i received three of the same SMS today:
"Please pray for PASTOR Ferdie Flores, missionary in East Timor. He is going to be executed tomorrow by beating. Please forward to all Christians."
True or false? Well, being here in Timor Leste meant that i could verify the facts immediately by a) asking my timorese friends "Do you have capital punishment that uses beating to kill prisoners???" b) scanning the national newspapers c) asking my Timorese friends "have you heard of a pastor who will be killed tomorrow?"
the answer is NO. THIS IS A BIG rumour started by a certain person and innocently propagated by some of my dear friends.
I did some online checks and realised that there is indeed a website of this pastor and his family. On it, he recounts some threats he had faced but right on top of this was a BRIGHT YELLOW crawler that said "recent reports about impending execution are inaccurate". SO yes, this pastor probably met with some fanatics but he wasn't about to be beaten to death. I know there are many cases of religious being persecuted (all over the world) but sending an SMS such as the one above gives a very wrong impression. It sounded as if it was a LEGAL government-sanctioned killing.
Timor-Leste is trying to progress as a civilised nation. In fact, it ranked higher than many other countries on press freedom recently. SUch rumours would only cause people to think that our lil island is still crawling with barbarians. Yes, to be honest, there are still many animists and people living in the bush, and yes, horrific things have happened here before but still... let's give Timor a chance to breath.
I don't want to sound like a skeptic and I know you have good intentions but...please verify your facts before passing on messages.
Just like those inumerable appeals for blood and platelets - if we stop to verify the REAL cases, then the genuine victims will receive prompt help. This is the case of "Cry WOLF" where people no longer take appeals seriously.
As a former journalist, my advice is also never to believe any piece of information 100% because truth has many facets and many times news organisations and people (due to commercial or partisan interests) report only their side of the truth. They ain't lying but just not telling the whole truth. Anyways, this could lead to a thesis on debating what TRUTH really is and that's too philosophical for a Monday afternoon.
Just be discerning and yes, also stop forwarding those "YOU CAN WIN AN IPOD" kinda emails cos all those people want is emails of your friends so that they can spam them in future. Do check your facts - it'll take only 5 minutes.
Valente SmellyBottom
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
Pieces
The washbasin came down with a mighty crash.For a split second, time stood still. I saw the porcelain basin smash into smithereens - pieces flying in slow motion. Slightly shocked, I stepped away instinctively.
But it was too late - a river of red had begun to flow beneath my feet.
I sighed. I knew I had been cut but the signals of pain had not yet travelled to my brain. This was going to be an eventful shower. What to do now? I tried to get out of the way, but it was tough considering that I was still soaped and slippery. Thankfully I had my contact lenses on so I wasn’t blind as a bat. I spotted my glasses lying in the broken pile and rescued it first.
The red river was gaining momentum. I lifted up my left foot and saw a pulsating wound. I sprayed it with water but the blood kept flowing.
“Remember to lift up the injured part to stop the blood flowing”
One piece of advice I am glad I remembered from my first aid course. Hopping on one leg, I curled up my left leg behind me. I must have looked hilarious if not for the blood streaming down. I kept saying to myself, calm down gal. Don’t panic. It’s just a little blood.But the blood wouldn’t stop.
“put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flowing”
A second piece of advice I am thankful I remembered.I pressed my left thumb firmly onto the wound on my left sole, while at the same time holding on to the shower head with my right arm. Bless my right leg for all the balancing work and thank goodness for the yoga classes. The blood began to decrease and trickled to a stop. I showered off the rest of the soap, grabbed my towel and hopped out of the bathroom, leaving spots of blood on the floor.
I plonked onto a chair and lifted up my foot, at that time, I realized that my right big toe was cut too! So there I was- stark naked- with BOTH my feet up in the air.
After a few seconds, the blood clotting mechanisms finally kicked in. Still looking like a duffus, I looked around and saw that the swivel chair was at arm’s length.
I tugged it towards me and hopped onto it and then rolled over to my wardrobe in search of my first aid kit. I cleaned the wounds and poured on some Yunnan Baiyao (Yunnan White Medicine). This Baiyao is considered a cure-all in China so this would be a good test to see if the claims are true.
With my cuts plastered up, and big toe throbbing, I rolled around the room, cleaning up the mess, and even had the state of mind to remove my undies from the toilet before summoning the maintenance guy – Naier – into my room. I didn’t clean up the spots of blood on the floor though. I thought I should spice up Anna’s cleaning routine the next day.
I stared at the big gauze on the bottom of my left foot (3 cuts) and the plaster on my big toe (one cut), satisfitied with my first aid. Naier took some time to extricate the washbasin (in its thousand pieces) from the pipes and then so sweetly cleaned up the bathroom. I ate some self made yoghurt (which I was supposed to blog about until this accident happened) while waiting for him to finish.
At first I thought it was purely my fault for causing the basin to fall but the smashed up pieces revealed rusty and rotted parts which would have broken sooner or later.
So what was i doing to cause the basin to fall? 'Proper' and 'Standard' writing would demand that i reveal this so as to complete the picture but i think i am taking the suspense mystery route and will keep that piece of information to myself -just so that the next time you see me you can ask me why.
Have a safe and painFREE shower today!
But it was too late - a river of red had begun to flow beneath my feet.
I sighed. I knew I had been cut but the signals of pain had not yet travelled to my brain. This was going to be an eventful shower. What to do now? I tried to get out of the way, but it was tough considering that I was still soaped and slippery. Thankfully I had my contact lenses on so I wasn’t blind as a bat. I spotted my glasses lying in the broken pile and rescued it first.
The red river was gaining momentum. I lifted up my left foot and saw a pulsating wound. I sprayed it with water but the blood kept flowing.
“Remember to lift up the injured part to stop the blood flowing”
One piece of advice I am glad I remembered from my first aid course. Hopping on one leg, I curled up my left leg behind me. I must have looked hilarious if not for the blood streaming down. I kept saying to myself, calm down gal. Don’t panic. It’s just a little blood.But the blood wouldn’t stop.
“put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flowing”
A second piece of advice I am thankful I remembered.I pressed my left thumb firmly onto the wound on my left sole, while at the same time holding on to the shower head with my right arm. Bless my right leg for all the balancing work and thank goodness for the yoga classes. The blood began to decrease and trickled to a stop. I showered off the rest of the soap, grabbed my towel and hopped out of the bathroom, leaving spots of blood on the floor.
I plonked onto a chair and lifted up my foot, at that time, I realized that my right big toe was cut too! So there I was- stark naked- with BOTH my feet up in the air.
After a few seconds, the blood clotting mechanisms finally kicked in. Still looking like a duffus, I looked around and saw that the swivel chair was at arm’s length.
I tugged it towards me and hopped onto it and then rolled over to my wardrobe in search of my first aid kit. I cleaned the wounds and poured on some Yunnan Baiyao (Yunnan White Medicine). This Baiyao is considered a cure-all in China so this would be a good test to see if the claims are true.
With my cuts plastered up, and big toe throbbing, I rolled around the room, cleaning up the mess, and even had the state of mind to remove my undies from the toilet before summoning the maintenance guy – Naier – into my room. I didn’t clean up the spots of blood on the floor though. I thought I should spice up Anna’s cleaning routine the next day.
I stared at the big gauze on the bottom of my left foot (3 cuts) and the plaster on my big toe (one cut), satisfitied with my first aid. Naier took some time to extricate the washbasin (in its thousand pieces) from the pipes and then so sweetly cleaned up the bathroom. I ate some self made yoghurt (which I was supposed to blog about until this accident happened) while waiting for him to finish.
At first I thought it was purely my fault for causing the basin to fall but the smashed up pieces revealed rusty and rotted parts which would have broken sooner or later.
So what was i doing to cause the basin to fall? 'Proper' and 'Standard' writing would demand that i reveal this so as to complete the picture but i think i am taking the suspense mystery route and will keep that piece of information to myself -just so that the next time you see me you can ask me why.
Have a safe and painFREE shower today!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Tale of the Lafaek
A long time ago, a small boy found a crocodile struggling to make his way from the lagoon where he was born, to the sea. Suppressing his fear of the crocodile, and out of great pity, the boy took the crocodile in his arms and carried him to the seashore.
The crocodile, although very hungry and needing sustenance, suppressed his urge to eat the boy and instead returned the act of great kindness with a promise. He told the boy that should he ever wish to travel he should come back to the same spot and call to the crocodile.
After a while and during a period of restlessness the boy remembered the crocodile’s promise and went to the sea to call for him. True to his word the crocodile returned.
They were both very happy to be reunited with one another. The boy climbed onto the crocodile’s back and together they travelled far and wide experiencing many great adventures together.
Much time passed and the crocodile was nearing the end of his life. The boy was stricken with grief for his great friend. Sensing this, the crocodile comforted the boy and asked him not to be sad. The crocodile told him that when he died his body would grow into an island on which the boy would continue to live, along with his family and all his descendants.
The crocodile died and became the island of Timor. The descendants
inherited the boy’s qualities of kindness, friendliness and sense of justice. To this day the people of Timor call the crocodile “grandfather” and whenever they come across a river call out “Crocodile, I’m your grandchild, don’t eat me!”
----- Extracted from "Biblioteka ba ne’ebé? Libraries where you going?" Notes from a study tour of libraries in East Timor by Patti Manolis July 2005
When I was in Suai, my Timorese companions really did call the crocodile by the more affectionate “Avoo” or “Aboo” which means Grandfather, instead of its proper term “lafaek.” Timorese also believe that if you are goodhearted like the little boy, your ‘Avoo’ would never bite you. So if you are ever bitten by a croc in Timor, it’s because you ain’t so kind and ‘Avoo’ is punishing you. Tough luck, huh?
The crocodile, although very hungry and needing sustenance, suppressed his urge to eat the boy and instead returned the act of great kindness with a promise. He told the boy that should he ever wish to travel he should come back to the same spot and call to the crocodile.
After a while and during a period of restlessness the boy remembered the crocodile’s promise and went to the sea to call for him. True to his word the crocodile returned.
They were both very happy to be reunited with one another. The boy climbed onto the crocodile’s back and together they travelled far and wide experiencing many great adventures together.
Much time passed and the crocodile was nearing the end of his life. The boy was stricken with grief for his great friend. Sensing this, the crocodile comforted the boy and asked him not to be sad. The crocodile told him that when he died his body would grow into an island on which the boy would continue to live, along with his family and all his descendants.
The crocodile died and became the island of Timor. The descendants
inherited the boy’s qualities of kindness, friendliness and sense of justice. To this day the people of Timor call the crocodile “grandfather” and whenever they come across a river call out “Crocodile, I’m your grandchild, don’t eat me!”
----- Extracted from "Biblioteka ba ne’ebé? Libraries where you going?" Notes from a study tour of libraries in East Timor by Patti Manolis July 2005
When I was in Suai, my Timorese companions really did call the crocodile by the more affectionate “Avoo” or “Aboo” which means Grandfather, instead of its proper term “lafaek.” Timorese also believe that if you are goodhearted like the little boy, your ‘Avoo’ would never bite you. So if you are ever bitten by a croc in Timor, it’s because you ain’t so kind and ‘Avoo’ is punishing you. Tough luck, huh?
Thursday, October 13, 2005
black hole
They always happen at the most inappropriate times. It’s like someone with a bad sense of humour has timed them so perfectly - I am talking about the blackouts in Dili. Because whenever I am deeply absorbed in a movie on HBO and the film reaches a climax, there would be a power outage.
Zap!
My whole compound falls into darkness and the last scene on the tv screen gets swallowed up into a dark hole. I don’t move because I cannot see nought. I just wait for the guy in charge to kickstart the generator for backup power. I hear the engine’s roar as it wakes up from its slumber, and then seconds later power returns to the room. By now, I know that what will greet me on Channel 7 is a blank screen and not the film I had been watching. I sigh and wish that the landlord had been watching the same channel because then he would switch it back to HBO. But alas, most times, that screen stays blank for the rest of the night.
I am left feeling cheated not knowing how the movie ends. Blackouts can be so frustrating and they happen almost everyday here. This is why malaes (foreigners) like me pay a fortune to stay in places that have their own generators so that we can have backup power almost immediately. For the locals, they just light their candles.
Outside Dili, most places are in a permanent state of blackouts. They have no electricity in the day, let alone at night. Some locals have wryly commented that this is why they have such high birth rates (more than 7 babies per women!) since there are no other forms of nocturnal activities except for you know what.
So in the districts, there are no fans whirring overhead to cool you down in the day, no ice cold beer or coca cola to relieve the heat, and no power to start a computer. In some places, the power does come on in the evenings from 6pm and lasts till midnight.
This lack of electricity is hard to imagine for city rats like us who depend so heavily on power in our homes and in our industries that are now running round-the-clock shifts or brokerage firms working to other time zones. The last time we had a major power outage, hundreds of thousand dollars were lost as businesses were disrupted and ornamental fish asphyxiated from the lack of pumped oxygen.
In Dili, there are no street lights so when I walk home from work at about 7pm, I depend on the headlights of vehicles that zoom past me. I have to look carefully to avoid falling into potholes and sometimes I wonder if the cars can see me as they whiz by.
My city eyes fail me here. I am uneasy with the darkness. City rats like bright lights and neon signs. We feel safer when night is like day. Maybe we don’t eat enough carrots back home but Timorese seem to be able to navigate easily even while walking in pitch darkness. I remember the Tibetans doing the same too – slicing, grinding and cooking their meals in such dimness. When I ate dinner in remote villages in China, they used to light a bark just for me while they carried on in darkness.
I can’t help thinking if man never discovered fire and subsequently electricity and lamps, where would we be now? I remember how I went to bed at 730pm, once in China because there was no electricity and hence nothing to do. I wonder how the economy and standard of living of Timorese would be like once they have power at night? I naively thought that power at night would mean more children reading and doing homework but my Timorese colleague just said, “Nah, everyone will just watch TV.” I think Singaporean kids would head for their Playstations first.
Zap!
My whole compound falls into darkness and the last scene on the tv screen gets swallowed up into a dark hole. I don’t move because I cannot see nought. I just wait for the guy in charge to kickstart the generator for backup power. I hear the engine’s roar as it wakes up from its slumber, and then seconds later power returns to the room. By now, I know that what will greet me on Channel 7 is a blank screen and not the film I had been watching. I sigh and wish that the landlord had been watching the same channel because then he would switch it back to HBO. But alas, most times, that screen stays blank for the rest of the night.
I am left feeling cheated not knowing how the movie ends. Blackouts can be so frustrating and they happen almost everyday here. This is why malaes (foreigners) like me pay a fortune to stay in places that have their own generators so that we can have backup power almost immediately. For the locals, they just light their candles.
Outside Dili, most places are in a permanent state of blackouts. They have no electricity in the day, let alone at night. Some locals have wryly commented that this is why they have such high birth rates (more than 7 babies per women!) since there are no other forms of nocturnal activities except for you know what.
So in the districts, there are no fans whirring overhead to cool you down in the day, no ice cold beer or coca cola to relieve the heat, and no power to start a computer. In some places, the power does come on in the evenings from 6pm and lasts till midnight.
This lack of electricity is hard to imagine for city rats like us who depend so heavily on power in our homes and in our industries that are now running round-the-clock shifts or brokerage firms working to other time zones. The last time we had a major power outage, hundreds of thousand dollars were lost as businesses were disrupted and ornamental fish asphyxiated from the lack of pumped oxygen.
In Dili, there are no street lights so when I walk home from work at about 7pm, I depend on the headlights of vehicles that zoom past me. I have to look carefully to avoid falling into potholes and sometimes I wonder if the cars can see me as they whiz by.
My city eyes fail me here. I am uneasy with the darkness. City rats like bright lights and neon signs. We feel safer when night is like day. Maybe we don’t eat enough carrots back home but Timorese seem to be able to navigate easily even while walking in pitch darkness. I remember the Tibetans doing the same too – slicing, grinding and cooking their meals in such dimness. When I ate dinner in remote villages in China, they used to light a bark just for me while they carried on in darkness.
I can’t help thinking if man never discovered fire and subsequently electricity and lamps, where would we be now? I remember how I went to bed at 730pm, once in China because there was no electricity and hence nothing to do. I wonder how the economy and standard of living of Timorese would be like once they have power at night? I naively thought that power at night would mean more children reading and doing homework but my Timorese colleague just said, “Nah, everyone will just watch TV.” I think Singaporean kids would head for their Playstations first.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
LOST & found
It poured when I was in Aileu recently - a harbinger of the rainy season to come. The kids, like those in Cambodia, were splashing in the puddles of water, getting soaked and having much unrestrained fun. I had fun too, watching them under shelter.
The next day when I was about to return to Dili, I lost a purse which I had bought from Cambodia. It simply vanished into thin air. Poof! Like someone had conjured it to another dimension. Even after re-tracing my steps countless times, I was still unable to locate it. It’s a mystery where the little purse went.
I didn’t cry over the purse that went walking with $40, but the loss did put me in a contemplative mood. It made me think of all the things I have lost in the 30 years I have walked on this Earth: pencils in primary school; pens in secondary school; books in junior college; and files in university, etc. There were also friendships lost when pals became strangers as we grew older, and the loss of loved ones when they bade farewell for a better world.
More importantly - and predictably too – the loss of innocence: from carefree bookworm days to stressful adulthood; from a head of black, bouncy hair to graying hairs covered up with poisonous dyes. I no longer have the innocence of a child who finds pure happiness in pouring rain.
While auditing my losses, I realized that they are small, even minuscule, compared to what others have lost or are losing as we speak: the floods in Guatemala, the hurricane in New Orleans, the earthquake in Pakistan, the tsunami in Asia, the bombs in Bali & many other places.
But above all, I realized that the inputs in the column ‘FOUND’ are plentiful as well. On this journey (destination unknown) I have found many new friends, amazing experiences, wisdom, and optimism in each new day. I have found, through painful experiences of loss, richer insights and a grittier spirit. It sounds idealistic - I wouldn’t dare try telling this to someone who has just lost a child in the earthquake. But honestly, while taking stock of my life, I realize that I do have a lot of blessings to count for.
As Tiu (Uncle) Mario – my driver – said to me when I lost the wallet, “It’s ok. The loss is in exchange for good luck.”
Do you wake up each day counting your blessings or your losses?
The next day when I was about to return to Dili, I lost a purse which I had bought from Cambodia. It simply vanished into thin air. Poof! Like someone had conjured it to another dimension. Even after re-tracing my steps countless times, I was still unable to locate it. It’s a mystery where the little purse went.
I didn’t cry over the purse that went walking with $40, but the loss did put me in a contemplative mood. It made me think of all the things I have lost in the 30 years I have walked on this Earth: pencils in primary school; pens in secondary school; books in junior college; and files in university, etc. There were also friendships lost when pals became strangers as we grew older, and the loss of loved ones when they bade farewell for a better world.
More importantly - and predictably too – the loss of innocence: from carefree bookworm days to stressful adulthood; from a head of black, bouncy hair to graying hairs covered up with poisonous dyes. I no longer have the innocence of a child who finds pure happiness in pouring rain.
While auditing my losses, I realized that they are small, even minuscule, compared to what others have lost or are losing as we speak: the floods in Guatemala, the hurricane in New Orleans, the earthquake in Pakistan, the tsunami in Asia, the bombs in Bali & many other places.
But above all, I realized that the inputs in the column ‘FOUND’ are plentiful as well. On this journey (destination unknown) I have found many new friends, amazing experiences, wisdom, and optimism in each new day. I have found, through painful experiences of loss, richer insights and a grittier spirit. It sounds idealistic - I wouldn’t dare try telling this to someone who has just lost a child in the earthquake. But honestly, while taking stock of my life, I realize that I do have a lot of blessings to count for.
As Tiu (Uncle) Mario – my driver – said to me when I lost the wallet, “It’s ok. The loss is in exchange for good luck.”
Do you wake up each day counting your blessings or your losses?
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Sunday, October 9, 2005
SWAT team
I scoffed at the idea when L first shared it with me after observing his Timorese counterparts in the office - now I am convinced there is only ONE way to kill a Timorese mosquito swiftly.
The method:
Result : Dead mossie
Would it work in Singapore? Can someone try it out?
The method:
See the buzzing mossie fly past you
Observe its motion
Raise hand ABOVE the mossie and slap it onto the ground
Mossie is dazed and stunned and lies on floor
Raise foot and stamp on it
Result : Dead mossie
Would it work in Singapore? Can someone try it out?
Tuesday, October 4, 2005
world peace?
My aunt once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.
Jack Kerouac
Sunday, October 2, 2005
imagination - taking off
Last week, an American millionaire became the third person in the world to board a Russian spaceshuttle as a space tourist.
He paid $11million or so to spend 10 days up in space.
Wow huh. He must have SO much money that he can spare this pittance for a jaunt in the air.
For me, i am waiting for the day when an ANTI-GRAVITY pill is invented. I'm sure Salman Rushdie's not the first person to think of such an invention but when i was reading 'Shame' last night, the thought of becoming anti-gravity suddenly became so alluring.
The prolific and very humourous Rushdie asks in chapter 3, "What if such a pill were invented?"
Ah... I began to think: "Yes, what if?" I bet I would be popping those pills and flying to the ends of the world. North, south, east, west, it would be a travel fest! I would fly up to Mount Ramelau - the highest mountain in Timor Leste first and then east towards the Polynesian islands and into Hawaii onto Mauna Kea - the highest mountain in the Pacific Ocean and then to the South Pole - tierra del fuego - and over to ........ where ever!
Rushdie further espotulates, "personalized international travel could be made possible by manufacturing pills of different strengths for different lengths of journey."
Wow! incredible. I would fly, fly, fly to see all my friends around the world. I could fly back to Singapore for a teh tarik, to my granma's place to say Hi, fly over the treetop walk and then zip back to Dili on Monday for work.
But then, imagine the number of flying people in the air. Predictably - either the pills have to be super expensive OR the airways will get jammed with all sorts of flying human beings zipping in all different directions! the ambulance services of the world would be busy picking up humans who drop like flies after mid-air collisions, or when their pills run outta juice.
of course, then, like the iPOD, you have to invent all kinds of accessories to go with the pill. A sleek flying garment to protect you in case you fall straight into the Indian Ocean, a waterproof pocket to keep the extra pills, the sunglasses to protect your eyes, and special heat proof hat so you won't melt like Icarus' wings did.
So if you had a AGP (Anti-Gravity Pill) where would you fly to first?
He paid $11million or so to spend 10 days up in space.
Wow huh. He must have SO much money that he can spare this pittance for a jaunt in the air.
For me, i am waiting for the day when an ANTI-GRAVITY pill is invented. I'm sure Salman Rushdie's not the first person to think of such an invention but when i was reading 'Shame' last night, the thought of becoming anti-gravity suddenly became so alluring.
The prolific and very humourous Rushdie asks in chapter 3, "What if such a pill were invented?"
Ah... I began to think: "Yes, what if?" I bet I would be popping those pills and flying to the ends of the world. North, south, east, west, it would be a travel fest! I would fly up to Mount Ramelau - the highest mountain in Timor Leste first and then east towards the Polynesian islands and into Hawaii onto Mauna Kea - the highest mountain in the Pacific Ocean and then to the South Pole - tierra del fuego - and over to ........ where ever!
Rushdie further espotulates, "personalized international travel could be made possible by manufacturing pills of different strengths for different lengths of journey."
Wow! incredible. I would fly, fly, fly to see all my friends around the world. I could fly back to Singapore for a teh tarik, to my granma's place to say Hi, fly over the treetop walk and then zip back to Dili on Monday for work.
But then, imagine the number of flying people in the air. Predictably - either the pills have to be super expensive OR the airways will get jammed with all sorts of flying human beings zipping in all different directions! the ambulance services of the world would be busy picking up humans who drop like flies after mid-air collisions, or when their pills run outta juice.
of course, then, like the iPOD, you have to invent all kinds of accessories to go with the pill. A sleek flying garment to protect you in case you fall straight into the Indian Ocean, a waterproof pocket to keep the extra pills, the sunglasses to protect your eyes, and special heat proof hat so you won't melt like Icarus' wings did.
So if you had a AGP (Anti-Gravity Pill) where would you fly to first?
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