You don't remember me, do you?

How do you remember faces and names of all the people you have met throughout your life?

I do face this predicament and dilemma all the time and I am at my wit's end trying to rectify it. You see while I consider myself as a practising engineer, I do teach, or perhaps a better word for it would be 'instruct'. My students, if I can call them as such, range from university professors, and graduate students to practising engineers especially in the oil and gas industry throughout South East Asia, I guess.

Typically my classes would have 10-12 attendees, and if I had conducted say 5 courses yearly on average, I would have crossed path with at least 500 engineers during my 11 years working life with this Canadian company. This is not to mention the engineers I have met during business meetings. So how do one remember their their names and faces?

It is used to be easy. During the training, I typically would be hoping that they would have their name tags (this is a norm here in Malaysia) and I would be doing my level best to take a peek at the tag everytime I forget their name. I would also be hoping that they would not change seat, I would have put name to each table in my mind. Of course, secretly I would hand-draw a map of the seating arrangement with everybody's name in it.

So during the 3-5 day training, I would look like the professor of remembering everybody's name!

I have read a couple of articles on remembering names and faces. Look for their distinct features, I am told, or the clothes they wear, their hair etc etc. Note the long nose, or the big ears or a peculiar eyes, or funny flowery shirt (here we call them batik!). For names, try and make 'fun' of the names. Yeah, like my former English teacher Mr Subra who used to call me Harakiri for obvious reason.

But don't make that publicly please. Thinking out loud is not allowed at this stage. Some of them are definitely offensive. Do it only in your mind.

Somehow even with these techniques, my memory seems to fail me more often than not. Pretty face or otherwise!

I was at an oil company training centre this week and during lunch, or Zohor prayer at the surau, I knew I was bound to meet old friends/clients. For sure, it had to happened. He was of the same batch with me when we joined the company way back 21 years ago. I remember the face, but not the name. Another was a client who had an office about 7 floors above us at Empire Tower. I remember their faces - I knew I had met them somewhere.

He saw me, acknowledged it, and said, "You remember me, right?"

I smiled, and said, "Of course I know you," but at that point I was studying his face intently and using all my memory bank to put a name to the familiar face. He looks familiar but I can put the location and occasion that I might have met up with him.

Much as I tried, putting names to their faces, but I simply could not.

In the end, I must say he looked a bit disheartened by my failing eventhough he did say he understood my predicament by saying as an instructor, I would have come across too many faces and names to remember.

Yes agree, but I would not take that as an excuse.

I had gone through that myself. Meeting old primary schoolmates, at least one person did not remember my existence at all. He kept on saying he could not remember, much as the others were trying to jog his memory.

But alas...

Anne, the wife of my business partner Peter, simply had this to say to her husband when he was in the same predicament as this writer. "You just don't care, do you?" she said, "that's the reason why you can't remember their names or faces!"

She is definitely right. I am guilty as charged!

There is no two way about it. How else would you describe a teacher who had been teaching all her life (say for 35 years) but could remember everything we did 20-30 years ago? She would have crossed path with thousands and thousands of students, many of us non-descript, and yet she can tell me better about thing that happened during all those years.


Well, I guess she is a teacher through and through, and like Anne says, she cares.


EPILOGUE


This song is in some sense related to the above topic. In fact, I stole the title from the lyric of this classic from Hot Chocolate. I love it when he sings "You don't remember me, do you?"

It was a painful moment for him.Here is part of the lyric.

Walking down the streets again,

The star of my love story

And my heart began to beat so fast,

So clear was my memory

I heard my voice cry out her name

As she looked, and looked away

I felt so hurt, I felt so small,

It was all that I could say

You don't remember me, do you?

You don't remember me, do you?

You don't remember me, do you?
You don't remember me, do you?

Coke of the 70s

A piece of history is making a return.

Years ago when we were kids, the only 'branded' drink I can remember is the Kickapoo. There was no Pepsi, no coke, no 100 Plus - or at least I can't remember those brands in the early 70s when I was growing up in Lenggong.

Of course then, we can drink water directly from the tap and I believe it is as good as the Perrier!

Living in such small town and during such simplistic time however have its rewards. I remember buying soda drinks for 20 cents or less during those day - may be for even 10 cents. I don't remember no more.

So I was surprised today when I saw a stack of drinks in the mobile stall of my favorite pau seller. I thought he was selling kicap, but upon enquiry, I was told that it is air loncat. I had no idea what's air loncat, but I was told it was basically homemade soda.

These are exact replica in term of physical bottles and taste of the drink we used to buy at Kedai Pak Lah, at the edge of Lenggong in the early 70s. I don't know that anyone still make them. To be honest, I don't know that anyone would still buy them.

The ice-cream soda is excellent!

Except yours truly of course, for old time sake!

It has been 12 long months

Prologue

I guess for now, I will recycle this article I wrote which should have been written for the anniversary. But I posted this much earlier and I guess I would need to update it to make it an anniversary entry.

I guess there are advantages and disadvantages at both 360 and blogspot. There are certain things I love at 360 (like the fonts), but I guess many more bloggers are at blogspot, so why not. It is also easier to attach pictures and the likes at blogspot, so I guess I would try and make this as my permanent site. I guess in this age, nothing is permanent, but you know what I mean.

This is an edited version to suit the occasion.

Confession of a Serial Blogger

You know I would love to tell you that I thought I could make the world a better place by voicing my opinion over the net - that my opinion somehow would make a difference to the people of Africa, Palestine, Iraq and especially of us in Malaysia. Bla bla bla, yadda yadda yadda...you get my drift.

Or that I would become the next Jeff Ooi or Rocky of the Rocky's Bru fame.

Or that there is so much wisdom in my story mory that so many people can learn lifetime lessons from me.

Fat chance.

Actually I was tricked into blogging.

You see, while I do love to write, I had never actively and consistently written over a long period of time. Typically it was done whenever I have free time, or when there is a sudden burst of inspiration (which is more of an exception than the rule), or if I am honest to myself, whenever I was trying to fight off sleep at the peak of the graveyard’s shift in the mid to late 80s.

Then I was a Mat Kilang (as opposed to Minah Karen) - albeit an educated one at that, if I may add.

So as frequent as it rains in the Kalahari, I would hit the jackpot and the NST would pay me for my article, and for every paycheck, I would be able to lunch myself at the canteen for the next one month. During the dry season however, which is the norm in the Gobi, I would be working through my lunch hour.

Life as a struggling freelance writer!

During the 1990 Thomas Cup final lost to China, I hit the jackpot with an article criticizing BAM and Elyas Omar entitled “Basking in glory over nothing”. Another sport article condemning Raja Ahmad (Zainuddin, then of Perak FA) soon appeared and I was flushed with Nestle’s products. I don’t recall the title anymore, but if I were to write that now I would call it “The mentally unsound should not be holding public office."

Mind you, while it may looks like I was a armchair’s critic, most of my arguments were sound (take it with a pinch of salt ok!) and hence NST picked them up and published it. Of course there is no rule that prohibits the mentally unsound from writing articles for a mainstream newspaper.

I had never thought of blogging then. I didn't know how to do it and I knew I didn't have the time. Struggling through daily work, and then in the early millennium, through my MBA classes, I had never bat an eye lid seeing the mushrooming of blogs in the internet. I was quite contented writing for submission to my lecturer so that they could grade me and award me another piece of paper.

So when a friend sent me a note inviting me to visit her blog early last year ("Did u get my invite to 360? Masukla n c," she said), I was excited about it. There was this introductory article about her wondering what to write and a short note to her former colleague at Bank Buruh (which to this writer was the Bank who introduced him to the stock market).

Then she said, "Nanti u try la. Can b quite engrossing." Since she was the numero uno in the English language in class in the 70s, and if she thought I could do it, then why not? It may not necessarily be better than hers, but it’s something I could call my own.

So the very same day I took pen to paper and wrote something about the plumeria or kemboja. That was Jan 27, 2007, 11 hours after this friend cheekily challenged me that I should write too.

So here I am 12 months, 118 articles and 52,000 words later – if you can call those ramblings and rantings articles. To be honest, she must be having the laugh of her life (something like this ); laughing about how gullible this friend of hers was. She puts that article as bait, and I bought them all – lock stock and barrel!

I am stuck in this vicious cycle of writing and posting, and I am not seeing an end to this unpaid job. I know I can't get rid of my day's job, and I know I can't make a living out of my night's job.

I would never have thought I would get going for this long, but I am thankful to Him for giving me the opportunity in the past 12 month to put my thought in writing.

If nothing else, Arif and Akmal would have something to read if ever they were to close down Kinokuniya - as Bro Zawi has said in his blog Life as I see It, "long after I am gone".

EPILOGUE

I guess just for the record I would like to post a couple of comments I got on my writing.

One of the most treasured comment or complimentary I got was from a former English teacher of mine. She said, " I have visited your blog. Enjoyed reading your work. Very impressed! I like the issues you dealt with, light and refreshing."

Thank you Cikgu.

You know, coming from a true blue (English) teacher, that comment means a lot to me.

Another friend said, "I like reading your work - it is like reading newspaper. But you weren't much of a writer at school."

Well, I don't read mainstream newspaper nowadays, so I am not sure if that's a compliment or otherwise!

Another said, "I like your account on Murai."

Thanks sis.

OK 'nuff said. It is for the record only, and nothing else

The Queen of Kooyong

So Sharapova is back in the final of the Australian Open.

I have not followed tennis for sometime now. To be honest, I lost interest, and prefer to just read the newspaper the next day if Fed-ex were able to add more to his grand slam. Don't get me wrong - I am waiting for the day when he overtakes Sampras in that department.

But I guess that will not be at this year's Australian Open.

In my years in Australia, I was hooked on tennis much earlier than I was cricket. It was a no brainer. Cool-iced Borg was at the peak of the rivalry with the hot-tempered McEnroe. Unfortunately for me, Borg was on the way down, so the last final we saw of him, he lost to McEnroe.

However, that didn't deter me from watching tennis, as there was a tennis star worthy of her place at the tennis' hall of fame.

Watching Chris Evert in action was like watching poetry in motion. She was beautiful and she was graceful. I would sit in my house at Bourke St in Leederville Perth, with my eyes fixed on her on the telly. I would buy tennis magazines that would have her on the cover.

Never mind that I had never touched a tennis racket in my whole life (then).

Moving on t0 Melbourne, Kooyong (which was just 30 mins train ride from Monash), then the home of the Australian Open, I could not find a friend who would accompany me to the Open to watch her. I didn't ask actually - I know they would laugh at me for wanting to watch her. I couldn't - I was a member of their usrah group!

One thing about Chris Evert, she was not as aggressive as Martina Navratilova. In fact they were so opposite. Martina to my eyes was a 'man'. Of course Chris being the 'lady' had difficulty coping with Martina's athleticism. Chris Evert was basically a baseliner who would wait for the opponent to make mistake.

She typically played a patient game. At times, baseliner may a be a bit boring to watch, but it is definitely not boring to watch Chris Evert.

And obviously, she was more fun to watch than Martina, for the obvious reason!

I had followed her career (18 grand slams, behind Margaret Court, Steffi Graff and Helen Wills) and life (from afar of course). I thought she and Jimmy Connors were an item then, but in the end, they didn't get married. She instead married John Llyod.

Now in her fifties, she had just gotten engaged with another great Australian, the Great White Shark - Greg Norman.

Well that was the 80s, and I guess nowadays people would be following another great tennis player, the beautiful (of all time?) Maria Sharapova.

Luckily for me, when I started working on my own, the first thing I did was getting rid Astro, so I cannot be watching her on the telly no more.

Of course in the look department, no one can beat Maria Sharapova. From tennis perspective though, I thought highly of Justine Henin, but I guess people - make it I - don't watch tennis simply to watch their skills.

Ah well, men will always be men.

But there will only be one queen of Kooyong for me.

EPILOGUE

Then again, later on in my student life, cricket took over my sporting passion with Allan Border and co being the in-thing for me, never mind that the Australian team was as bad as the current Liverpool team. Nowadays though, irrespecctive of whether or not Maria Sharapova ended up as the princess of Australian open, Manchester United is the only news for me, sport-wise.

The mountain, to the climber, is clearer from the plain

(picture courtesy by En Low Wai Chong - thank you sir)

What a week it was!

It was a plane hopping exercise to be honest. Nothing more, nothing less. Four cities in 5 days, excluding KL of course. (But I am not talking about London, Paris and New York here of course, just in case you would think that I am trying to mislead you. My travels have never been that glamorous!)

I have always enjoyed my trip to the other side of Malaysia. To me, it is untouched and unspoilt, the way the Peninsular was in the 70s and early 80s - until greed tears us apart. Strolling in KK and Bintulu, albeit without purpose, is an exercise in humility. One would see and feel the sincerity of the people, many of them yet to be touched by the pursuit of worldly wealth, but in themselves are the richness of life unseen no more on our side of the peninsular.

This is however slowly but surely eroding away in Borneo.

Nonetheless, a whirlwind trip to anywhere is always not advisable, so the daily flight at 7 am didn't help. It is not good for the body, waking up daily at 4 am, I know that. But beyond that, the trip was not was not of bone breaking nature.

I still have the time to stop and smell the roses, so to speak.

So we went to Kundasang.

I have always loved the mountain. To me, they are to be admired, and of course respected. They are the backbone of this planet earth, without which this mother earth of ours would simply disintegrate. To me too, the mountains near Calgary would be one of my two choices of place for my retirement, never mind that the winter may be a bit harsh.

But they are so beautiful that they are heaven on earth.

So are the mountain ranges at the Kinabalu Park. You would see 5 or 6 different ranges in the background, with the different hue and shades denoting their distance.

Scenery postcards are made of!

So I was cursing my luck and lamenting to the organizer that I was not told of the trip beforehand for me to bring my own camera. It is very seldom I didn't bring the cam to all my trips. I was basically a 'trigger-happy' guy and a hoarder in as far as pictures are concerned!

I have melted many times over that day - like ice cream on a hot summer day, when I saw this view. If only...

It was so beautiful that I was wishing that I could open an office here with me punching my computer in the valleys of Kinabalu, trapped between the foliage and insects and leave the KL office be manned by my engineers. Let them battle the KL traffic daily, while I immerse myself fully with nature.

Oh, sorry, I was day dreaming.

EPILOGUE

The title is a quote by Khalil Gibran, the most famous Egyptian poet, philosopher, artist. This is one quote I remember from years ago studying English literature at high school (MRSM KB). And it should be reflective of our journey to the foot of Kinabalu that day.

We didn't see KInabalu but the cloud.

P Ramlee on his songs

For the first time, I laughed incessantly and loudly in public!

I was browsing Kinokuniya this afternoon, enroute to the Education Fair at KLCC, and decided to take a peek at the Malay section. I have not been there for nearly a month.

I saw a book entitled "P Ramlee, Bapaku". I picked it up and started reading the back cover to get an idea of the content. As usual with any book store, the book is sealed to ensure no one would get free reading.

I have a couple of books on P Ramlee, and I thought may be this would spice up my book collection in my library.

I laughed when I read the back cover. It has the following story about P Ramlee and his son Nasir.

Bapa dan saya sering berbicara dalam bahasa pasar 'gua' dan 'lu'. Pada satu hari, saya bertanya kepada bapa, "Kenapa lu asyik bikin lagu cinta, nama perempuan, dan bunga? Gua tak minat." Lalu P Ramlee naik radang, lalu berkata dengan nada marah, "Ada tiga sebab kenapa gua bikin lagu macam tu. Satu, gua punya suka lah. Yang kedua, lu anak tak guna sebab tak tau menghargai hasil karya bapa sendiri. Yang ketiga, berjuta orang suka lagu gua, dan bila gua mati nanti, lagu-lagu gua akan menjadi lagu klasik."

Well, what can I say? I can quite imagine him saying that, but PRamlee is PRamlee. There is no doubt of the whole truth of his statements.

EPILOGUE

I wish I have copied a letter written by P Ramlee to Saloma, which was exhibited at Pasar Seni 15 years ago (when I was still working at Dayabumi). I must say I was really impressed with his English - I mean he wrote a beautiful love letter to her in Queen's English.

If only they would reprint it. I am sure many could learn from him on this aspect of life!

Selat Melaka bukan pemisah

So Bapak Presiden is here in Malaysia.

So there had been many issues affecting bilateral relation between the two nations, and somehow they have affected the people-to-people relationship. Somehow, I do think many of them were over-hyped and sensationalized.

Personally, I don't have any problem with the Indonesians per se and I don't think we all do. In fact, I can count on many of them as my friends. Friends who would invite me to their home whenever I was in their town, and friends I would invite for a meal at my own home here in KL.

The writer in Bontang - a remote Kalimantan gas town with a Badak engineer and his family at their home. Nice bungalow with two maids and a gardener, something I can never afford in KL. This is circa 1997, and his name escapes me at this moment. Maaf Pak. Sudah lama kita nggak ngobrol, iya.

If I were to meet them by chance at Sukarno-Hatta, or at any bandara for that matter, many would greet me with a title "Pak Guru." Personally I think the Indonesians are the most polite people (other than Japanese) on the face of the earth and that Malaysians (including me) are typically 180 degrees opposite.

I don't get the same red carpet treatment from anywhere else.

"Pak Guru" with his understudies at the end of a training session at Lemigas in Jakarta, circa 1996.

I should know. I have been frequenting Indonesia since 1994 and have travelled the length and breadth of the country. I am proud to say too that I have done the Friday prayers at many different mosques in Indonesia, more than what I have done in Malaysia. Aceh - the nothern most part of Indonesia, yes I have prayed Jumaat there; Medan, sure. Kg Haraban near Bukit Tinggi, and in Padang too (both in Sumatra Barat), mosques in Pekan Baru, and Dumai (both in Riau), mosques in Palembang, Sumatra Selatan.

In Jakarta, of course the Istiqlal, not to mention other smaller mosques and even in office building. Cirebon, Balongan, Jogja, Bandung are some of the cities I have been having my solat. Banjarmasin, Balikpapan and Bontang in Kalimantan, I have been to all.

I have stayed and do training for one months for their engineers in Jakarta, partially during the fasting month.

I have known one client (who later on became a good friend) - a big sized Batak named Simanjuntak. To be honest, he is perhaps the friendliest person that I have ever met. He would acknowledge me from the other end of Sepinggan Airport when I had only met him once - and everybody looked at me when he shouted my name when he saw me. As if I was his long lost friend!

I remember talking to one by the name of Ricky in the small oil town of Dumai in Riau. He once told me, "Pak Rahman, saya suka sama Ziana Zain, Fauziah Latif dan Ning Baizura." I smiled at him. "Waduh, Pak Ricky, kok suka sama yang cantik-cantik saja," I teased him.

"Well, not really," he responded, "Ning tidak cantik."

He was right (Sorry Ning!). But one can imagine the closeness of the relationship between the people of the two nations.

Another friend, Nurul - he, yes he is a he, is from Madura, told me during a phone chat some eight years ago, how our songbird Siti Nurhaliza was on telly the night before. "I wish she is Indonesian," he said. He was going ga-ga over her singing.

I laughed at him. "Yeah, right. Fat chance we would allow that to happen," I said.

So what's the problem really?

Government to government perhaps?

The one month training in Jakarta in 1997. We did our fasting together too. This is a time when my hair is still black.

EPILOGUE

The title of Pak Guru is just a term of endearment and I know it does not reflect my standing in the industry. I brought it up just to show just polite they are vis-a-vis us Malaysians. That's all.