Taken from an unspecified source. Cryptic, isn't it? |
Face it, it's all about yourself |
'Nyahhhhhhhh!!!! Don't forget me!' |
Taken from an unspecified source. Cryptic, isn't it? |
Face it, it's all about yourself |
'Nyahhhhhhhh!!!! Don't forget me!' |
'I only earned that much, really!' |
'I did warned you, you know.' |
'Hey, at least I am better than Flop-nando Torres!' |
'Who?' |
'But I am so awesome!' |
'This is football, really!' |
'By golly, where's my hair?' |
'PM, why you no give holiday?' |
'At least I still have AC Milan.' |
'Debt, why you no go away?' |
This is the second short story I have written and posted online. I had already posted both short stories up on my Facebook profile. The first story is entitled 'The Letter', and the theme is sorrow and regret. You can read it on the post before the last. On the other hand, the second one is entitled 'A Day in the Office', and the theme is more action-based. Needless to say, these stories are entirely fictional, and cannot be published without the permission of the author. In case I didn't make it explicitly clear, I wrote these stories (heh).
‘It will go off in Madison Square at 5.00pm sharp.’
The haggard man spoke in a tired voice. His hands were tied behind him, and he was seated on a wooden chair in a dingy and dark room, lit only by a naked light bulb. His eyes were swollen, nose broken and there were bruises everywhere on his body. There were small splatters of blood on the mouldy walls of the room.
Dom glanced at his watch. 3.55pm. He turned away from the man and speed-dialled a number on his mobile phone. He only waited for half a second before the call was connected.
‘This is Martins. Priority one alert. Bomb is located at Madison Square, scheduled to go off at 5pm.’
Dom held the phone for a split second longer before turning around to face the bounded man, whose name was Amund. Dom loathed threatening and using violence to anyone. But he had no choice. He had no time, and thousands of innocent lives are at stake. And Amund was a well known terrorist. He was wanted in at least 5 countries. More than that, he was a gifted bomb maker. And right now, Dom wanted to be sure.
‘You sure that it will go off at Madison Square at exactly 5pm?’
The bounded man groaned and whispered, ‘Yes, I speak the truth. And since I helped you, you let me go. We had a deal.’
Now the tricky part. Dom put on his best poker face. ‘Yes, we had a deal. But you still wasted a great deal of time of my time. You repeatedly lied to me. In fact, you lied to me again. ‘
In spite of himself, Dom watched with grim satisfaction as Amund flinched. Dom somehow had the innate ability to discern when people lied to him. Dom noticed the expression of Amund after making the phone call through the reflection off his mobile phone screen. Dom saw that the man’s face almost twitched into a smile after he made the phone call, and knew that Amund was withholding something.
Dom continued speaking. ‘Besides, I am not authorised to make deals with terrorists. But I am authorised to use whatever means necessary to extract information from a terrorist in order to save lives of innocents. ‘Dom reached into his holster to pull out his gun, and removed the safety pin. He pointed the gun at Amund’s right knee, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet discharge from the gun was loud in the confined space of the room. Amund cried out in agony. Dom pointed the gun at the left knee.
‘Wait, wait.’ Amund blurted out. ‘There is a bomb at Madison Square, will go off at 5pm, just like I said. But there is another one. It will go off at 4.45pm.’
‘Where is it?’ Dom asked. And the man told him. Dom glanced at his watch again. He exited the room, ignoring the cries of pain from the man. David was outside, talking on his mobile, and his eyebrows arched upwards when he noticed Dom’s gun was not in the holster.
‘..Yes sir. I understand sir.’ David slipped his mobile back into his jacket, and spoke to Dom. ‘Just got here, and the chief called to say that we aren’t needed at Madison Square, our department’s job is done. ‘
Dom rolled his eyes in exasperation and sighed. It’s a well known fact that the heads of the various departments disliked each other, and often do not pool their resources, including information and manpower. He replaced his gun at the holster and said, ‘Well, there’s another bomb. And it’s going off at 4.45pm. Come one, I will explain on the way. No time to waste.’
‘How about the suspect?’ asked David, as both of them jogged to David’s car.
‘Oh, right, I better call the ambulance. I shot him in the knee. ‘ Dom spoke briefly on the phone , before entering David’s car. David started the engine, and asked,’ So, you haven’t told me where the other bomb is. ‘
‘It’s at the Raffles Bridge. I just notify HQ too. Quick, its rush hour, and we haven’t got much time. ‘
As David drove, Dom took the moment to gather his thoughts. He regretted shooting Amund, but he put it at the back of his mind for now. He had more pressing matters to worry about. A bomb going off at the Raffles would be disastrous. Right now, the bridge would be crawling with hundreds of cars. But Dom felt something wasn’t quite right.
David spoke up, ‘You know, I think the bomb at Raffles is just to stop the bomb squad from ever reaching Madison. Because the only way via land to Madison Square is through-‘
‘-the Raffles Bridge. I thought as much. If the bridge gets blown up, then no one is getting to Madison Square, not by land at least.’ Dom gritted his teeth. ‘It’s up to us to find and disarm the bomb at the bridge then.’
By the time they reached the bridge, the local police had already blocked the entrance to the bridge, turning disgruntled motorists away. Even so, hundreds of cars were still on the bridge at this moment. Dom glanced at his watch. 4.35pm.
David parked his car, and grabbed a backpack from the boot. Both of them flashed their ID cards to the police officers manning the entrance.
‘Special Agent Martins, and Special Agent Yuen. We’re here to look for the bomb. ‘said David.
One burly police officer exclaimed, ‘Just you two? I thought they will send the cavalry.’
Dom answered curtly, ‘We are the cavalry. Did the bomb squad heading to Madison enter the bridge already?’
Another officer answered, ‘Yeah, about 10 minutes ago. ‘
Dom calculated briefly in his head. In this traffic, the squad would probably reach Madison in 15 minutes. Yes, they should have enough time to disarm the bomb. Dom hoped for the best, as there was nothing he could do about the Madison Square bomb now.
Dom and David ran to the centre of the bridge. If the terrorists wanted to effectively destroy the bridge, the bomb would definitely be in the centre. As the two agents ran past the cars stuck in the jam, curious motorists glanced at their direction. But Dom and David dutifully ignored them.
4.40pm.
‘You think this is it?’ panted Dom as they reached the centre, marked by steel arcs reaching into the sky. The Raffles Bridge was a spectacular piece of architecture and engineering, the pride of the local town.
‘It’s has to be. We got no time left.’ replied David. ‘We got to disarm it.’
Dom understood. 5 minutes left on the clock. Not sufficient time for the cars to clear out of the bridge. If the bomb squad was still on the bridge, they will never reach Madison Square on time.
The terrorists were prepared. They expected agents to attempt to disarm the bomb. Perhaps they had not trusted Amund to keep quiet. Hired mercenaries were told to keep watch over the bombsite, and kill anyone who approaches the bombsite too closely. But they were told the bomb was timed to detonate at 5.00pm. Gunfire greeted the two agents, and they dived into cover. Panic erupted from the motorists, as many people exited of their vehicles and started running towards the other side of the bridge.
‘Dom! I will hold them off. You are the best in disarming bombs! GO!’ shouted David, as he turned around to return fire.
It was true. As counter-terrorism field agents, Dom and David were trained in every aspect of counter-terrorism. Gun battles, interrogation, and bomb disarming. David was the sharpshooter of their batch, and Dom got top marks in bomb-disarming. Dom grabbed David’s backpack and climbed the ladder down the bridge.
The bomb wasn’t difficult to find. It was the kind with a digital timer attached. It wasn’t terribly hard to construct, and that’s the scary part about making bombs. Anyone with the right knowledge and tools could do it.
4.43pm.
Dom unzipped the backpack and took out a wire cutter. He untangled the mass of wires from the centre of the bomb. Red, green, blue, yellow, black and pink wires. Dom gulped. He had never seen this before. He had no time to individually check each wire to determine which was connected to the charge. Dom briefly considered cutting 1 wire at random. 1 in 6 chances to get it right. The odds were stacked against him.
Dom shook his head, as if to clear his increasingly panicky thoughts. ‘There must be another way. Think, Dom, think.’ muttered Dom to himself.
4.44pm.
He examined the back of the bomb. It had straps attached to it, just like a backpack. This must be how the terrorists carried the bomb here. It was rather big and cumbersome. Someone must have strapped it onto himself to carry it here. Dom had an idea. He quickly stripped himself of his jacket and strapped the bomb onto his back. He jumped into the cold, grimy water of the Raffles River, and started swimming as hard as he could away from the bridge. 10...20...30...Dom mentally counted the seconds away as he swam. When he counted till 40, Dom unstrapped the bomb from his back, and weighed it on his hands. It was big, but it wasn’t heavy. Was he far away enough from the bridge? Too late to do anything about that. With as much strength he could muster, Dom threw the bomb away from himself as he dived underwater. Almost instantaneously, the bomb exploded. Dom resurfaced and looked around. Pieces of the bomb were floating around him, but he was unscathed and the bridge was intact. He had succeeded!
A wave of exhaustion hit Dom. He had succeeded against all odds, yet he felt no sense of elation. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. The water current carried him to the banks of the river, and David was there to greet him.
‘Dom, that was incredible. You just saved hundreds of lives, including mine!’ grinned David, as he pulled Dom out of the river. ‘You all right?’
Dom nodded and managed a tired smile. ‘I will be fine. You are welcome by the way. You owe me a drink later. I assume you manage to kill every one of the baddies at the bridge?’
David’s mobile buzzed as it received a text message. David laughed and said, ‘I had some help from the police.’ He then read the text message, and Dom noticed David’s face paled considerably.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Dom, concerned.
‘The bomb went off earlier than 5pm at Madison. Probably remote controlled. 5 members of the bomb squad were killed. More than 30 civilians were killed too. More could have perished, but evacuation had commenced before the bomb squad arrived. ‘ answered David, shaking his head.
Dom swore. Amund didn’t tell them everything again.
‘And your drink will have to wait, Dom.’ continued David. ‘The chief wants us for a counter operation tonight. We are to report to HQ ASAP. We have possible intelligence about the terrorists’ leader’s location.’
Dom sighed. Rest will have to wait. It was already a long day for him. He spent the better part of the morning trailing Amund, before spying on the bomb maker the whole afternoon as he rested in his secluded room. On the chief’s orders, he burst into the room and interrogated Amund for the bomb’s location. After that, he went the bridge and tried to disarm the bomb, but had to swim in the slimy waters of the river in order to get rid of the bomb. Now, it seems that he will spend the night involved in some insanely dangerous counter terrorism operation. Another typical day in the office. Dom inhaled deeply and stood up.
‘All right then. Let’s go.’
The essay below is a random essay that I wrote. Not quite my favorite theme, but I guess I will write another essay with my favorite theme next time.
Note: All names used are entirely fictional
The Letter
I promised myself that I would write more. In the midst of saying our goodbyes, I found myself agreeing to write to you on a weekly basis. It was an agreement that I could and will honour. After all, I will miss you. However, as the months passed by, I found myself not writing, not putting my thoughts in ink as you have every week. I was busy. Busy with work, busy with studies, busy with life over here without you. At first, when your letters came in, I dutifully wrote back. Now, when your letters poured in, I would put it to one side, and would delay writing back. Like our mama used to say: ‘Put off doing something important is like throwing a boomerang. It will hit you hard when you least expect it.’ When I little, I thought it sounded lame, but I did not expect it when two police officers came knocking on my door, bearing the terrible news.
I still can remember the exact exchange of words between the officers and me. It’s funny how the human mind works. When we want to remember something, like a paragraph of facts for exams or an item to get while shopping, we would forget it. When we want to forget something, like terrible moments in our lives, we will remember it.
It was an off-day from work, so I was at home, studying. Then, a brief knock on my door, and I went to see who it was.
‘In this the home of Mr. Law? ‘
‘Yes, that’s me. What’s the matter?’
‘Sir, your sister got into an accident at the 78 Freeway.’
‘What?! Damn, how...who...’
‘Sir....’
‘Where is she warded now? What was she doing at the highway anyway? I will...’
‘Mr. Law, your sister was bought to the nearest hospital. But she...she didn’t make it. A van hit her car. The driver was drunk, and we have him in custody now.’
‘What? You are saying...’
‘I am sorry Mr. Law.’
So that was it. The person who had cared for me since our mama died. The person who was always there for me. The only person whom I wholly trust. We were siblings, but we were also best friends. Gone.
Now I wish I wrote back every week. No, I wish I wrote to you every day. Hand-written letters may not say a million things, but it carries meaning. It reflects the effort put in by the author. I remembered you saying once about letters: ‘For me, email, Facebook cannot replace hand written letters. It just doesn’t carry the originality and meaning. That’s why I always wrote to mama when I was studying out of state’. And I promised to write to you every week, but I didn’t.
I even found out why you were on the highway that day. Mrs Lee, mama’s old friend, visited me a few days after the incident. She was always someone who did not mince words.
‘Karl, I am sorry about...’
‘It’s okay Mrs Lee.’
‘You look tired and haggard.’
‘It’s been a tough week.’
‘Karl, do you know why Jessie was on the highway?’
‘I don’t know. She never told me.’
‘She tried.’
‘What do you mean? You know why she’s on the highway?’
‘She told me before she left, Karl. She was on her way to see you. She was worried about you not writing back. She called your mobile just before she left. ‘
‘She was driving to see me? I dropped my phone a few days ago, it’s not working. Damn it, if my phone was working...’
‘Karl, if you actually wrote back and told her you were doing fine, she wouldn’t be worried. She wouldn’t drive out of state just to see you.’
Mrs. Lee didn’t need to say it out aloud, but I can see it in her eyes. She blamed me for Jessie’s death. I wasn’t angry with her. I blamed myself too. If only I replied your letters. I am sorry. There's nothing else I can say, or write. So right now, when it’s too late, I finally put ink onto paper. This is my belated letter to you.
It felt as if I was holding my breath since the start of the semester. Second year has been extremely to the power of 100 difficult, oops, I mean extremely difficult. You see what I mean? I have been doing a lot of (financial) maths lately, and the present value of the money in your wallet assuming an effective interest rate...gahh! Actuarial subjects have the innate ability to make the material you have studied so rigorously stick to your head and haunt your every thoughts.
With Easter break arriving, I have that awesome feeling, which is synonymous with the moment when you have been holding your breath under water for what felt like the longest time ever, and then you surfaced. Oh yes, that wonderful feeling that numbs your pains, and erases your worries (albeit temporary). It’s high time for a breather.
Let’s talk about what’s on almost every Malaysians’ minds: the already infamous 1Malaysia email address. Apparently, every Malaysian aged 18 and above will receive a special 1Malaysia email address, so that the government can securely send notifications etc to everyone of age. The issue that got many people so worked up is that a certain exclusive group will be paid to create these emails. Now, the sum paid is not of a small value. Suspicious? Indeed.
There is speculation that the government wants to do this because the PM’s wife want to read our emails. Bemused people are even suggesting that this is some kind of April Fool’s joke on the government’s part, but it was delayed because they were so inefficient.
Surely there is a much better way to spend taxpayers’ money rather than building a mega tower and creating 1Malaysia emails for everyone? Wait, I stand corrected. There isn’t a much better way, there are many better ways.
Let’s face it, no country is perfect, no government is spotless. Take Australia for example. In the state of Victoria, the previous government has spent billions of dollars by introducing the ‘myki’ system into their public transport system. It’s pretty much like Touch & Go in Malaysia. Well, the fact is the current state government is thinking of scrapping the myki system because the cost went overboard by millions of dollars, and it is still incurring losses. Well, if there’s one thing I learned, it is that Aussies are notoriously lazy and inefficient. (Note: I’m being cynical here)
For example, they follow their working hours to the very second. Here’s a situation:
Australian receptionist: *looks at clock* Oh looks its 5.15pm already. Happy hour!
Visitor: *walks in* Erm, good evening, I was wondering if...
Receptionist: Sorry mate we are closed. We are open again tomorrow at 9am.
Visitor: But...
Receptionist: Yea (pronounced’ yeeeeeea’), so please do come back tomorrow. Bye.
But it seems that Malaysian government is trying very hard to spend taxpayers’ money on (putting it bluntly) useless pursuits that will not help the nation.
Anyway, thank for reading. It's one of the longest post in a while. Happy Easter!
Another goal left unachieved.
Another problem that could have been resolved.
Another mistake that could have been avoided.
Something you could have said earlier.
Something you should have done earlier.
The clock is ticking.
Yes, it’s time for the long overdue blog maintenance. I recognize the need to occasionally freshen things up, and this blog needs an overhaul. The features you see now may or may not be permanent.
On a sidenote, the lack of updates is due to my new role as a ‘bro-rent’. A ‘bro-rent’ is a cross between a brother and a parent. My responsibilities include cooking, washing, marketing and doing other household chores in addition to being my younger siblings’ unofficial guardian. Of course, I share the household chores workload with my siblings. But I am telling you, taking care of two hyperactive, hungry, sarcastic kids in the absence of my parents is no easy task. And studying actuarial science at the same time definitely does not make it any simpler.
As we enter into the Year of the Rabbit, I can almost hear Bugs Bunny saying ‘Wassup Doc’ with a huge grin plastered on its face. For some funny reason, I think of Bugs Bunny when I think of rabbits. I guess it must be the old Warner Bros cartoons on Cartoon Network back in the day when my shoes were size 5. But one thing is for sure, I am pretty sure that I can hear adults/parents grinding their teeth in despair when handing out ang paos to the younger, unmarried generation. I certainly can empathize with the ang paos givers. How would you feel if you are required by custom and tradition to hand over your hard-earned money to the grubby hands of small children who don’t appreciate the meaning behind ang pao giving & receiving? It’s like coughing up RM30 (10 Australian dollars) for a bowl of curry noodles in Melbourne. Weird comparison, I know, but that’s beside the point. Moral of the story: Stay single, and you don’t have to give ang paos.
Sticking to the Chinese New Year theme, what makes a great festive celebration? Good food and great company of course. Notice that I that wrote ‘good’ for food, and ‘great’ for company. Yes, being able to spend CNY with the people you are comfortable with is certainly more important than great food. Although it certainly helps that the people I am most comfortable with also provide awesome food.
Friendly reminder: The next few paragraphs may or may not contain political issues. Consider yourself warned.
As I was browsing through Malaysian news website a few days back, I came across an article reporting that the Malaysian government is looking to introduce a new set of regulations to regulate Internet in Malaysia. Flip through any dictionary and you will find that the word ‘regulate’ is closely related to the word ‘control’.
Does that mean that Internet users in Malaysia are going to be watched and controlled by some government regulatory body? Well, if certain websites containing illicit material such as pornography and such are blocked, I can’t say naught to that.
But wait, the relevant ministry (Information, Communication and Culture Ministry) said that it will, among other functions, weed out ‘false information’. What exactly is false information? What if the government tries to cover up an incident detrimental to their standing among the people in order to win the next election, and brands the incident as ‘false’?
Personally, regulating the Internet is like stifling information. That is definitely not the way forward, especially for a developing (possibly stagnant) country like Malaysia. To win the people over, the government needs to be transparent (among other attributes of course). Perhaps the events in Egypt and Tunisia had the current government worried, but I am only a powerless observer. If this is one of the many methods that the government use to ensure they remain in power, I say the country has really gone to the dogs.
On a sidenote, can you imagine a government-friendly website named 1Malaysia.com replacing Facebook? Fortunately I live in Australia most the time now, free and able to use Zuckerberg's creation.
Are the set of regulation guidelines a form of internet censorship? That is the question.