Lobo's Lessons

Growing up in the UK in the late 70s and 80s, it was almost impossible to get fast food that was halal. Definitely not like what it is today. Back in the day, we lived in many different places when I was growing up, but I consider Bath to be my where I struck my roots. As a kid you don’t really remember many things that were not within your immediate scope of experience. Everything was taken care of by your parents, and that is something I have go to remember again with my own children. Sometimes I expect them to be aware more of what is going on around them, but when I remember my own childhood, all we knew was we did what our parents told us, moved where they moved, went where they went etc. Anyway, I’m rambling. Back to what I was saying, It was literally impossible to get fast food, and all we could do was just imagine how the burgers would taste. Fries or chips was not too much of an issue because we were able to eat Fish and Chips, especially from Evans in the middle

I am in a hotel room. It is unclear who else is in the room. It must be my family. But I am uncertain. I know I am in the room with people I love. The hotel room is in a building that towers above ground level, and we can see all the houses below. I am in Hawaii I think. How I know that I do not know. All I know is that we are beside the ocean. I feel unsettled as I look out the window. Something is compelling me to look outside the window. It is getting dark. But I know by right it should not be dark. It is midday. And then I see it. In front of me a huge storm cloud is gathering. But I start to quiver because it looks like no ordinary storm. The clouds are pitch black. Black as death. My eyes follow their shape to where they originate. I gasp. I see a gigantic water spout, a tornado in the ocean, funnelling its energy to the black cloud. The water spout is also pitch black. Rain now pours uncontrollably. It is a hurricane at its full blast, but not just that. It is mu

Help is never far away. That is the old adage that has been drummed into us ever since we were young. No matter where you are, and what difficulty you are going through, someone will be close at hand to help. Except they aren't. Many a time no one in your vicinity gives a rat's ass. Or could be in a mess of their own to even think that someone else may need the support. Just that little bit of assurance to show that they care. Sometimes it can be in the smallest things. A kind word. A check up of how one is doing. Yet help does come. Someone takes the time to respond, in short messages, all the way from across the Pacific Ocean. Someone does take the time to relate, and share their own experiences, and offers words of comfort from across the country. Yes, help is at hand, but it is always far away. *picture credit here

How does one forgive someone who has done them and their loved ones so much wrong? This is a question that I struggle with, and have always struggled with for a long time.  How does one push past the pain and suffering that a person had willingly caused, worse yet, caused to someone that they loved. We stand at the sidelines, and feel ourselves slighted, yet the pain we feel is minuscule, compared to the earth-shattering hurt our loved one experiences. Yet we are powerless, drowning in a helplessness, grasping for any lifeline that can pull ourselves out from the deep.  How can we let go when hatred is all we know. A hatred that festered from seeds of dislike. This poison that we feed ourselves. Yet it is all we know.  How does one tell oneself to let go? If a person murders your son, and returns a month later, saying he is genuinely sorry; what would you do? He comes in and says he will pay for the cleaning bill, to wipe the blood stains off the floor, and to

Image taken from here As I am gardening, my mind begins to wonder. A pleasurable activity, now that I have some time on my hands. as my hands sift through the earth I come across a small shiny object. What is this? I wonder.  I pick it up, and it appears to be a key. I rub the dirt off the key and I see the letters B...L...O...GGER. I am amazed. So that's where it's been all this while. These couple of years.  Perhaps it's time for me to start writing again.

I remember when the highlight of my day was to see my blog roll shift, signalling that there was a new post in any of the blogs that I followed. I would usually attack the link with a voracious appetite. Here was something that I knew would stimulate my thoughts, tickle my funny bone, provoke passionate responses. But most of all, it was connecting with friends on a deep level. The kind of connection one could achieve by a chat over a good coffee, all in the comfort of one’s own home. I would always wonder what Ailin would be doing in Sweden, and how she was faring in her battle with pain; where Fauziah Ismail was and what adventures (and gripes) she would share; or what entertaining fad Ah Beng would share from his treasure trove of a brain; what epiphany of language and culture Jordan Macvay would experience. And oh so many, many more. But progress is a cruel master, and like all roads lead to Rome, progress on the Internet all led to Facebook. At first I was ecstatic to connect