Another week has passed. Yesterday marked the 19^th month since I left Malaysia. The daily images running across my mind now are those of the commercial buildings, shops, railway stations and parks surrounding the eastern suburbs of Melbourne. I can still imagine the tall buildings, the traffic jams, the pubs and clubs and offices of the CBD in KL but they are no longer images which come to mind easily. A few days ago, someone I regularly exchanged emails with described the roads she had to take to get to a law office. While I still know exactly what she was talking about, it didn’t come naturally or easily. I had to dig around the crevices of my mind to find those images.

This morning as I went to Kiddo’s room to draw the curtains, I stopped, just for a moment, and looked at a photo stuck to her mirror. It was a photo of kiddo with Theresa, holding Megan, a niece. Kiddo looked smaller, and much more like a kid then. Theresa looked fleshier, though she was never overweight. Photos don’t lie. They show how different we once looked. I bet if I picked out a photo of myself taken in Malaysia, and re-shoot that photo in the same clothes and in the same spot, the difference, the ageing difference, would be clear to all, especially myself.

I’m supposed to be relieved and happy, because after over 12 months, I am now fully qualified as a legal practitioner in Victoria, and am also allowed to practice anywhere else in Australia. I was admitted to the Supreme Court of Victoria on 23 May, 3 days ago. The office organised a lunch for the occasion, which is jointly celebrated with the 5^th anniversary of a colleague. I didn’t feel the same sense of elation as I did when I was admitted to practice in Malaysia, way back in 1991. An Advocate and Solicitor. I had the misfortune to be admitted while Eusoff Chin was presiding. He had a less than rosy reputation and was badly tainted with suggestions of corruption. I didn’t realise it at that time of course, in fact I recall his message then was that we should be a contributing member of the community, and that we were to act in the best interest of the community. Chief Justice Warren, the Chief Judge of the Supreme Court of Victoria however, had a different message on 23/5. She said the most important duty for a lawyer is to administer justice according to the Rule of Law. Hers was certainly a purer message. I had a discussion with another colleague yesterday (also a recent Malaysian departee) who didn’t think Eusoff Chin’s exhortations were planned. I thought he could have been laying out his plans even then, to make the legal profession a pawn who would serve the interests of the community, a notion which would of course be vague enough to be interpreted according to one’s own agenda. Like I said, I preferred Chief Justice Warren’s sermon.

So things move ahead. God continues to work His miracles. This morning as I covered another 9.2km in 45 minutes, I realise my heart, knees and back all held up with only the slightest signs of protests. These are further confirmations that God continues to work His miracles. Yesterday, after a busy morning and the whole afternoon in court in the city, I managed to crawl back to office after 5.30, quickly returned a few phone calls, briefed the boss about what happened in court and still managed to get home in time to cook dinner for the family by feverishly peeling, slicing, chopping and stirring away, wash up, bring in the clothes, bring in the garbage bin, make lunch and settle down for the Australia v Greece game with a beer in hand. Or two. (World Cup 2006 warm up game for the Socceroos – quite a good game, the Aussies looked a much improved team and should give the Japs and Croatians a good run for their money. Brazil on the other hand, remains untouchable) That too, was a miracle.

So life would chug along, I suppose. We continue to change (euphemism for age), circumstances continue to change, World Cups come and go, and God continues to work His miracle so that we survive despite everything. The wise man in Ecclesiastes think all this is meaningless but I think the very circle of life makes life interesting. For now.

I was up early on Thursday morning, and by the time I was in the gym I quickly went on the treadmill closest to the television showing the Arse-Barca game. Eh? Almunia? Where was Lehman? Must be injured. Arse 1-0? Expletive. I was hitting full stride at 12km per hour and Ronny has yet to turn on his magic. Whoa! 10 men? Lehman was sent off! Yes! Who was the sacrificial lamb then? Pires? Oh did he dive out of the pitch? Hehehe. 15 minutes to go. Come on Barca!

Then Larson took a pass with his back to goal, just outside the 6-yard box. It was almost like he just stuck out his right foot and let it deflect off onto the path of Eto’o, who took one touch and smashed it past Almunia’s inside post with his right foot. 1-1. I jabbed a fist in the air as I stepped up my own pace. 80^th minute. Larson again. He took only a moment to see this fellow running into the 6-yard box, but this time on the right. Pilleti was it? He was a full back. Should have been obvious, the way he smashed the ball into the leg of Almunia. It deflected off into the roof of the net. This time I waved both fists in the air even as I was running hard on the treadmill.

The commentator spoke with I don’t know, probably north east English accent. That wasn’t the giveaway, however, that he was an Englishman. It was the way he praised Arsenal’s fighting spirits and lambasted the referee no end. You would have thought Barca out-cheated, out-dived, out sour-pussed Arsenal into winning. Barca had 11 men plus the referee, I could almost hear him say. Come one…

I saw the repeat and saw Lehman’s foul on Eto’o. Sure, the red card was probably a little harsh but the ref could have played the advantage rule and given Barca the goal? So that’s even, I’d say. You have to admit though that this Lehman fellow was just living out a German goalie tradition of up-ending strikers, maybe even pole-axing them. Remember the other Schumacher in WC 1982? What was the French striker’s name again?

The Pommie then suggested Barca’s equaliser was off-side. Hmm… how was Eboue’s dive? Straight out of Arsenal training ground. Earned them a freebie which Henry floated on for Sol to soar. So that’s even too, I guess. The Pommie wasn’t done yet (I think it was Andy Gray – the guy who mouths “derreble deefiending” in Pro Evloution Soccer –a PS2 game). He then suggested Pilleti was so lucky because his shot was going out and Almunia’s leg helped it in. Aiyoh – that’s “derreble commendary” la.

What can I say – Barca aped Man Utd. Only, they didn’t have the guts to leave it as late as possible. Well done, Frank. Now say thank you. For showing you how to do it and for letting us allow Ronny to join your team…

It’s Friday 4.45pm and I’m done…

Lately I’ve been getting this feeling that Theresa has hit a bit of a rough patch. She has been making the occasional remark which suggests regret of leaving Malaysia. It all started a few days before Mother’s Day (last Sunday) and it probably hit rock bottom on Sunday itself, when I was pushing her to telephone her mother for Mother’s Day.

It may be the cold which has set in – it has been around 8-10 degrees in the morning lately and I have had to turn on the central heating just before I leave for the gym, so that kiddo can wake up to a warmer house. In fact she said as much. She hates the cold. She thinks it is stupid of us to leave warm, sunny Malaysia to come to this cold misery.

Of course, we are inclined to remember only the good things. Yes, Malaysia is mostly warm. And humid. Oh was it humid? She probably forgot that. I understand recently, it has been pouring in KL, especially early afternoon. Apparently, there are the inevitable traffic nightmares after each deluge. We have forgotten that, too. There’s a volcano in Java about to erupt. I guess Malaysia doesn’t need that sort of drama for a blanket of suffocating haze to choke the lives out of everyone there. I guess we have forgotten that, too. We only remember how warm (we forget it can get pretty hot) it was.

Yet, it hurts me. It hurts to see my wife hurting, whatever the cause. Last night as we huddle together and watched television, she said again how much she hated the cold. Kiddo responded by saying she would never return to Malaysia. Kiddo loves it here and from our conversation last night and from my office experiences, you’d think she is the only one who does. Right at this moment she is at a friend’s house, doing homework. She has numerous mates from school and church and she enjoys being with them, even if she didn’t particularly excelled in the activities they were engaged in (she was bowling last Friday night and returned a “record breaking” score. I’m not allowed to disclose the score.)

I’m not sure I would be always completely certain that moving down under to Melbourne was the best thing to do. It is always a balance of probabilities issue. If I look at the consistent polarisation of Malaysian society, the unspoken but certain Islamisation, the economic and political mish-mash corruption, the haughty attitude of the dominant race and the corollary of excluding of the minority races, I can only tell myself there can be no mistake about our decision to leave. Sure, these things have been happening since God-knows-when and at any one point in time it is a matter of degree only. Sometimes it is worse, sometimes it isn’t so bad. Well, even not-so-bad is not tolerable. I don’t want kiddo to grow up in this sort of society.

So, I will go out of my way to pamper the wife, comfort her, keep her warm and tell her Melbourne has been better. Cold mornings notwithstanding. My unhappy work notwithstanding.

 

The sensational news around Australia this morning, especially in Beaconsfield Tasmania, is that of the rescue of the trapped miners.

After 2 weeks trapped almost 1km underground, they emerged early this morning, almost totally unscathed. Amidst the jubilation, there were moments of sadness as well, when everyone reminded themselves that one man did perish, when the mine first collapsed 2 weeks ago, on Anzac Day.

It was in this context that one of the rescuers interviewed on radio this morning mouthed these very wise words – there is always good news and bad news.

Yes, that seems like such a simple lesson in life yet we allow bad handling and all sorts of bad permutations between these two bag fulls of truth, to make our lives miserable. We either live to make every moment a good news moment or wallow badly in bad news. We either let sure-to-arrive bad news to sour good news presently at hand, or let present good news go to our head. If only we master the art of balancing our approaches to the fact that there will always be good news as well as bad, we’d be half way back to Eden. I think.

·               Interest rate went up 25 basis points yesterday. Leading economists had until yesterday, said there were no compelling reasons for it to go up, and were confident the Reserve Bank would not increase rates. I guess experts can be wrong. The Reserve Bank realised their action was against expectations and so would release their statement as to the rationale for the increase. I cant imagine Bank Negara reacting in this way.

·               The 2 miners trapped in an underground gold mine (about 1km underground!) in Tasmania (a town called Beaconsfield) are still there. They were supposed to be out earlier this week but the rescuers thought slow-and-steady is the way to go, in case they cause a collapse and kill the poor men. Now they are scheduled to be out tomorrow. I can imagine the small town suddenly swamped with rescue teams, medical personnel, reporters, television crew and the like. All there to help bring about and report a miracle.

·               The cardinal of Sydney, George Pell, was reported to have said that the Koran encourages violence. That’s going to go down really well with Sydneysiders, especially those in places like Lakemba and Cronulla. Some in Melbourne would hop on and make their views known as well, no doubt.

·               Macca is England gaffer! Good on you, Stevo. Who would Boro replace him with? Alan Pardew? Tonight Australia play New Zealand in a trans-Tasman battle of… was it Rugby League or Rugby Union…

·               An ex-colleague of Theresa recently won a competition and went to Old Trafford! Hope he didn’t but anything from the Mega Store. Better bargains and more interesting merchandise can be bought outside the complex, some stalls are always outside, near the Lou Macari fish and chips shop. I don’t think the trip included Carrington – he would have stood a better chance at seeing some players there, but not Wayne Rooney. He would be inside an oxygen chamber, albeit in Carrington. May he not heal in time for the World Cup. It is more important he is fit and ready for the start of next season in the EPL.

·               Jeff Kennet, an ex premier, is mulling over a comeback. He was premier from 1992 – 1999, got booted out in a general election won by the current premier Steve Bracks, and is back in the picture to replace Rob Doyle who quit as leader of the opposition yesterday. Yawn…

·               Kiddo was down with a bad cold this morning. It has been building up since early this week. Sleeping late last night (her only concession in the week, to watch The Amazing Race) didn’t help I guess. But she remained her usual cheery (relatively) self. So all in it has been a challenging week for us – I had a rough couple of days at work and things continue to look challenging in terms of relationship with the principal. I think Theresa has some issues as well, but I’m not sure what these are and how severe they may be. I’m looking forward to the weekend for some recuperation and catching up with her.

 

A few days ago Theresa and I were scanning the newspapers, it was the day after a horrific crash between a semi trailer and a train took place somewhere in Ararat, to the west of Melbourne in country Victoria. Two persons died and almost 40 were seriously injured.

Yet, the newspaper we were reading had, as its front page headline, the story about the soldier who died in Iraq. Private Kovco was shot under mysterious circumstances and died in his own room. Then the return of his cortege to Melbourne was bungled – he got stuck in Kuwait while some other person’s body was shipped to Melbourne. On Saturday his body finally made it to Melbourne and that was the front page headline story. Not that of the horrific crash.

Neither of us are journalists so we cant fairly comment but we both felt it was strange the story about the crash was not thought of as a better story than that of the late Private Kovco. No disrespect to that soldier, but the story of his death was already several days old. The only reason it had continued media interest was the bungling of the return of his body, and of course, how he actually died.

I don’t know if this cast any light on the Australian psyche, and as we were not media persons, we didn’t bother what the other papers carried as front page stories that morning. We had The Age and the Herald Sun is, I think, a more popular and better read paper.

When we had that dinner 3 nights ago (see previous blog), one of the youngsters used the term “potong stim”. One of the not-so-young asked what that meant. To demonstrate my relative youth I attempted an answer. The youngsters were respectful enough not to challenge my answer. I guess I was right.

That has given me confidence to now use this term to describe how I now feel about my present work. A colleague went on paternity leave on Monday. He was a litigation lawyer. As his files got distributed around, I landed a few – all of them litigation stuff, of course. One was an employment law matter so I was on less strange grounds, having done a little bit of employment law matters recently – enough to avoid looking like a complete goose. The rest were building dispute stuff. I know jack-all about building dispute. There are various types of building and construction contracts, various types of insurance policies for building constructions, even various types of builders warranty insurance. And then there are various bodies, including the Building Commission which itself is governed by a stadium full of rules.

Trying to wrestle with all these issues mean, of course, that my own work suffers. Like…potong stim. On top of that, the boss is his usual savage self in his review of my drafts, not entirely because I was wrong. I am so tired now. I’m tired of battling this sort of stuff.

Yet, I’m thrilled I have these battles. I’m thrilled to have these challenges every day. I guess I have learned (and continue to learn) the lesson of the no-shoe-better-than-no-leg story. Of course I yearn to do other types of legal work. I wish I could do some corporate/ banking/securities law again. Yet, to be able to do this is a blessing. I guess as long as I can, I will battle on. I don’t know how long. I guess I will just plod on for now, potong stim or not.

            Last night we had dinner in this place called “Colours” in Forest Hill. It was a typical Chinese suburban restaurant but with a couple of elderly Greek/Italian blokes singing some old jazzy tunes. We were there to celebrate two occasions. It was Theresa’s Auntie Hooi’s birthday as well as Uncle Seng/Auntie Ann’s wedding anniversary.

            After dinner they decided to visit our home. I had a beer at home before going to dinner, had about 3 glasses of champagne and 3-4 glasses of wine during dinner and so was primed to go straight to bed after dinner. The decision to adjourn to our home made that somewhat difficult. It also meant the drinks would continue to flow.

            They came over and 2 hours and several more servings of alcohol later, I stood outside our house as I see them sped off in their cars, driven in the usual manner of those who have had a long night out.

            We cleared up the place very quickly and by the time we crawl into bed, I was so gone. I woke up this morning therefore, with great difficulty. I had loads to do this morning and I didn’t need this sort of preparation. Especially when my mood at work has been damp recently. Sigh… Will go and catch some coffee now – it’s lunch time…