Of Cats and Humans

Uggy

Zaza

Maffin

Zaza is sick. She is our 80 (human) years old cat who's been with us since the kids were still kids and my husband was still alive. Her alternate name when she gets grouchy is Ms Touch-Me-Not-Or-Else.  Well, that's what I call her anyway. She is not your everyday nice kitty. In fact she is really not very nice; she even bites the hand that feeds her, whosoever hand that happens to be. So you better not even go near her when she's in a foul mood. You can tell that is when she flicks her tail at you. And no, she's not grouchy because she's old (unlike her human owners). She is just plain grouchy, even when she was young.

We have 2 other cats lazing around and in the house. Actually discounting all that fur flying in the air, the occasional vomit and smelly poo in the garden, the cats all make for interesting observation, not to mention we get to love them in a way we can't seem to do with humans. So we all go Ooh and Ahh over sweet old Uggy, the eldest ''queen' of the house whenever she mews as her stomach calls, which is often. Of course on the off-side, we also get to scold and reprimand in a way we don't do with humans. Especially when the youngest kid on the block, Maffin the Terrible somehow gets his claws under the food-cover to drag out the nasi lemak we just bought for breakfast or sips from our mugs on the table, ignoring his own bowl of water on the floor. Zaza obviously takes the cake for bad moods.

Incidentally, all 3 cats are not related to each other, yet they know how to live together under 1 roof, as peaceably as cats can. Typically Zaza fights and bullies her way to be big boss. The other 2 give way, although occasionally Maffin would risk a swipe to get at more food than his given share. Uggy the sweetie pie of course just walks away. Sometimes she just sits with her face to the wall and stares at it for ages. And I wonder in fascination, what's going through that cat-brain of hers; what does she see on a white wall?

Animals can be so like human beings,  or perhaps it is the other way round. Some people you can relate to and love so easily. Some you touch at own risk with a 10 foot pole. Others you just wish you could give them 2 (or more tight) slaps to get them to behave. Or lock them up in the bathroom for time-outs like we do do to Maffin when he continually jumps onto the table to join us at dinner. Yet if we consider we are all under the 'homo sapiens' family, we really should, must, love one another, in spite of our individual differences.  After all God doesn't just love the sweet obedient people, or the folks who run up a mile long list of good deeds. And even if I were dumb enough to spend all day staring at blank walls, He would still love me. The strangest thing is He can love the unlovable - the 'grouches' of the world - the ones who resent, rebuke, reject, doubt, desert and deny Him, the ones with a Touch-Me-Not 10 km steel barb fence guarding their hearts.  Which just goes to show it isn't about us. He loves us because He chooses to.  It's that simple  Isn't it great to know Someone loves you not because of who you are/aren't, what you have/don't have, can/can't do, did/didn't do, but just because He does. 

Coming back to cats, we had to take Zaza to the vet several times. Every trip is a nightmare because she just hisses and glares at us when we try to get her into the cage.  As for the vet, well, he once remarked, "This isn't a cat, it's a tigress." Hmmm, with that kind of history, I am wondering if he increased his fees this time for increased 'hazards' of the job. Zaza's injections and medication have crossed the $600 mark. And she is still not well. Apparently she has a bad case of gingivitis which has spread to her lungs. Heck, I didn't know cats can also get their gums infected like humans. And I thought it was just a stuck nose and dirty eye muck. Worse case scenario - pull out all her teeth, which leaves me thinking that's pretty cruel, I mean what if I had all my teeth pulled out, how am I gonna enjoy my food? Not to mention it would probably cost a bomb - what, this would be like major open heart surgery on a human being, right? Absolute worst case scenario - put her down. Man, that would be tough. After such a long time with us, and despite her being such a grouch, Zaza is family and much loved.

I tell my kids, please if ever I get to such a stage where I can't talk, move or whatever, don't you dare  put me down. If you can't or won't take care of me, pack me off to a nursing home for me to die alone.' I tell them it's not their call to make. Only the owner of my life can take away my life. Not even I have that right, because I have given my life over to Jesus, my Savior. So only He can pull the plug on me, so to speak. I will go when He says it's time to go. No sooner no later.

If I must suffer or others must suffer with me in the meantime, well, just too bad, I won't like it; surely no one likes it. I know because I was care-giver to a terminally-ill husband for some 3 over years watching him suffer. It drained me out physically, emotionally and yes, spiritually. There were times, many times, I asked God why, why why. I am sure there are many bottles in heaven containing the tears I cried during those dark moments. God never answered my why's; I don't think He's in the business of answering  anyone's why's anyway. But He did something better - He walked me through the shadows; He held my hand. He's still doing it today. That makes all the difference in my life, because now I know even and in spite of suffering, I just need to hang on tight to Him. He has proven Himself faithful. What was it someone said about suffering...We should grow better, not bitter, because of it. And I certainly grew better -  at knowing and appreciating that when I let God be who He is, I experience what only what He can do.

The vet gave medication to be fed to Zaza. But she's worse than a kid at taking it. She hates the syringe; it takes 2 of us to hold her down. She sniffs at and refuses to eat the food because she knows it's been mixed with the meds. How is she to get well if she doesn't take her meds? I guess that's how it works with God too. If I had refused His 'doses' of love, grace and mercy, my broken heart, spirit and soul would not have been healed. Actually it came to a point where I was just too tired of trying to 'get over things' on my own. Getting over horrible stuff and carrying on with living isn't the same as being healed. We all reach that point of exhaustion sooner or later in life. Better sooner than later, and better later than never.

Our cat needs to be force-fed for her own good. God doesn't force any one; He cares for us too much to take away the freedom He gave us to choose to be loved by Him, and to love Him in return. Tragically many people just don't want or can't let God love us the way He wants to. I venture God wishes we would all understand His love for us and allow Him to touch us, as much as I wish Zaza would understand we love her and let herself be touched so we can take proper care of her. But then she's just a cat....



"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,  neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." - Romans 8:38-39

It never quite goes away

                       
I attended a funeral service on the 5th day of Chinese New Year. I didn't know the deceased; I came to comfort the sister, my ex-boss. I remembered how she had comforted me by sleeping over that first nite my husband lay dead in a coffin downstairs. It wasn't like we were buddy-buddy; in fact I had refused her offer, but she insisted. And I am ever grateful she did; for in the middle of the nite, I started crying for a husband who would never sleep beside me again on this side of earth. All she did was hold me. Well, she certainly doesn't need me to sleep over with her in her hour of grief losing a beloved brother; she has husband, kids, and family to draw her close. So all I could do was hug her for some brief moments of time. No words can comfort in the face of death; none are really necessary. Tears speak a common language.

The first Christian funeral I attended was 15 years ago - my husband's. I remember the Chinese funerals of relatives before that. One which still stands out very clearly in my mind was the funeral of my grandfather umpteen years ago when I was just a kid. I barely knew this grandpa, since my family lived in Penang, and they were in Alor Star. But I vividly recall how I was directed to crawl some distance on my knees to the altar in front of the coffin, then kneel with joss-sticks in hand, and after that, sit and burn papers in a clay pot. I remember the chanting and wailing and me crawling up to the roof attic of some aunty's house to snooze. And I remember how we were all forbidden to come out on the 7th nite to avoid meeting the spirit of my dead grandpa who would return to visit before being forever shut up in hell. Or something spooky to that effect.

I have since attended many Christian and other funerals. Each time I never fail to remember my own walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Sure, life goes on, we come to terms with the loss of loved ones. But the grief is something that never quite goes away; time simply files it off  in some remote corner of the mind, until another funeral brings it up to the forefront again. I don't remember much of my husband's wake service though. All I knew was there were literally tons of strangers milling around the house. Many were church folks who had come, not because they knew me or my husband, but because they knew my brother, the church pastor.  I don't remember what was said by the preacher though years later, my sis-in-law told me she wasn't too happy hearing him talk about man's sin leading to death. "What he mean? My brother didn't do any sin that he should die for." Of course by that time, I had been a Christian for some years, so I understood what the preacher really meant, and he was right of course. That all of us are sinners by nature and death is the consequence of all sin. No Pastor coined that up; God said it.

And that is the inescapable tragedy of our humanity. We are all doomed to die, and not just die as in get eaten up by worms under the ground or be reduced to bones and ashes in a crematorium. There is death physical and there is death eternal in hell. It's irrelevant whether we believe it or not. Just like God, if it's true, it's true. Believing or not believing makes absolutely no difference to the truth; but belief/unbelief has to bear the consequences, which  makes a world of difference. No matter how great, how good, how successful, how happy and free we think we are  living our lives on this earth doing what we want. No matter how many houses we own in our name, no matter how much money we make, no matter how many million 'likes' we hit on Facebook, no matter how fast we are promoted to the top of the ladder. No matter. Death ends it all.

But it doesn't have to be that way, and that's why the Christian  funeral is different. I have grown so familiar with the songs sung on such occasions I sing them without referring to the hymn book. And more than anything else, when the old feeling of loss surfaces once again, it's the songs that soothe  my heart, expressing the hope that we who believe can trust in a God who has rescued us from death; that our faith will never be in vain as the promise will turn into reality the very second we breathe our last; it's a fact merely to come, a done deal, fait accompli as they say.

No religion gives that kind of certainty. No ritual or ceremony can guarantee me I will be reunited in heaven, not only with my God or my husband or with every one I know who has believed in Jesus, but also with all I don't know who called upon His name. Man, I have got a whole 'world' family waiting for me to party 'upstairs'. All my good deeds aren't enough to pay for the entrance ticket to the grandest banquet in that city. I only got it when I chose to stretch out my empty hands to Jesus to receive what only He can give. That's why my funeral will be a celebration of not only my life on earth but my life in eternity. Literally I can say to hell with death; I don't belong there. It gives me great satisfaction to know I can say that with full confidence, not because I have any power over death - I don't; it's not me who cancelled death's contract on my life; it's Jesus and only Jesus who can do it for me. The best news is He already did, when He died on the cross, wiping out all my sin by His very own blood, and rose resurrected alive from the tomb of death.

I can come up with many reasons why I believe Jesus Christ. But the most compelling still remains this - that only in Him, have I a hope that there is so much more than life on this earth that gives me so much more meaning to everyday that I get to live on this earth. Right now it's as if I am living with one foot in heaven's door, anticipating what's coming, and one foot grounded on earth. Paradoxically I am looking forward to dying, because I know when that happens, both my feet will stand firm on heaven's hallowed ground, not in hell's fire. So whilst grief can and does cut deep, the Christian heart rests on this divine assurance that death isn't the end, it's the beginning when we are welcomed home to a much better place.

"Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope" - 1 Thessalonians 4:13

When Man Imitates God

Monster, criminal or war hero?  A superb performance by Benedict Cumberbatch aka Sherlock Holmes fleshes out the Hollywood biopic of Alan Turing in The Imitation Game . Alan who? Alan Turing, the mathematician cryptologist credited as the father of computer science and artificial intelligence. Together with a top-secret team of not-so-ordinary men and women, he was responsible for building a machine that finally cracked intercepted coded messages from the Nazi's Enigma programme during World War 2. Apparently his Turing machine enabled the Allies to gain significant victories that shortened the war in Europe by as many as two to four years, saving an estimated 14 to 21 million lives. Ironically his work remained secret for some 50 years and it was only lately in 2013 that he was granted a posthumous pardon for committing gross indecency, homosexuality being still a crime back in his days. Opting for chemical castration instead of jail time, he died of an apparent suicide when he was just 41 years old. A tragic story, but how much artistic license Hollywood has  taken out of the real life of this genius I wouldn't  know.

Was he really a social mis-fit? An arrogant insensitive obnoxious super-geek? Did he really stutter? Is the portrayal of a rejected, lonely boy, bullied at school, misunderstood by peers, disliked by superiors real? Or merely melodrama; for obviously tragic heroes tugs at human hearts and sells more tickets. Whatever, undeniably his was a brilliant mind buried inside a not-quite-ordinary personality.  Perhaps geniuses all have a touch of madness about them. As his ex-fiancee and co-worker expresses it, "The world is an infinitely better place precisely because you weren't (normal)". And I am sure she wasn't referring to his homosexuality. After all, if you are a genius, you are genius; sexuality has nothing to do with it. Same irrelevance with race, age, gender. Yes, we can condemn the act of his prosecution, but the fact remains that was the law in those days, and he was guilty of offending it. Incidentally, that same law is still written in our Malaysian books today, and already used against a very famous Malaysian no less. 

So to me, Turing's homosexuality was just Hollywood tying in an emotional angle to the man. I was struck more by the moral dilemma that presented at the climax after the team finally cracked the code. They now had knowledge of their enemy's  movements, plans and strategies. With 1 phone call, they could activate reprisal and preventive action to counter the Nazi advance. Yet apparently Turing refused to allow the information to be relayed to proper security channels; he denied his own team-member's appeal to save the latter's brother whose ship was already targeted to be bombed. Because if they acted, the enemy would know their code had been broken and come up with something else, and they would all be back to square one. And the war would never end, the Nazis may even win with a new unbreakable code. The world couldn't afford to let that happen. So a conspiracy of lies was set up, which involved British secret intelligence agency MI6, such that only they could decide 'statistically' when to go on the offensive and when to let the Nazis win.

In short they were all playing God, deciding who should live and who should die.  It turns my stomach to think that my life could be in the hands of a machine; that I am just a 'statistic' in a war game over which I have no control and no idea even that I am in it. If true, was this justifiable? Is it really for the 'greater good'? To let some die so more/others could be saved? Fair? Of course not, if you or your loved ones happen to be whom a numbers-crunching machine considers a 'dispensable disposable'. Necessary? Yes is a brutally honest answer.

I  walk out of the cinema thanking God I am most certainly not a number to Him. He has already invented a program that can save everyone from a death worse than physically dying. Way before Turing's idea of sacrificing some for the sake of a bigger good, God already sent 1 Man to die for the world. It wasn't fair for Jesus to hang on a cross paying the price for all of mankind's sin. But it was necessary. So it was done. Thank God it was done; because of Him doing it, today I am not just alive, but I have resurrection eternal life.

 "You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die....than that the whole nation perish.” -John 11:50
"Therefore, as through one man (Adam)'s  offense judgment came to all men, resulting in condemnation, even so through one Man (Jesus)’s righteous act the free gift came to all men, resulting in justification of life." - Romans 5:18

The Malaysia of Tomorrow

So many things have happened. So many things continue to happen in my beloved country. Sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Many times I don't even know how to pray anymore. I only know there is this 'achy' feeling in the heart. Religiously I think  it's termed a 'burden'. And that's an apt description of something that weighs heavy deep within the spirit. 

Who isn't sick and tired of the politicking, the rhetoric of race and religion being shouted out every other day. We use terms like extremism and moderation. What are they ultimately but positions of self-interest? It just depends on which side of the fence you happen to be sitting on. Everyone and anyone can lay claim to being right and being free to express that right. You are free to behave like an idiot, even to go to hell if you choose. Isn't that what liberty is touted to be? You are free to speak what you want, act how you like, whenever you like, even if you offend another.  As long as you don't descend into 'hate-crime'. And what's that supposed to mean? Who defines the boundaries? Talk to the IS champion; I am sure he will tell you he's absolutely right since he's just doing his job as ordained by his god. And please don't blame god. It's so easy to shift responsibility to god or the devil every time human beings mess up.

So who or what is to be blamed for that 'something rotten' in Malaysia? For once I think many of us would agree with that expression though we may not agree with the one who said it. Again depending on your angle, that something rotten can be attributed to this or that person, institution, organization, program, party, race, and of course religion (like I said, we can't seem to leave god out of it, though we can deny his existence ever so strenously). Heck, we don't even know when the rot started in the first place. But it certainly seems to be getting smellier, doesn't it?

How many of us remember the nascent hope in our breasts after GE13? How many proudly attested to their being 'there' on the streets during the Bersih marches? Yet just within this past 1 year or so, Malaysia and Malaysians have been struck with so many more unprecedented events. From plane tragedies to dengue attacks and devastating floods to the loss of 2 great 'sons' of Malaysia. Whatever our politics,  that's how Mr Karpal Singh and Tok Guru Nik Aziz will be remembered. And whilst the highest court of the land may have rendered their final verdict on Anwar Ibrahim and put him out of sight, he certainly isn't out of mind. One way or another, the spectre of one of Malaysia's most charismatic leaders (the most, for some) looms beyond his prison cell.

I am not into politics but I was struck by how the opposition party seems to be hit by one storm after another these days. Some people see a (sinking) ship without a captain. But storms are surely part and parcel of life. Captains too will come and go; like all humans. As someone puts it, perhaps it's the ending of 1 season and the beginning of another  in Malaysia. When all the old must be removed before the new can be ushered in. That's not to discredit or denigrate the old in any way. Without the seed being planted, without the old digging, laying foundations and paving the way, there would be no new to speak of. So we must salute and honor the old. But we don't put people, parties or organizations onto pedestals. Yes, they may be heroes. But heroes are meant to be emulated for their good points, not followed blindly, for even heroes can fail and fall. After all, one person's hero can be another's devil; which is pretty much the way freedom of  perspective functions. 

We do it all the time, consciously or unconsciously, all in the name of freedom of course. So one race is just out to suck you dry. Another is too lazy to work. One party is just too religious. The other is corrupt. We are so quick and great at pointing out each other's faults. At our cell group meeting, whilst we contemplated the state of our nation, a challenging question was asked, What's one good thing you can say of this/that other race?  I am ashamed to say we had to think hard on that one. But once we started thinking, there were answers forthcoming which proves there is always something good if we look hard enough, no matter how bad the situation.

So we mused on whether the road to unity can begin by capitalizing on the good of one another, instead of forever harping on each other's bad. If we could recognize, support and build on each other's strengths instead of finding fault and condemning another's weakness, maybe just maybe we can overcome our inherent prejudices one against the other and work towards a common goal - to see all Malaysians prosper. Let's be honest and admit it: which race doesn't harbor prejudices or at the very least entertain stereotypes regarding another?

When will we, can we, stop labeling each other? Malay, Chinese, Indian, Orang Asli. Pro-this, anti-that. Moderate or extremist, what's the point? To count who's the majority, who shouts the loudest?  If you are the majority, so what? Does that make your view more right, more acceptable? Lest we forget, for all the talk about democracy, a 51% majority still means there is a 49% minority who doesn't want to agree with you. Like the saying goes, talk is cheap. Anyone can talk, good or bad. And no one can make everyone happy.

But surely nationhood isn't about talking; it is a doing thing. It's not about happiness; it's about living together well in spite of differences. It's about being part of a family whose members can quarrel but still make up at the end of the day, because all in the family are bound by a love that goes beyond self-preservation and self-interest. Where every member recognizes it's not about vying for position or power within the family, but about every other member deserving the best of and from each other.  As long as we insist on hollering from opposite sides of the fence, demanding all the time for 'our' rights , we are just going to end up deaf . We might as well start throwing stones at one another next. And so as they say, never the twain shall meet...

Maybe I am just getting old, rounding the wrong half of a century, and certainly I'm weary of the same old same old issues thrown up like smelly vomit of the sick. No wonder God destroyed the earth with the greatest flood when He got thoroughly fed-up of all the evil that men did back then, leaving behind only a remnant of 8 persons to rebuild a new world.

It would be so easy to destroy Malaysia; and no, it doesn't involve God. He's not the 'bad guy'. If we don't know it by now, actually we are our own worst enemies. What will it take to wipe off all the stinky rubbish from the old slate so that a better story can be written over? Is there a new generation of thinkers, movers and doers out there who can and will rise to the challenge, not of fighting, but of building peace across all fences for the Malaysia of Tomorrow? Now that's something I can pray for. God willing, I hope to see it in my life-time.



Published MMO 16/2/15

Aging with Meaning

Aging can be a terrible or a liberating thing, or both depending on how you handle it. It can make you mad, literally. Nobody likes to grow old. The normal presumption is the older you get, the nearer you are to death. And nobody likes to die; it's the ultimate of your life being reduced to nothing, particularly if you don't believe in God or the hereafter.

The human natural instinct objects to aging. That's why advertisements pandering to miraculous creams and elixirs of health abound, selling us the vain hope that somehow the process can be arrested or at least camouflaged. Hovering over all this ado about aging is that unwelcome stranger - death, an ever-present shadow, a robber lurking around waiting to snatch life away. Once it strikes, it's as if that life never existed for after the tears subside, the grief is buried or burnt up with a mere shell of a body, and the world moves on.

That was what stuck in my head as I watched a very angry drug-depressed daughter rant at an aging father who had achieved so much success as Birdman the screen superhero, yet failed her all his life. A washed-up actor trying to rejuvenate his career and repair broken relationships in the process battling an existential crisis within himself. Here is a Hollywood has-been struggling to find meaning in his life,his work and his connection with others. 

It's the story of every man, every woman. Surely we all want our lives to mean something, to feel 'relevant', to be 'validated and respected', to do something that's 'important' to us; whatever that may be. But the hard-hitting truth of life on this earth is, as the rebellious daughter puts it bluntly, is that the world forgets all too easily and all too quickly, so "You're the one who doesn't exist. You're doing this because you're scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don't matter and, you know what, you're right. You don't! It's not important, okay? You're not important! Get used to it."

Could that be the reason we obsess about opening our e-mails first thing in the morning, fiddle with our smart phones at the dinner table, count the 'likes' on our Fb page, or how many followers we have on Twitter or how many people are logging into our blogs? How pathetically sad that a human being's importance, relevance and significance should be reduced to such petty measurements.  Birdman very poignantly echoes that inner voice of every human being : What am I all about?  In a world where everything and everyone is so 'connected', there are even more lonely souls than ever. It takes a homeless man on the street to quote the immortalized words of Shakespeare's Macbeth to put this earthly life into reality, "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,  Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out! Out! Brief candle, Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing" Nothing. How depressing indeed if such is the sum total and end of our humanity.

Yet if you believe there is something more than just life on earth , then there is redemption - there is something called hope. That's where Birdman literally soars. Is it all just fanciful imagination that he can fly in the sky, like when he did on a movie set? All the super-power levitating and telekinesis, is it for real? Or is he mentally so deranged that he has totally 'lost' it? Bad enough he hears his alter-ego's voice , but he actually sees Birdman - a guy in a bird suit -  sitting on his toilet-bowl. That's insane. But this wasn't just a story of a depressed character driven by his own inner demons to suicide. There are so many rich nuances played out by and in each of the characters to appreciate, but to a die-hard romantic like me, the best moment of the dark movie was when father and daughter were reconciled. She, the wild rebel, bringing lilacs to his hospital bed, because he has shot off his own nose on the opening night of his play after the humiliation of  running through the city streets in his underwear. She just lays down her head to rest on his chest.

It spoke volumes about love and forgiveness although not one word was exchanged. Nothing and yet everything was said in that simple gesture. Ironically his play that was supposed to catapult him back into fame was entitled What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. Ultimately love and forgiveness brings down all barriers; heals and frees us to be all that we can be and are meant to be. To the extent that death no longer has any power over us. At least that's how I like to interpret that most cryptic ending; when moments later, she goes off to get a vase for the flowers and returns to find her father missing with the window open, automatically we assume the worst - that he jumped. But if so, why is she smiling as she looks down over the high ledge and then up into the sky, where the birds are flying? Did he or didn't he... die? It really doesn't matter. He is free, he knows the meaning of his life is not dependent on an ascerbic critic's approval of his work, or anyone else for that matter. He found his peace, when he dared surrender and let something bigger than himself take over. That's true freedom.

I guess that's how it is with God.  He isn't Birdman, He isn't anyone's alter-ego, or a voice in someone's head. But His love and forgiveness gives me a meaning in life bigger than myself.  When I surender to Him, He enables me to soar  on His wings; that takes me beyond aging, beyond death, to find  life that's everlasting. So aging and death cannot turn me into nothing.


"Most assuredly, I say to you, he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life" - John 5:24