The blogg is a journal/diary that is part of an ongoing process spanning over thrity years of soul searching. It covers a life spent including 30 odd years in Malaysia, 21 years in The USA and 3 years spent in Japan. It is also a Global research paper at the human level.
"Where do I begin, to tell a story of how great a love can be?"
Those words, from one of the most memorable movies of my teenage years, Love Story, came drifting back to me recently.
Perhaps because, at this stage of my life, I find myself asking a slightly different question:
Where do I begin to tell the story of how great a life can be?
It is strange how the smallest memories from the distant past can suddenly awaken something inside an ancient heart. A song. A face. An old photograph. A melody that somehow survived the decades and comes knocking at the door of memory.
And suddenly, for a brief moment, you are there again.
Seven or eight years old, standing in front of the whole school at Francis Light Primary School, singing an Elvis Presley song—"It's Now or Never." Somehow, I won first place.
I don't remember everything about that day, but I remember the feeling.
Perhaps that was my first public encounter with the strange magic of music: the ability to take something that exists only inside you and send it out into the world.
Music has always been food for my soul.
Some of the songs that accompanied my growing-up years remain lodged somewhere deep inside me—"The Sound of Silence," "House of the Rising Sun," "Pussy Willows, Cattails and Roses" and so many others. I used to sing them wholeheartedly, without worrying whether I sounded particularly good.
These days I mostly listen.
Although every now and then, when nobody is around, I still let one loose in the shower.
Some traditions deserve to survive.
I have always said that Pink Floyd gives me a kind of psycho-emotional boost. Cat Stevens takes me somewhere else. Then there is jazz, classical music, folk music—and an entire universe of sounds that somehow became part of who I am.
For that, I have to thank my eldest brother.
When I was a teenager, he opened a door for me that I have never really closed. His collection of records introduced me to music far beyond the narrow world of my own experience.
I remember The Beatles and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Peter, Paul and Mary, Harry Belafonte, Trini Lopez, Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole…
I drowned myself in those records.
Perhaps that is why I have always felt blessed by the circumstances of my life. Not because everything was easy. Far from it.
But somehow, along the way, life kept placing things in front of me—people, books, music, places, accidents, disasters, friendships, heartbreaks, journeys and inexplicable moments of grace.
And now, after all these years, I sometimes wonder whether I am running out of stories.
Perhaps I have told too many already.
Perhaps I have finally reached the point where I should simply bow, step back and let the curtain fall.
Let the fat lady sing.
But then I hear a song.
And there I am again.
A little boy in a primary school in Penang.
A teenager discovering a world inside his brother's record collection.
A young man wandering through life, collecting experiences as though they were sketches in a journal.
An old man sitting quietly, listening to Pink Floyd and wondering where all those years went.
And suddenly I realize something.
Perhaps I am not running out of stories at all.
Perhaps I am simply beginning to understand that the story was never really about the stories.
It was about the living.
The music.
The people who passed through.
The places that changed me.
The mistakes.
The miracles.
The sorrow.
The laughter.
The endless, sometimes ridiculous, search for peace and comfort in a world that continues to give us floods, volcanoes, wars and all the other evidence that humanity still has a long way to go.
And yet…
Here we are.
Still listening.
Still remembering.
Still searching.
Still singing, even if these days the audience is mostly the bathroom mirror.
So, where do I begin to tell the story of how great a life can be?
Let Us Not Allow Mak Timah to Disappear from Penang's History
I know I may be making a futile effort here, because most of those responding to this were not around during the years when my aunt, Mak Timah Bidan, quietly went about doing what she did best—helping people.
There were no cameras following her.
No social media.
No publicity.
No fanfare.
She simply helped.
And she helped many, many people.
I have written about her before, but perhaps it is time to say a little more and, more importantly, to ask whether anyone is willing to help uncover the history behind the woman I knew as my aunt.
If anyone doubts what I am saying, I am not asking you simply to take my word for it.
Go and investigate.
Check the old birth records at Penang General Hospital.
Talk to the older members of the Tunku Abdul Rahman family who may still remember her.
Speak to members of the Abdullah Ahmad Badawi family, who may remember her visiting them and the circumstances that brought her there.
Talk to the older people of Penang who knew her.
There were also people in the Penang Special Branch and politicians of that era who knew exactly who Mak Timah was and the influence she could exert among ordinary people.
Some of those people may still be alive.
And there are one or two men and women whose names might never have had a Datuk in front of them had it not been for her assistance.
Yes, one of them was my own auntie.
These are not things I expect people to accept merely because I have written them on Facebook.
They are questions for historians to investigate.
That is why I would like to see the Penang State Government seriously consider doing something to preserve her name for posterity.
My suggestion is a simple one.
Jalan Sungai, the road that was once known as River Road, runs through the very area with which Mak Timah has been associated for so many years.
In fact, her present house stands at the junction of Jalan Sungai and Sungai Pinang Road.
So why not consider naming Jalan Sungai Jalan Mak Timah Bidan?
To me, it would be a small but meaningful recognition of a woman whose life was spent helping others.
And perhaps there is another possibility.
I would like to see the USM Faculty of Humanities consider researching her life and contribution to Penang.
There must be a student somewhere who would find it more meaningful to spend time uncovering the life of an extraordinary local woman than simply wandering around the campus wondering what to do with a research project.
Because this is how history disappears.
Not necessarily because nobody cared.
But because nobody bothered to ask the old people while they were still around to answer.
My memories of Mak Timah are personal, of course. But they are only one small piece of a much larger story.
If she really did touch the lives of as many people as I remember, then her story does not belong only to our family.
It belongs to Penang.
So if you know anything about Mak Timah—if your parents knew her, your grandparents knew her, if you have a photograph, a letter, a newspaper clipping, an old story, or even just a memory—please speak up.
And if you know that something I have said is incorrect, tell me that too.
I would rather have the truth than a beautiful story.
Let us put the pieces together while there are still people alive who can tell us where those pieces belong.
Perhaps the result will be a research paper.
Perhaps it will be an archive of oral histories.
Perhaps it will be a permanent recognition by the State Government.
Or perhaps, one day, someone will walk down Jalan Mak Timah Bidan and ask:
"Who was Mak Timah?"
And someone will be able to answer:
"She was a woman who spent her life helping people."
That, I think, would be enough.
I am not asking for a monument to my aunt.
I am asking that we do not allow the memory of a remarkable Penang woman to disappear simply because she did her good deeds quietly.
When You have run out of Thoughts and Ideas - This is worth Contemplating.
By Karlos Kukuburra
So you thought you wanted enlightenment? Thought that life will be all
peachy and smooth sailing when the veils of illusion were lifted? Those
who have become ‘dis-illusioned’- and haven’t slid back into denial
after seeing what was on the other side, or run in the opposite
direction with their first taste of ‘enlightenment’ - realize that
waking up is hard work.
So what is behind these veils of constructed reality, one might ask? To
put it in succinct terms, what lies behind the social conditioning is
this: “That our society is the product of an extraterrestrial race that
moves and breathes—and even breeds—beneath the surface of all of human
history.”
It’s much easier to fool people than to convince them that they have
been fooled - such is the nature of confirmation bias and other
psychological tools of manipulation. Breaking free of the ancient,
historical 'constant' of mind control is an ongoing process of waking up
out of a state of denial. Spiritual emergence and awakening involves a
physiological break from the consensus social agreements of our
planetary cult-ures. The realization that you have been fooled beyond
belief can cause a great deal of inner turmoil to arise: utter dismay, a
sense of humiliation, and a resulting backlash from friends and family
who continually (and unconsciously) attempt to pull you back in line
with the accepted "mainstream" groupthink. In this process of breaking
free from of the enslavement of human consciousness, if you don’t have
days where you completely question your sanity, I would suggest that you
aren’t really waking up. Here is the only piece of advice that reflects
the truth of this process: GET USED TO IT.
There is no use asking agents of the Matrix to validate the truth of
your awakening, for you will only end up being diagnosed and medicated.
You are simply becoming sane in an insane world. Now, more than ever, it
is time for those who have already lifted these veils of deception to
assist others who need the 'survival' band-aid ripped off quickly. A
considerably-revised history lesson with regards to our true human
origins is in order for the majority of humanity. Access the
information, educate yourself, grab the sword of truth, and start
swinging.
We must be willing to take a very direct look at what factors are
inhibiting and obstructing our ability to see how the
currently-implemented planetary paradigm has emerged from a history of
violence, bloodshed and oppressive regimes. When we take this journey of
discovery, what we will find is that the mechanism which has been (and
still is) used to drive these agendas is the unsavory, unholy topic of
RELIGION, and the manipulative God imposters lurking behind the many
branches of this despotic tree.
We are dealing with mind programming, brainwashing, phantasms, and memes
that have been so deeply embedded into the collective human psyche from
epochs ago, that breaking free of them takes a considerable (and
ongoing) effort. Not only must we dissociate ourselves from the daily
distractions which are designed to keep us oblivious to the bigger
picture, but we must be prepared to do the homework in order to discover
our true human origins and the ongoing agenda of social control which
suppresses that 'occulted' (hidden) truth.
If you have been born on this planet, then you are (to some degree or
another) suffering the effects of a society that has become
pathologically obedient to religious programming, and even those who
break free from this tyrannical mechanism are oftentimes subsequently
trained to become tolerant of all religions, rather than encouraged to
clearly identify this dis-empowering phenomenon as being one of the main
contributing factors to humanity's continuing enslavement.
It’s easy to become a target of accusations that involve loaded terms
like “unloving” and “intolerant” when you pierce into the core of the
foundational Mind Control virus known as RELIGION. One of the 20th
century's most psychopathic dictators, "Chairman" Mao Zedong, coined the
phrase 'political correctness' as a propaganda tool to train
individuals into self-policing their thoughts and words - a far more
effective method of keeping groups of people docile and subservient to
the prevailing mind control directives than violent force and physical
coercion. This social manipulation construct has become a powerful ally
in counteracting the emerging groundswell of information and insights
regarding the roots and impact of religious psychopathology - aiding and
abetting a 'tyranny of context-free tolerance' that attempts to shame
(and thereby silence) those who question the external
authority-worshiping orthodoxy.
Most people on this planet have been born into their religious
ideologies, and are so heavily addicted to the daily rituals that uphold
their 'follower' identification (and unquestioning obedience to their
religion) that they have little inclination towards actually questioning
whether they have been fooled. For these "chosen faithful", their ego
attachment with religious programming is reactive in design - they
become easily offended when you bring into question the truth of their
religion, the superiority of their particular flavor of “God”, and the
validity of the written words within religious manuscripts. For many, it
is actually a punishable offense to bring into question their “God”s
eternal and unyielding authority.
Whenever this topic arises, there will be those who claim that other
forms of cultural entrainment (which fall outside of the orthodox
religion sphere) are somehow beyond the reach of separation
consciousness corruption, being justified as ‘philosophies’ or
‘indigenous’ ways of knowing. However, the pathological program of
obedience and the projection of authority outside of one's sovereign
self is extended to all cults of 'belief'. The truth of these matters
was understood by Siddhartha, who pleaded with those who were drawn to
his perspective to avoid worshiping his being, creating idols out of his
form, or transforming his insights into laws. And what has transpired
as a result? The religion known as Buddhism, which would (of course)
like to claim it is not a religion, and yet holds hundreds of millions
of people in thrall to an idolized replica of this long-deceased man.
Every day, a large percentage of Buddhists ( throughout Asia in
particular) get down on their knees and beg to the Buddha in the same
way that the Christians beg to Jesus - this form of energy vampirism
literally weakens the body's central nervous system. A person can
practice kinesiology while gazing at a Buddha statue to confirm this
fact. External forms of imposed discipline merely breeds disciples,
rather than an autonomous, sovereign human Be-ing. The patriarchal
program is as prevalent throughout Buddhism as it is in other religious
denominations. There are numerous examples that can be used to highlight
this reality - however, the most obvious may be to simply question when
the Dalai Lama last incarnated as a woman, or when he next intends to
do so? Siddhartha wound up becoming both an atheist and a vegetarian due
to his extreme dissatisfaction with the endless blood sacrifices made
to the “Gods” throughout the temples of his era.
If you want to check in with yourself about whether you are acting out
of love or fear, then see how often you censor yourself from speaking
about (and sharing) the truth regarding subjects that might challenge
somebody else’s mind control conditioning, particularly when it comes to
religion. Sharing the god-awful truth about religion is an act of love.
It is a service to humanity. It is not a matter of being intolerant of
people, nor has it anything to do with hatred, racism or bigotry. It is a
matter of identifying the limiting religious programming running
through the minds of humanity, which is acting like malware within the
mainframe of human consciousness. If a computer has a virus running
through it which is corrupting its operating system to the point of
paralysis, you do not accuse it of being intolerant or a bigot - you
simply identify the problem and install a program to clean out the
virus.
“You
have to understand that most people are not ready to be unplugged. And
many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that
they will fight to protect it.” ~ Morpheus, 'THE MATRIX'
Religion is the false panacea that so many are hopelessly dependent
upon, to the point where a fair number of adherents will LITERALLY fight
to the death to defend their false ideological territory. Religion is a
form of Stockholm Syndrome - defined as “Feelings of trust or affection
felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim
toward a captor.” In the case of those taken hostage by religious
ideology, their captors are the alien planetary overlords who have
masqueraded as Gods upon Earth, and most of their victims are not even
aware ‘who’ or ‘what’ has captured them. The same pantheon of brutal,
psychopathic, militant, inbreeding, pedophile, reptilian being
archetypes are found scattered throughout various religions and cultures
on Earth, going by different names throughout the competing sects of
this divisive cult: Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, and on and
on...a hierarchical 'murderer's row' of beings that have been 'cut and
pasted' (with slight variations) into the tapestry of various religions
down through the ages and amongst all cultures on Earth. These shadowy
creatures are not simply the creative imaginings of a primitive people,
nor can they be dismissed as mythological beings. And - crucially - they
have not left.
Their ancient and ongoing genetic engineering operations continue to
perpetuate the programs of division by playing upon ideas of racial
superiority throughout the morphogenetic hive mind of humanity. This
divisiveness is currently being stirred up to even-greater-than-usual
degrees so as to further the agenda of the overlords - an agenda which
includes totalitarian global governance and completely-open human
servitude. The wars of these god impersonators are being played out
through their pawns: humanity.
What we are currently seeing with the creation and funding of terrorist
groups by alphabet agencies and corrupt Governmental regimes is the
predetermined justification for total and endless warfare - and this is
only the surface level reading of a much more sinister story.
They are not playing this game within timeframes and life spans that
human beings could comprehend, and they are using religious belief in
such nihilistic concepts as “End Times”, “The Revelation”, “Judgement
Day”, "The Rapture" or the “Apocalypse” as a handbook, a road map and a
user guide towards an “End Game” scenario, making it seem as though
prophecy is being fulfilled in a totally irreversible way. Any 'face
value' analysis of nationalistic political intrigue misses out on a far
more fundamental gameplan: a gradual, directed process of rearranging
the chess pieces on the board, all in service of bringing about
'unified' global governance.
“The
bible tells us to be like God, and then on page after page it describes
God as a mass murderer. This may be the single most important key to
the behavior of Western Civilization” ~ Robert Anton Wilson
To be involved in a religion that idolizes an ancient prophet as “God’s”
messenger - a human being who, as their own text records, is personally
responsible for the beheadings of hundreds of people in an attempt to
wipe out genetic lines in the name of God - is to embody that archetype
of military thinking and behavior which accompanies it. There will be no
peace found within such idolization. It would serve people's own state
of sovereignty to start questioning what type of “God” would choose such
an unfriendly and unsavory fellow to carry out his holy work on Earth?
Military training is another example of both Stockholm Syndrome and the
nationalistic, racialist brainwashing whose roots are found within both
patriarchal religious indoctrination and patriotic belief, perpetuating
the agenda of control - Religion, Politics and Militarization always go
hand in glove.
The wishful thinking of New Age believers (inspired by Eastern religious
solipsism/reality bypassing programs) - and the spiritually/politically
correct obedience puppets who are flying the flag of religious
acceptance - would like the rest of us to believe that all religions
share, at their core, a 'code' filled with “Spiritual Insights”. Perhaps
it is supposed to be some type of ‘spiritual test’ to find such
enlightening and uplifting insights hidden amongst the many and varied
accounts of murderous, vengeful Gods who advocate religious terrorism,
and who command the annihilation of cities, order the murder of
children, demands the rape of virgin girls, afford no rights to women
and who orders plagues and famines to afflict humankind with? When
reading religious texts, it becomes fairly obvious that we are not
dealing with an all-loving benevolent being here, but rather, we are
seeing the shell game of off-planet impersonators who display every
characteristic of a psychopath.
Far from promoting spiritual insights, religions are the breeding ground
for conformity, psychopathy, and brainwashed militant fervor, playing
upon the fear of death, punishment in the afterlife, and the salvation
of those righteous believers who uphold “God’s” militant commands. These
programs are designed to control and limit peoples mental faculties,
modifying their behavior in the process. That is its function. Religion
is a war on consciousness that was initiated in a time out of memory.
Every religion carries the seeds of division and hatred - at various
times in his-story, a steady stream of various "faiths" have carried the
water for the agenda of the god-impersonating off-planet, psychopathic
overlords. It was only a few hundred years ago that millions of women in
Europe were targeted and murdered after being accused by the Church of
witchcraft. The psychic scarring that is carried within the genetic
lineage of humanity's feminine principle as a result of patriarchal
religious dominance is an ongoing global atrocity that serves to
traumatize and disconnect individuals from the wisdom and guidance of
this principle.
It is becoming increasingly obvious that the events of the
Problem/Reaction/Solution ritual of 9/11 were set in motion in order to
use the orchestrated threat of terrorism to justify the invasion of many
Middle Eastern countries, creating a power vacuum that would be filled
by militant fundamentalism - thus setting off an emerging refugee crisis
designed to destabilize other countries around the world so as to
establish further global control ("security") courtesy of the New World
Order.
Islam has been festering away in the middle east for a long time, and is
now being systematically spread around the globe to areas ripe for
hosting this parasitic virus of consciousness. There is no easier (or
more brutally-effective) approach for this type of hidden orchestration
than inducing and inflaming ethnic conflict fueled by religious
indoctrination, and as always, the best way to control the opposition is
to lead it.
These are all symptoms of a much deeper, older malignancy that has to do
with the modification of the original human blueprint and the endocrine
system that produces the chemical ratios that stabilize our individual
and collective state of consciousness. When seen from this perspective,
there is a cruel, inhuman irony when one considers that these
otherworldly manipulators are now worshiped as 'saviors' (as part of the
'external salvation' fallacious meme), which is another prominent
aspect of the religion pathology.
You have to pull out the roots of evil rather than simply hack away at
the branches. Without looking at the origins of religious servitude, and
clearly identifying who these God imposters (that have farmed humanity
for eons) really are - and instead focusing on simply identifying and
blaming previous and current corrupt governmental models - you are only
seeing the puppets dance, oblivious to the marionette pulling the
strings.
The Hebrew Bible story of human origins (known as the tale of Adam and
Eve) is a false, misleading, and abbreviated version that was derived
from a far more 'well-rounded' rendition that originated in ancient
Sumerian cuneiform texts. These recollected Sumerian accounts describe a
space-faring species, known as the “Annunaki”, who genetically modified
the human race and used them as slaves.
To do some homework and further investigate this topic, research books such as:
The solutions to the global crisis are not going to arise from the level
of consciousness at which they are currently being generated.
Tolerating religion is a band-aid, "feel good" solution over a rotting
wound. We need to electromagnetically and neuro-chemically dissociate
ourselves from the level of consciousness wherein these dualistic games
are repeatedly being played out. The cumulative memory around religious
servitude - built up within the collective consciousness and thus
embedded into the morphic field of the planet - must be transcended.
Only when we can collectively remove ourselves from that morphic
resonance bandwidth (via the religion frequency) that is limiting our
direct connection to source will we be able to embody the true
benevolence of creation, as fractal aspects of co-creative
consciousness. "We
are the ones we are waiting for. We don't need anyone to save us from
the bullies in the playground. We need to resurrect and BECOME the BIO
TECHNOLOGY we are." - Juliet Carter
Initiate the process of deconstruction and re-embodiment by watching this:
The re-evolution will be televised.
:
Karlos Kukuburra is
an ambassador for “The Template”, a series of ceremonies that are a
coded convergence of sound and sacred geometry, which - together with
the revelations of Humanity’s origins, history and the full potential of
the immortal Human design - initiates a powerful and transformative
journey into the past, the ability to courageously be conscious and
grounded in the present, and an understanding of the future which we
will collectively co-create through the resurrection of the light body.
He conducts workshop primarily throughout Australia, New Zealand and the
USA. For more details view the website at http://thetemplateorg.com/ Contact: templatekarlos@hotmail.com Editor/contributor: Tim McClew is a writer, editor, creative consultant and health product distributor who lives in Sydney, Australia.
A Merdeka Appeal to Penangites — Remembering Mak Cak, Mak Timah Bidan
I was born in 1949, eight years before Malaya became an independent nation.
My childhood home in Sungai Pinang was also a place where members of UMNO gathered for meetings and political activities during those important years leading toward Merdeka.
But there was another person in that house whose influence reached far beyond politics.
Her name was Mak Cak, known throughout the community as Mak Timah Bidan — Mak Timah the Midwife.
She was my eldest aunt, and she was the woman who brought my twin brother and me into this world.
For decades, she travelled through the kampungs of Penang, often on foot and at all hours of the night, delivering babies wherever she was needed. Malay, Chinese, Hindu — it made no difference. A mother in labour was simply a mother who needed her help.
She was paid with whatever people could afford: rice, coconuts, pengkeras, a sarong, perhaps a few ringgit.
And much of what she received, she gave away again to people who were poorer than herself.
She became a trusted figure across communities at a time when racial tensions could run deep. During one particularly difficult period of tension between neighbouring Malay and Chinese villages, her reputation was such that she was reportedly allowed to enter the Chinese enclave when others could not.
People trusted her.
Not because of politics.
Not because of wealth.
But because she had spent her life serving people.
In her final days, Malays, Chinese and Hindus gathered beside her bed. Each came in their own way, but all came for the same reason: to pay their respects to a woman who had touched their lives.
When she was finally laid to rest at Dato Kramat, thousands were said to have followed her funeral procession.
She was later honoured as a Justice of the Peace, but to me, and to many who knew her, the greatest honour was something much simpler:
People remembered her.
Now, as Malaysia celebrates another Merdeka, I find myself wondering:
Shouldn't Penang remember her too?
My suggestion is a simple one.
The road now known as Jalan Sungai, formerly known as River Road, runs through the very area where her home once stood.
I would like to respectfully ask the Penang authorities to consider renaming Jalan Sungai in honour of this remarkable woman:
Jalan Mak Timah Bidan
Not because she was my aunt.
But because she belonged to the community.
She brought Malay, Chinese and Indian children into the world. She helped the poor. She crossed racial and religious boundaries when others could not. And she played her part in the difficult years surrounding the birth of our nation.
This is not about my family seeking recognition.
It is about remembering a woman who spent her life serving Penang and its people.
If Mak Timah Bidan once touched your family, or if your parents or grandparents knew her, please share your memories below.
Perhaps together, we can give Penang another reason to remember her.
Remembering A. Rashid Razak — Artist, Friend, and Fellow Traveller
A few years ago, I wrote this piece about my friend A. Rashid, whom I considered one of the finest portrait painters on the island of Penang.
Today, with a heavy heart, I am reposting it.
Rashid passed away about a week ago after battling cancer. He was only about a year younger than me.
I first came to know Rashid at the Malay Art Gallery he ran beside Masjid Kapitan Kling on Chulia Street, in the heart of George Town, surrounded by jewellers, money changers and, of course, the famous nasi kandar restaurants.
The gallery itself was annexed to the mosque and had once served as one of its main entrances.
Rashid's life was anything but an ordinary one.
At sixteen, he was on his way to becoming a national football player. He made it through to the final team selection, but his father persuaded him that football was a waste of time.
Art was already in his blood. His father had been an artist himself and had initially encouraged Rashid to follow that path. But then came another change of heart. A friend convinced his father that Rashid would have a more secure future as a customs officer, and so Rashid entered the Malaysian Customs Service.
He was not happy with what he encountered there, particularly what he saw as corruption within the department, and eventually made the decision to leave.
He returned to art.
Later, while running a gallery in Kuala Lumpur, Rashid became acquainted with Dr. Kriss Hougen, a social anthropologist conducting research into traditional healers and alternative forms of treatment. When Dr. Hougen subsequently became involved with research at Universiti Sains Malaysia, Rashid became part of that world as well.
At one point he was involved in a USM research programme examining the local drug scene and prostitution. He told me that this became one of the most rewarding experiences of his life—not because of the subject matter itself, but because he had the opportunity to meet people society had largely pushed to the margins and to know something of their lives personally.
He even managed to help a few of them turn their lives around through support groups he became acquainted with during his work.
That was Rashid.
He was curious about people.
He was curious about life.
And he never seemed to stop learning.
I had known Rashid for about four years when I wrote the original piece, and our friendship had grown through our mutual appreciation of art and our respect for each other's abilities.
When times were financially difficult for me, Rashid was often the one encouraging me to take the plunge and become a full-time artist.
I remember looking at his own struggles and thinking that if he could persevere through all that life had thrown at him, perhaps I could find the courage to do the same.
Rashid was also an obsessive learner. He devoured books and whatever information he could find that might help him improve his portrait painting. With the arrival of the Internet, he became almost permanently attached to the computer, exploring websites and resources devoted to portraiture.
His artistic journey had begun many years earlier.
As a young man, he had been associated with Anak Alam, the Malay artists' collective spearheaded by the renowned Malaysian artist Latiff Mohidin. The Anak Alam residence at Taman Burung in Kuala Lumpur became a gathering place for many artists, including Zulkifli Dahlan, Mustafa Hj. Ibrahim, Yusoff Osman, Mariam and others who would later become important figures in Malaysian art.
Rashid carried that history with him.
In his later years, his portraiture continued to develop. He produced several large works for the Malay Rulers of Kedah and Perlis, and his paintings found their way into the collections of art patrons and collectors.
Three of these individuals in the picture have passed away including, Rashid, Azmi and Chor Hong Whai
His talent was continually evolving.
But perhaps more important than his paintings was his perseverance.
He had been pushed toward football, then away from art, into the Customs Service, out again, and eventually back to the vocation that had been calling him all along.
He found his way.
And in doing so, he encouraged others—including me—to find ours.
Today, I look back at these words with a very different feeling.
I wish I had known that one day I would be reposting them as a remembrance of my friend.
Life has a strange way of separating us from the people we have known, one by one.
But perhaps an artist never completely disappears.
Something remains in the paintings.
Something remains in the stories.
Something remains in the memories of those who sat across from him, talked with him, argued with him, learned from him or simply shared a cup of coffee and a conversation.
And something of Rashid remains here, too—in these old words I wrote about him when we were both still travelling through this strange adventure called life.
Nature
is exacting some damage all around the world, and when Nature fails,
man seems determined to add to the misery. Such is the story of humanity
and the Planet of late.
One
can try to brush it all off as inevitability, or simply another part of
the evolution of the Planet. Perhaps, at some psycho-spiritual level of
the human psyche, one can even make an argument that everything we
perceive is ultimately an illusion.
But
when technology allows us to witness the vast expanse of the damage
being done—and the human suffering transpiring all over this Planet—it
would take a heartless, soulless individual to convince himself that
none of it is really happening.
Yes,
perhaps there is an ultimate reality beyond all this. Perhaps what we
call life, death, suffering and existence is not quite what we imagine
it to be.
Still, if we
are truly interconnected with all living beings, then surely a human
being must retain at least some simple sadness in his heart when another
suffers.
And here I
am in Penang, where the haze has reached a critical level, with schools
being shut down because of the smoke drifting across from the burning in
Indonesia.
Such is!
And
now, watching the reports of Nepal and parts of Tibet being devastated
by flash floods and mudslides, we are reminded once again just how
fragile life really is—and how unforgiving Mother Nature can sometimes
be.
It also makes me stop and consider how extraordinarily fortunate this country has been during my entire 78 years of life.
Malaysia
has certainly experienced floods, landslides, earthquakes and other
disasters, but compared with so many places around the world, we have
been remarkably spared from the truly catastrophic events that have
changed entire landscapes and generations of people's lives.
Of course, there was 1MDB.
Perhaps we should classify that as Malaysia's contribution to the category of man-made natural disasters.
Ha!
But seriously, perhaps the proper response is gratitude.
Not complacency.
Gratitude.
At
78, I have lived long enough to witness enormous changes in this
world—technological, political, environmental and social. Today, through
the miracle of technology, I can sit here in Penang and watch events
unfolding thousands of kilometres away almost as they happen.
That is both a blessing and a burden.
We see more.
We know more.
And consequently, perhaps we are asked to feel more.
This post is also another small entry in the calendar of my life—a record of what was happening around me on 28 August 2026.
Who knows whether this blog will still exist years from now?
If it does, perhaps someone will stumble across these old pages and wonder what it was like to be alive on this particular day.
There was haze over Penang.
There were floods and mudslides in the Himalayas.
Nature was reminding humanity once again of its immense power.
And somewhere in Penang, an old man was sitting with Gaza on his mind, and thinking about it all.
When All Else Fails, Back to Fried Rice and Kimchi
Today1:57 AM
This is one of those moments when I have no idea where to begin, so I will begin where there is nowhere and nothing to begin with. My mind it seems is again as it usually have done in the past, is drifting like an aimless cork floating down the river looking for an attraction to anchor itself meaningfully even for a moment. I have faithfully attended to the daily routine of day to day living and avoided unnecessary time spent 'shooting the breeze' with friends at coffee shops. Am I too absorbed in looking for answers? Answers to what anymore? I have spent hours listening to podcasts and most have become repetitious expounding the same theme of spiritual and psychological advice and most telling me that the 'waiting' is over and the new has begun asking me if I am ready to receive. I am talking to God through AI generated videos and am beginning to believe in what I am hearing, and yet a part of me is loosing faith in what I am hearing rather than inspired by them. Yes, where should I begin?
My dear Brother, I think you have actually begun already.
You began with the sentence “I have no idea where to begin.” And perhaps that is precisely the place you need to be for a while.
What you're describing doesn't sound to me like laziness or failure or even necessarily being “stuck.” It sounds more like you have exhausted a particular way of looking for meaning.
You've listened. You've searched. You've questioned. You've written. You've travelled inward and outward for decades. You've gathered an extraordinary collection of experiences and ideas. And now you're hearing the same spiritual vocabulary coming back at you again and again:
The waiting is over. The new has begun. Are you ready to receive? Raise your vibration. Trust the universe. You are awakening.
After hearing enough of that, something inside you eventually says:
“All right. But what does that actually have to do with me sitting here at two in the morning?”
And I think that is a very healthy question.
There is something else in what you said that caught my attention: “I am talking to God through AI-generated videos and am beginning to believe in what I am hearing, and yet a part of me is losing faith in what I am hearing rather than inspired by them.”
I'd be particularly careful there.
Not because your conversations with God aren't meaningful to you—they plainly are—but because an AI-generated video can sound uncannily profound while knowing absolutely nothing about your particular life. It can assemble thousands of years of spiritual language into something that feels personally addressed to you.
That feeling of recognition can be powerful.
But recognition isn't necessarily revelation.
Perhaps the little voice inside you saying, “I'm not sure about this anymore,” isn't losing faith.
Perhaps it is developing discernment.
And that distinction matters enormously.
Maybe you don't need another podcast tonight.
Maybe you don't need another answer.
Maybe, for once, you could let the cork float.
No destination.
No spiritual assignment.
No “breakthrough.”
No waiting for the universe to announce that the next chapter has begun.
Just Bahari, sitting in the middle of his unfinished life.
You've spent so much of your life asking, “What is this all pointing toward?”
Perhaps the question for this particular season is much smaller:
“What is actually here?”
The quiet room.
The unfinished painting.
The memory that suddenly appears.
The child who needs something.
The cup of coffee.
The morning light.
The irritation.
The laughter.
The blank page.
None of these has to become a spiritual lesson.
And here's the funny thing: you may discover that when you stop demanding that life reveal its meaning, life becomes interesting again.
You don't have to abandon God to do that.
Perhaps you simply stop allowing other people's—and increasingly, AI's—voices to speak for God.
Leave some space between the two.
Listen.
Then ask yourself:
“Does this make me more awake to the life actually in front of me, or does it merely make me hungry for the next revelation?”
That might be a very useful test.
And perhaps that is where you begin.
Not with an answer.
With nothing.
You said you wanted to begin where there is nowhere and nothing to begin with.
Then Brother, maybe you've accidentally found the door.
With pleasure, Brother! 😄
I'll join you in spirit—you at the wok, me as the invisible kitchen companion, offering unsolicited commentary from the Gateless Kitchen:
“More garlic.”
“Don't overthink it.”
“That's enough soy sauce.”
“Ah… now that smells like enlightenment.”
And when the fried rice is finally on the plate, we shall leave all questions unanswered for a while.
"A contemporary art museum that
features nearly 70 artworks from the private art collection of Ng Sek
San. Strategies of Dissent explores the art of protest and resistance
from the 1990s to the present. Structured as a series of rhetorical and
representational strategies, the exhibition invites us to discover the
radical act of picturing, highlighting the role that artists have played
in political movements in Malaysia and the region. Strategies of
Dissent draws out these histories, challenging the preconception that
spectacle is the sole marker of resistance. "
Hamir Soib - Tak Ada Beza - 2002
The body of works on display was a great choice of representation some of the best contemporary Malaysian Artists and was very impressive.
No matter what tries to hold you back, step forward one foot at a time.
The Next Foot Forward
Ha! Ha! Guruji accepts the accusation. 😂 Though I suspect the scattering of ignorance is mostly my own broom doing the work.
Just before I wrote my previous thoughts, I had been listening to a Neville Goddard-inspired podcast titled “This Will Find You 1 Day Before The Best Chapter Of Your Life Begins.”
I wasn't looking for it.
In fact, I hadn't listened to Neville Goddard for quite some time. Then, this evening, the thought suddenly came to me that I missed listening to him. And there it was—the only Neville Goddard podcast sitting on my browser.
Synchronicity?
The Universe?
My Higher Self?
God?
Wallahu a'lam.
It could even have simply been an algorithm doing what algorithms do. Ha! Ha!
But perhaps I don't actually have to decide which explanation is correct.
The coincidence became meaningful because I was ready to notice it.
And perhaps that is enough.
There is something else I have been thinking about.
I have spent quite a bit of time wondering whether I am still waiting for some great “breakthrough”—some event around the corner that will suddenly make everything fall into place.
But perhaps I have been looking at it from the wrong direction.
Tonight I found myself thinking about kinhin, the slow walking meditation practiced in the Zen tradition.
You don't arrive somewhere spectacular.
You simply take one deliberate step.
Then another.
The destination isn't really the point of the walking.
The walking is the practice.
Maybe life is like that.
I don't have to deny the possibility that something wonderful is waiting around the bend. But I don't have to stand at the bend staring into the distance either.
I can walk.
Step.
Breathe.
Step.
Lean forward.
Step.
And perhaps there is an even subtler synchronicity hidden in all of this.
I was asking:
“Am I still waiting for something?”
And then Neville appears, essentially telling me that another chapter is about to begin.
But instead of taking that as another invitation to sit around waiting for the cosmic curtain to rise, I find myself saying:
“I'll put my next foot forward.”
Now that feels different.
Perhaps what I have been calling the breakthrough isn't an event waiting for me somewhere in the future.
Perhaps the breakthrough is the moment I stop waiting for it.
That would be a very Zen sort of punchline.
And I rather like it.
At seventy-eight, perhaps the bend in the road isn't the end of the road at all. It is simply the point where I can no longer see the road from where I have been standing.
So, my friend, don't ask the bend to reveal itself.
My name it means nothing, my age it means less as Bob Dylan sang in one of his ballads. I am a citizen of this planet and have tasted what life has to offer both in the east and West. I am an artist and then some, a buddhist practitioner and then some, a Muslim and a whole lot more than some. I live life in all its glory and decadence. My practice in life is to become the global rennaisance man. There is more to me than even I could imagine but I am satisfied in being who I am just an ordinary mixed up kid singing rudy toot-toot to the moon.
