The Employer I worked longest for was a company called Phileo. It was a name derived from a Greek work meaning brotherly love. A bit like mateship I guess.

Last night I received an email from an ex-colleague. From Phileo, so he was a mate. He mentioned a recent lunch he had with a few other ex-Phileo employees. The names all brought back different, but by and large fond, memories. There were a few others not at the lunch. Of those who were, I have been in contact with 2-3 of them, from time to time.

It was great to hear of mateship like that. It is now 5 years since the banking arm of Phileo was sold. The name of the Company changed soon after that sale, and most of us left before that. I was one of the last to leave, when I finished in end 2001. Yet after we all left, we continued to hook up – lunches, drinks, dinners. They were always good times. I’d say we are all mates. I can imagine during this, World Cup season, they would probably be talking about football and betting pools. All good natured of course. These are all very nice people.

Yes, I do go on about ageing, about getting old, but it is true. This mate of mine, in his email last night, mentioned that he would be retiring not long from now (I suggested to him about coming to Melbourne to retire). He also mentioned that for that lunch, one of them turned up in crutches, having torn a ligament in a tennis game. I’m losing my hair and teeth but not my weight. We all age!

Just before I read that email, Theresa and Kiddo looked at some pics her brother in Malaysia put up in Kodalgallery.com. Wonderful site that one. We’ve been using it for years, when it first started as ofoto.com. We saw a picture of Theresa’s family – the whole clan was there. Her parents, both her brothers and their families, only ones missing were us. The thing that jumped out at me was how much older her father looked. He has aged. He looked a little shriveled. Then I remembered seeing photos of my sister-in-law’s recent graduation ceremony (she had taken some bible courses). My mother was in it and I saw how old she looked too. Her hair is now shades of golden-grey.

My late grandfather liked Psalm 90 a lot. Verses 9 and 10 say:

9. “All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan.”

10. “The length of our days is seventy years – or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”

Makes you wonder why he liked this psalm, doesn’t it? He was a wise old man, for verse 12 says:

12. “Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

It is precisely in recognizing our mortality, in acknowledging our finiteness and the fleeting nature of life, that we become wise in our ways. Unfortunately, we often don’t concede that until the inevitable happens. It is when we see our parent age, when we see our contemporaries battling the effects of age, that we see our own mortality. That perception is augmented by our own failings, our own children coming of age. We see then that we are really, like dews on grass in the morning. We are here but for a moment. We don’t count. Only God does, because He remains. Whether our otherwise meaningless lives take on any meaning, depends on whether we hook up with the only One who remains. That is what the “Teacher” in Ecclesiastes says: “Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man”

Mateship is a wonderful thing. Mateship with God is a life-saving thing.

Faith Colish is a senior US securities lawyer. A colleague and I met her once, when our then employer (a Malaysian securities dealer) wanted to set up a sales desk in the US. As fate would have it, Faith now features again in my radar screen. Ms Colish could lead to interesting development again, of course. A client wants to offer securities to private US investors. He has a fantastic product but I don’t know if he appreciates the complexities of the laws involved in what he proposes to do. So I initiated contact with Faith Colish and hopefully, she can offer useful advice at not too astronomical costs. She is after all, a Wall Street lawyer.

Australia is now one of America’s favourite little brothers. John Howard received red-carpet treatment (literally) in a recent trip there, and Dubya saluted him big time. Effusive, almost embarrassing praises were heaped on him by senior US pollies, all the time increasing the risks of having, for example, Melbourne’s rail system blown up by some fanatical Islamic US haters. Australia has also been in cahoots with the US on the Kyoto accord, refusing to be part of the international efforts to curb fossil fuel burning (or is it the greenhouse effect?). I was a little heartened therefore, to read in the papers this morning, that Australia will now open a debate on the use of nuclear power as an alternative source of energy. Victoria has dismissed it outright, but at least there will be a debate on the matter.

I don’t know what brought this about-turn. Sure, a lot of it has to do with oil price, which was last sighted somewhere in stratosphere. I remember attending our weekly analysts’ meeting in my last workplace in Malaysia, when we were advising the budget airline, Air Asia, in its public offering. Oil price was I think, cruising at an altitude of 40,000 feet (USD40 per barrel). The team leader was briefing the CEO of the critical price level before the bottom line would be seriously affected. My recollections are hazy now as I wasn’t particularly interested in all of this then but I think they thought Air Asia would be grounded if it hits USD50 per barrel. Well, it’s over USD71 now but I think Mr T (Fernandez) is still swinging away so the analyst must have been less than accurate in his number crunching, but I digress. The point is, I wonder if Australia embarked on this debate on use of nuclear energy without consulting big brother. Did John ring George before he opened up this debate?

Somehow we still feel we need the US nod in many things we do. This is all part of the religion of Dollarism. When I moved to Melbourne, I scarcely thought I would have anything to do with any US laws again. I certainly didn’t think there was any occasion to link up with grand old dame of Wall Street legal eagles again. The still mighty US economy (yeah yeah, it is a diminishing giant, way past its’ use-by date, but a big economy like that doesn’t take a year or two to lose its magnet, it chugs along on its own momentum, for a bit) still attracts people wanting to make it big. Or simply, bigger. Like my client. Local sources, especially in 20-million strong Australia, simply aren’t enough. Maybe that’s what drove John Howard to befriend Dubya. That Australia needed a big brother partner. Or maybe he genuinely liked Dubya. I don’t know. With pollies, the last thing we have is faith. Whatever his motivation, I now have Faith. Faith Colish.

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.