereabouts. When I get to the ripe old age of 94, that'll be a night to remember. Who ever thought that I would be there - a thirty-something successful executive among apparent drifters.

I met a man that night. In fact I met two men who were very interesting. One who juggled fire and stood on his hands. The other who looked like a story book Native American and came from a place called Magic River. Definitely not dinner-with-Mom material. But definitively early morning, secret KL hilltop fodder.

See, for those of you in the city who think we're all normal, I've got news for you. Normality in this city is the same as it is in any other - it doesn't exist except within the parameters of our own universes. Read the Malaysian blogs. You'll form a completely different perspective of what makes up KL. For every upright, patriotic, responsible Malaysian, you'll find an alternative, an anomaly, a blip on the screen.

We're such a secret, secret, secret bunch of folks. We're all subversive in our own ways. The only difference is that some of us realise the aspects of our selves that don't quite conform and others don't. We're like Russian dolls living in a Russian doll. Drawers within closets within rooms within mansions.

About the only thing that binds us all together is our sameness in our differences.

Think about it. What does muhibbah really mean in the sum of all things?

Elephants In Bangsar

Recently my grandfather celebrated his 94th birthday. Ever since I have known him, he has changed little in my eyes except for the fact that he is now less fearsome, more affectionate and generous with dispensing his sense of humour. Unlike other people I know, I have been fortunate enough to have a grandfather who is still living in all senses. He's alert, knows how much all his important grand-children make and still favours my sister above everyone else. That he is constant in his affections is unquestionable.

I learned that his birthday wish was to live to be another 94 years old. And for his hundredth birthday, he wants to ride an elephant through Bangsar. It's such an amazing idea I might just devote some time into making it a reality.

Think about it. This is a man who already has lived through two World Wars, two Gulf Wars, the Vietnam War, Cold War, every single Prime Minister of Malaysia, and various regimes incuding Hitler's, Mao's and goodness knows how many others. He survived being questioned by the Japanese during the occupation yet never learned to drive a car due to one misguided attempt which I think landed him in a ditch. He's outlived one wife and re-married a younger woman in her fifties. He's outlived a daughter. He has lived to see his great-great grandchildren. He spent half his life in the village and moved to one of the hippest KL residential addresses mid-life. But then again, at the rate he's going, his late forties are no longer mid-life in his personal scheme of things.

There are days when he talks about dying. There were times when he said it was depressing reading the papers, seeing one person after another whom he knows in the obituaries. Then it progressed to seeing people he didn't know, people much younger than him. Recently it almost seems he's bounced back. He requested for and I believe organised his own birthday bash. He loves his birthday parties.

I count myself lucky but my Dad fortunate. That I may have the grace of enjoying my parents' company when I am well into my sixties is something that would mean a lot more things than I can imagine at this point. That anyone of us may have that opportunity is, I think, a huge blessing.

When I look at my own parents I realise that I am only now, in my thirties, beginning to see them as people. Not my providers anymore, although Dad still likes to pick up the bill for family outings. Not invincible super heroes who can make any cut, bruise or bump go away. But as real people, who have doubts, regrets, insecurities, and thoughts, feelings and hopes. Dreams, perhaps that they are still fulfilling for themselves, despite us children.

I know it's not Asian to befriend our parents. I know we all keep a lot of secrets from our own. But it shouldn't stop us from celebrating them.

So, when Atok turns one hundred, I will toast him with that elephant ride. After all, it can't be that hard can it? If we can build the tallest towers in the world for our nation that's not even half his age, why can't I find him an elephant?

Island Fever

Over the weekend, I went to Langkawi. And although the surf where I stayed was less than appealing, the ambience and lifestyle possibilities it dangled infront of me certainly gave me cause to pause. Once upon a time, our ancestors probably woke up every day to gorgeous views of the sea and islands, or trees and animals. At what point in our evolution did we decide to trade it all in for the concrete jungle? Or did this happen surreptitiously, without conscious efforts from us to separate ourselves and our lives from what are now mere vacation spots?

I met a Mat Salleh lady in Langkawi who runs a very established restaurant. She had sold the outlet's KL predecessor with the same name to someone else. And although the Langkawi branch "will never pay for itself", she would not trade the island life for a more financially comfortable one in KL. She also predicted that if I were to waitress for her, I would high tail it back to KL after two weeks.

Which leads me to wonder whether city living has become so ingrained in me that it oozes out of my pores, like some sort of pheromone. Is there an Eau de Cite? As opposed to my other half whom the Mat Salleh woman immediately took to. I think some people smell less city-fied. Come to think of it, I always associate my other half with the scent of water.

This year I turn thirty-five and my ambition for the next phase of my life is to become more financially self-sufficient. In reality, this means realising my ambition of becoming a lady who lunches. Anytime she wants. While her money just multiplies. Of course, there will be some effort on my part involved, but not in so much that it prevents me from shopping on weekdays and running off to a random island without being harrassed by constant phone calls from the office.

Part of this fantasy also involves owning a small piece of land on an island. I'll build a house there for vacationing. It will be my hideout. Although what I will be running away from once I am my own boss, I am not altogether sure of. Still, it's a great excuse.

The Dog's Breakfast

Something I heard today inspired a Machiavellian streak in me. I was told that as of the start of this New Year, residents of Subang Jaya can only apply for dog licences if they have written permission from their next door neighbours.

Of course, this was a mandate issued by the MPSJ on the q-tip. No public announcements, let alone discussions. So much for the new management. He must have been a private sector CEO in his previous life.

Which got me thinking about the fairness of it all. Forget even examining the implication of something like this on one's personal freedom. Apparently, residents of Subang Jaya have none. But, let's indulge the council folk for a moment. According to the council counter chick, the mandate was issued as a solution to the deluge of complaints they have been receiving from residents about their neighbours' dogs. Fair enough. Complaining is a citizen's right that is well-exercised in this country.

But in the spirit of fairness, why stop at dogs then? Why not make it a blanket rule for ALL pets? After all, one person's beloved kitty cat is another's stained sofa. And you can't even leash cats. Even better, why not broaden the concept of pets to include all manner of objects of affection? Crying babies, feisty mistresses, impatient drivers who like honking to make their maids open the gates.... Haven't we all at some point been kept awake/awakened rudely on a Sunday/entertained on a Saturday night by the same behaviour some of us despise of our neighbours' doggies? Howling for no apparent reason, barking orders at some perceived lesser creature, baying at the peak of the mating season.... confess, we all know some ONE who fits that bill on our own streets.

Imagine if I were Council Head for a day:
Council Rules For Pet Owners
1. Pets can only be kept on condition of express written consent from one's neighbours.
2. Pets must always be kept on a leash and muzzled in public.
3. It shall be the sole responsibility of pet owners to assume liability for any and all of their pets' public behaviours - ESPECIALLY if they offend thy neighbour.
4. Each home is limited to only one pet per 2500 sqaure feet of landed property or strata title.
5. All pets must always have licences displayed on said animal at all times. Failure to do so may result in pet owner being fined or pet subject to being impounded by the City Council.

Footnote:
Pets are defined as all living objects of affection. Inanimate ones presumably don't bother your neighbours. But if they did, they would probably be subject to review by the City Council too.

Imagine the implications.
Pharmacies would make a booming business out of birth control.
The adoption rate of children above crying-baby age would increase.
Mrs Tan's ten-year-old would be subject to very hefty fines for running under people's tables in a restaurant.
And mistresses would have to be leashed, their Poh Kong gold licence necklaces and all.

At least, a dinner outing in Taipan would then be worth enduring the mad traffic.

Corporate Government?

Corporate KL often moans about the inefficiency and lack of foresight displayed by the civil service. Us professional citizens love lording it above government servants about how disorganized they are, how un-service oriented their work culture is, and how we could probably run their departments better. Not to mention the twice-a-day tea breaks and numerous prayer breaks frontline government staff seem to take.

But are we really all that different?

After spending more than ten years in the Malaysian working world, all in the private sector, I'm not altogether sure anymore. For all you civil service officers, here's the real truth about corporate Malaysia:

1. We take tea breaks too. Only they're not at the mamak. You'll find us wandering around KLCC, all togged up in our work suits, having tea at Chinoz at three in the afternoon. We don't call them prayer breaks, we call them meetings.

2. We don't know what we're doing half the time either. The number of occasions when I've sat in meetings with CEOs (nothing less!), trying to decide crucial strategies based on nothing more than the CEOs' egos are too numerous to recount. We're very good at discussions. We debate all sorts of things, sometimes even the colour of ribbons and signing pens. But we never know if what we're doing will really work.

3. We ARE organized. That, you cannot fault us for by and large. Things get done, and in double-time. The trait of some of our larger corporations seems to be a strong belief in just-in-time execution. Dream up a brilliant idea, spend six months trying to work the bureaucratic red tape to get it approved, and voila! You're ready to go in two days. If you want to hold an event in a specific place and it's not available, it doesn't matter. Just kick the other person out.

4. We DO plan. With our gut feels, egos and experience. It doesn't matter if our instincts are perfidious. What matters is that we have opinions. Research? Who has the time or the money? Focus groups are more like it, but these are often quicker and cheaper if we get our own friends and relatives to be the subjects. That way, we are almost assured the outcomes will support our own agendas.

5. We ARE performance-based. Just don't ask us in what areas. If you're in corporate affairs (and this is no joke), your bonus is probably determined by the number of times your boss has been on the front page of The Edge or The Star or NST. If you're in Business Development, you better have a knack of making yourself available for your boss's last minute meetings. If you're in Sales, oh, take your distributors to karaoke - often. That way, when the boss raises your targets mid-quarter, you can always pull a favour from your distributors to load up on stock.

6. We understand protocol. Too well. It's not only Cabinet Ministers who get VIP treatment in Malaysia. Even the CEO of a small 100-person company can demand the same deference. Watch what happens next time you're out having dinner at some upper-middle class joint. Modesto's in Bangsar used to good for this. If you see a waitress bowing as a well-heeled man exits or enters, he's probably a Dato'. Or better, he's on his way to becoming one. And his office is nothing more than a first floor shoplot in some obscure area of Cheras. But he has a Mercedez S-Class, a chauffeur and a thug for a "bodyguard".

The new National Service programme is a perfect parallel of how government mirrors corporate KL. Announce something that impacts the lives of every Malaysian in a given age group. Implement it immediately, regardless of how it overturns life plans. Be inaccessible when it comes to those affected seeking information. THEN, begin your communications exercise.

Any Malaysian CEO could have done that. And they probably couldn't have done it better.

Three Degrees Of Separation

Everyone who reads knows who Norita Samsudin is. Or was, as would be the correct terminology in grammar. I've always found the past tense such a strange way of referring to the deceased. As if by dying they cease to exist as the person they were. If anything, I would think it makes more sense to do the opposite and refer to them in the present tense. After all, once you're dead, the only thing left is the memory of you, and that is immutable.

Or should be.

In the case of Norita, it's of course been proven otherwise. Who she was to some people ceased to exist the moment she became overnight news, when she was found naked in her apartment. But then again, the question becomes, was she really the person the media portrays her to be, or the loving daughter her family claims to know? Or were both figments of different people's imaginations?

If anything, I suppose her passing and the revelation of her private life have struck a chord in many KL-ites because they recognise their own many faces in hers. How many of us lead dual or more lives? Filial daughters and sons, flirty babes and bastards, power Melayu barus and new money Chuppies, caring sisters and indifferent brothers? Friday-praying Muslims and Saturday e-popping ravers? All this beneath the appearance of being "normal" - also translated as good, law abiding, religiously-grounded, earnestly employed citizens of a developing nation?

We pretend to be shocked at Norita's apparently wild lifestyle. We whisper about who she slept with and how it paid for her nice apartment. But if you scrape all that horror away, is what lies beneath really surprise? Or fear that someone like us was found out by the rest of the country?

In KL, every girl and boy has secrets - from their parents and bosses, lovers and siblings, best friends and enemies. Think about it. Some of us even have secrets from ourselves. How many wedding receptions have you been to where you know the groom got married to the bride because he felt it was time? And not because he was marrying you - the self-confessed love of his life?

This is the reality of our lives. Changes happen in KL at breakneck speed and we just get swept away in the moment. Until someone like Norita comes along and stops us dead in our tracks. And we realize that our pasts have not been left behind, but in fact are our short shadows on a blazing tropical noon.

The most telling bit of proof to me was this: between Norita and I, there are only three degrees of separation. And before this, I never knew her.

How many are there between you and her?

If you dare find out, ask yourself which one of your own selves is connected to her. And let that part of you have good, consenting sex. Then maybe, we'll all be a little closer to the truth.