Mission Unaccomplished... well, kinda...

I finally bit the bullet and did it... I went to Perhentian Island with the aim of securing a license as an Open Water Diver. But my nerves had other ideas. Literally.

The story starts about a year back, when I was diagnosed with Cervical Spondylosis:


Cervical spondylosis is a general term for age-related wear and tear affecting the joints in your neck. Also known as cervical osteoarthritis, this condition usually appears in men and women older than 40 and progresses with age. Although cervical spondylosis affects both sexes equally, men usually develop it at an earlier age than women do. -- MayoClinic.com


The result of my affliction are very confused nerves and an extremely knotted neck. Since the diagnosis, I have diligently strengthened the neck muscles with a morning ritual of neck stretches that relaxes me so much, I normally feel like crawling back into bed for a snooze. Hence, I had not given it a first thought, let alone a second, on how it would affect me on a dive adventure.

So, off I went to Perhentian (with mother in tow... a tale that I will leave for another day) and went through the first day with a breeze. On the second morning, it caught up with me. Although I didn't know it at the time, lugging 25kg worth of equipment strapped to my back would have a consequence that finally bear some painful results. Not sure of what I had done to trigger it, I had an excruciating pain shoot through my head like a bullet and if were indeed a bullet, I swear it would have gone through the roof of the head. This happened underwater and when I surfaced, I just about threw up everything except the tail ends of my intestines...

The symptoms were consistent with that of a migraine attack but the difference was that it did not last as long. I was ok after a chuck and a rest and continued again with another dive with no more problems for the rest of the day. Day 3 was a carbon copy of Day 2; it happened again in the morning and by evening I was good enough to continue with the best experience I have had yet with diving... I saw Nemo at home in a spot called Tukas Dalam and that was one modest mission accomplished.

Last day rolls around and I pass theory with flying colours. Time for the final dive and just TWO more skills to perform. We went out to Shark Point, I jumped off the boat first, gear and all. And while I waited for the rest, out of the clear blue sky, it happened again. And this time it was so bad that I knew I had to abort any further thought of diving for the rest of my last day on the island.

With two skills still incomplete, I am a certified Scuba Diver but not yet good enough to dive in Open Water. Now, I know what being caught in limbo means.

After consulting the doctor who first spotted my Spondylosis, my conclusion is that this blog entry is not yet ended. I shall have another one to write come September. But for now, I shall let Spondylosis rest in limbo.

Drilling the Molehill for Some Oil

Letter from my alter ego to the Editor of The Star, posted on 24th June 2008 but to date, remains unpublished:

It did get published! Here is the link until it gets removed. And am upset they didn't use my nama samaran!

Dear Editor,

I think PDAM (Petrol Dealers' Association of Malaysia) is making a mountain out of a molehill. Frankly, my first reaction upon reading the SMS alert and then the full reports on The Star Online was “oh dear, another one jumping on the crude oil bandwagon.” Disclaimer: I do not work for a credit card company. Therefore, I stand to gain nothing commercially from supporting the continued use of credit cards at the petrol pump. I am, however, a reluctant credit card user because I use it sparingly except when it comes to filling up at a petrol kiosk.

I use my credit card exclusively at petrol stations because it allows me the convenience of filling up with the least amount of hassle. It saves me an additional trip to the ATM to withdraw cash for the transaction. Which truncates the added danger of losing greater amounts of money should I be mugged (because no one can be too careful in today’s society, can they?). A credit card transaction also makes it transparent and accountable on which all details are automatically recorded and printed. It also makes it easier to reference in case of a dispute. Now, in this day and age of wonderful technology, why would PDAM want to go back to the techno-stone age? For a couple of sen?

Let’s also not forget that credit cards encourage greater spending (which explains my reluctance as a user) at the pump and at the convenience stores that have become ubiquitous at stations. Doesn’t this translate to higher consumer spend at PDAM outlets? Not to mention the convenience of filling a full tank as opposed to being limited to the amount of cash that one has at that point in time. Credit cards now have a built in convenience of loyalty programmes which drives customers back to certain brands petrol only, ensuring repeated and continued patronage.

And it can’t be that just because petrol prices have gone up, that their profit margins are disproportionately affected? I might be wrong on this but I can’t imagine their margins being so absurdly illogical or they might as well just give up the business, right? After all, who can afford to live on fresh air and sunshine these days?

It doesn’t take a genius to conclude this; the propensity of a credit card user to spend more at any petrol station is higher than a cash-only user. And credit card companies are trying to find yet other ways to drive consumers to buy more petrol on plastic. I would imagine that among those who will benefit greatly from all these efforts are the retailers who sell the petrol to these hungry consumers. Surely, that additional 0.8 sen per liter that they must now bear is a small price to sacrifice?

My two-sen worth.

J Lo

A Question of Mortality

I was at a friend's memoriam the other day. It wasn't a run-of-the-mill memoriam. It was at a pub and if the pub had a pool table, it would have been perfect... "Jen would approve" was the general sentiment. Jen was a year older and had passed on, mercifully, in her sleep. She simply went to bed and never woke up. And i thought to myself, "She was very lucky" and silently hoped the same mercy to be shown to me when my number is up. Which is when? Anyone's guess... When was my last med check? Hmm... better get the house gate painted for ma...

Today, another "friend" had left our midst. I did not know Toni well and had only occasion to speak with her via email. I have never even met her. But we were connected by association through events and common friends. Contemporaries. Peers. One of us.

And really, this time, the issue of questioning one's mortality was more apparent than ever. At the pub-hurray in Jen's memory earlier, a friend made a passing remark about how we have crossed the threshold into another age; when younger, it seemed to be "old" people who passed on. Grandparents, Uncles and Aunts, grandparents of friends... it was Jen's passing that first brought on the dawn of a new age. One that saw us mourning our own peers. People we knew and we had contact with. People who touched our lives and made some kind of impact. It wasn't about their grandparents anymore. It was about they themselves. It was about us. And ultimately, it was about me. Amongst us.

And it was Toni's passing that brought on the reinforcement that it wasn't a fleeting thing. If mourning the death of each friend is to bring on an introspective reflection of sorts, we had better start getting used to it. It is as if crossing age 40 was a physical act of moving into a new era.

As a child, I never understood the concept of death. As a teen, I experienced for myself the pain of its loss when all four of my grandparents died in succession. In my twenties, death was real but it was far away. Going into thirties, I wondered why the older ones talked about death and always relished in its morbidity. Now at forty, I realise that it isn't about relishing, nor is it about morbidity. It is a means for us to deal with its reality and the relish is in what that self-reflection compels us to observe, do and think because of it.

My mortality is temporary. But morbid, it is not.

Electoral Hangover

The elections are over and the dust is settling. Malaysia’s 12th General Elections saw a night of celebration and an opposition being drunk on promises of a new era, along with a ruling coalition who wished that they could sorrowfully drink themselves blind, coupled with a spectacular show of fireworks in famous defeats and some unbelievable victories. But now, I’m sure everyone’s quite hung-over and I shall leave the analysis of results to experts, of which I am not one.

Instead, I’d prefer to write about what I have learnt from these elections:

My vote really does count! It’s always been a familiar reminder but one that has never really meant much to me because no matter how many times I voted for my candidate of choice, he/she always lost! My surprise was not in how well the opposition performed this time but how many people I personally knew of, who took the time and effort to cast their ballot this time around. And this time, the popular voice prevailed. With voter turn out in the average 70s percentage, all those many voices made one clear statement.

What is the statement? Deduced from conversations over a latte or two, I think that many urbanites (or if you prefer, the more developed states) have opted for a change. And it wasn’t about the candidates. It was, as said by M Kayveas, about the badge that they wore. Latte drinkers in Bukit Bandaraya and Lembah Pantai are fond of Sharizat Jalil but many opted to vote against the “dacing”. Instead, voters opted for a 27-year old novice over a seasoned media-vixen, they turned the tide for a man who has been trying for the past 4 elections to beat Samy Vellu and even a guy who couldn’t campaign for his own cause because he is currently held behind bars on allegations of endangering national security.

And why was that? Because the “dacing” government has long deluded itself into thinking that the people are quite ok with the status quo. They have a narrow view of what the state of the general populace think of BN’s governance, the state of the economy, the state of security and the people’s opinions on social issues. They thought that by policing the press and allowing you hear what they want you to hear, they’d be ok. But it seems that they have been doing all the talking and none of the listening. They continued to shake hands and kiss babies while ignoring the youth and the burden of rising costs. They seemed to have thought that the country was doing really well but the people just didn't know it. Well, whatever. The people wanted a change nonetheless and now they have it.

So, how will this turn out in the next five years? It’s anyone’s guess, really. I think we’re not yet on the dawn of a new era. I think it's just past midnight and we still have five years to go before we can say for sure if we are on the brink of a new dawn. The opposition leaders have asked for a mandate to run things differently and now, for the first time in history, they have what they asked for. I can only hope that they deliver everything that they have promised. And at the end of their five year term, we’ll know if the change is for the better and here to stay. I hope so...

The Great Equality Debate…

(Also appears on Notes From Venus)

Sports Journalist, Kevin Noonan recently wrote:

Never in the history of sports has an event that meant nothing meant so much. More than three decades later, Billie Jean King is still amazed at the impact it had. There was no championship at stake, no prestigious trophy on the line, back in 1973 when King took on the late Bobby Riggs in an exhibition tennis match at the Houston Astrodome. As far as King was concerned, though, the prize for victory — and the penalty for defeat — was greater than any Wimbledon or U.S. Open final.

Noonan was, of course, writing about one single event, staged as nothing more than a feminist’s rise to a challenge or merely a gimmick (depending on which side of the fence you’re looking from). The term “Battle of the Sexes” was born in this showdown and while many saw it as malarkey, I bet none could have imagined that it would become the symbolic reference for gender equality through the following decades.

Fast forward to now: For the first time in 2006, the men’s and women’s singles champions at U.S. Open pocketed $1.2 million. Wimbledon was the last of the four Grand Slams to offer equal prize money, finally bowing to pressure to do so. The Australian Open was the first to offer equal prize to all levels (bless the Aussies) and now only the French Open remain to do the same, although they do pay only the eventual champions in both categories equally.

Yay! I’m all for equality. Equal pay for equal work. Or is it? Allow me to play Beelzebub’s Lawyer…

Men’s tennis at a Grand Slam event (there are four: The Australian Open, French Open, Wimbledon and the U.S. Open) can be a long-drawn affair. It is played to the best of five sets, meaning that a player has to win 3 sets out of five to win a match. The longest ever recorded was an astounding 6 hours 25 minutes!

Women, on the other hand, play to the best of three sets in a Grand Slam and when planning TV broadcast for a women’s match, an average of 1.5 hours is allocated. That’s a big, BIG difference in duration of play!

Which leads me into the next point of contention. Men are built to be physically stronger than women are. No matter how you argue it, when it comes to brute strength and physical endurance, men will easily outnumber women at a comparative level. They hit harder, run faster, their reflexes are quicker, center of gravity lower, etc. The ability for enduring hours and hours of grueling tennis seems to be the domain of men.

And then comes the most subjective of all arguments. Women have great marketing value off the court. Canon paid Maria Sharapova a pretty sum of money because her endorsement of their products must account for some form of returns (I’ll admit that I don’t have details but I can’t imagine it being far otherwise). But no matter how many digital cameras a female tennis star can help sell, would people (in the most general sense) tune in to watch her play tennis on TV?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love tennis and I personally enjoy and, in fact, prefer watching women play. I find more grace and finesse in women’s tennis compared to a men’s pure-power match. It is also more pleasant to the eyes although I must add that Sharapova’s grunting can be distracting. And yes, women do play shorter games, which to me, simply means that they have even less room for error. And that means they have to summon the very best they can play ALL the time. Survival of the fittest, if you must, but not in reference to physical strength but to mental tenacity.

But I am not the general-sense public, and if TV ratings can be believed, tennis (or any form of sport for that matter) tend to rate more highly when men play. Apparently, when Roger Federer earns a million bucks winning a tournament, it tunes viewers in. But when Amelie Mauresmo earns the same, they don’t… well, not as much anyway.

So, it’s not about rewarding equality. At the end of the day, an event organizer still needs to pay the bills. They do so with commercial money from ticket sales, sponsors, advertiser, TV rights, etc. And that ultimately boils back down to an audience. While it is fine to be shouting about gender equality, but if people aren’t watching women play tennis as much as they do the men, do women then deserve the equal pay?