In the Service of Others

These days the idea of service to a Master or being in the employ of someone seems to carry a greater sense of the menial (that you are doing lowly or menial work) and servility; that there is no honour in such work - that there is only honour in being the Master instead of a Servant. That somehow to be working beneath or under someone means that you are necessarily lessser in every respect to person above you. This highly materialistic, heirarchical and capitalistic understanding of the relationship between Master and Servant has intensified in recent decades with societies cultural norms being heavily influenced if not altered by a wantonness in materialism, consumerism, intensification of the demands of labour, insufficient attention to the personal self despite a heightened sense of narcissism and a culture of constant 'success' or 'progress'.

Complaints of this nature are not new either. John Ruskin in one of his letters that from the collection of Fors Clavigera (Letter XXVIII, 20 February 1873) had occasion to comment on this fading comprehension and understanding of both the responsibilities between Master and Servant when contemplating the corruption of the word 'menial':

'But I used another terrible word just now - 'menial'. The modern English vulgar mind has a wonderful dread of doing anything of that sort!

'I suppose there is scarcely another word in the language which people more dislike having applied to them, or of which they less understand the application. It comes from a beautiful old Chaucerian word, 'menie,' or many, signifying attendant company of any one worth attending to; the disciples of a master, scholars of a teacher, soldiers of a leader, lords of a King. Chaucer says the God of Love came, in the garden of the Rose, with 'his many'; - in the court of the King of Persia spoke a Lord, one 'of his many.' Therefore there is nothing in itself dishonourable in being menial: the only question is - whose many you belong to, and whether he is also a person worth belonging to, or even safe to be belonged to; also, there is somewhat in the cause of your following: if you follow for love, it is good to be menial - if for honour, good also; - if for ten per cent - as a railroad company follows its Director, it is not good to be menial. Also there is somewhat in the manner of following: if you obey your Taskmaster's eye, it is well; - if only his whip, still, well; but not so well: - but, above all, or below all, if you have to obey the whip as a bad hound, because you have no nose, like the members of the present House of Commons, it is a very humble form of menial service indeed.' [Emphasis is mine]

So the Servant who obeys a Master who is of good character and noble actions also gains honour and integrity in his service to him. But a Master must also be mindful and care for his Servants as well. Just as he may command his Servant to do anything he so pleases, he must also take care not command his Servant in vain so or as a mere expression of his power. Just as it is the responsibilities of a Servant to obey and care for his Master, the Master too has a similar and simultaneous obligation towards the Servant. Thus there is a symbiotic and synergistic relationship between a Master and a Servant who are sensitive to each other's needs and are loyal to both their respective roles. One cannot exist without the other.

Glorious of such examples of loyalty and perfect understanding are replete in Japanese literature especially during the Shogunate period where samurai's followed the Bushido. Some of my favourite serialized graphic novels such as Lone Wolf and Cub, The Samurai's Executioner and especially, Path of the Assassin, all by the Kazuo Koike (Writer) and Goseki Kojima (Artist), tell of the life of the various samurai - those in service, those in honour, those without who are known as ronin. What I found particularly striking was the intensity with which these men lived their loyalty and allegiance to their Masters. They would think nothing of slitting open their belly before them if they were found wanting in their task or position, or sometimes because they disagreed with their Master. Whilst such display of loyalty is commendable, I think it rather extreme.

Ruskin's meditations seem to suggest one of the more obvious reasons for the lack of honour felt in serving someone - that these days there are very men or women of such worth that one is willing to serve in their service or in their cause. Our society itself is replete with examples of this. I for one would not even give up a cut toe nail in the service of virtually every self-proclaimed or otherwise leader in this country. You cannot gain honour or integrity in serving a man of ill-repute and a lack of morality (unless you are in a society that does not allow you to choose your own Master) because a rot that starts at the top, will undoubtedly, in time, affect the bottom.

Another also obvious one would be the 'Me-first' mentality which is pervasive in most civilized cultures lately where the primacy of the individual is championed over and above that of the community which is really a product of Western Philosophy, with its hard and clear definitions, where things are or they are not with nothing in between acceptable. Western Philosophy's obssession with trying to define and classify, whilst of great use, is sometimes difficult to apply in the messiness of human relations and thought, and more so in the interaction between the individual and society. There cannot be a triumph of one over the other because it would result in the extermination of both. The interaction between the individual and society is complex, dynamic, engaging and inextricable like that of our physicaly body and our thoughts. While both can be readily ascertainable and defined to a certain extend, they cannot be considered in a mutually exclusive fashion.

Perhaps that is one of the causes of much work dissatisfaction these days amongst employees and the employers' mounting inability to properly manage its human resources - because both have forgotten their moral and ethical obligations to each other. Legal obligations merely set the minimum conditions for a relationship to be recognized, adjudicated and validated, it does not govern the daily and intimate relations between each other.

Contentment

Siam Reap, Cambodia

October 2004

B

The Club is Bouncing. Jumping. Heads bobbing. Bodies moving. Smiling. Sweating. Hands. Shaking. Groping. Gripping. Everybody. Oblivious. In the ecstatic.

Cut through the crowd. Like water. The colours. They roam. They blink, they blind. Hard to see. Anything. At the edge. The crowd.

You. At the Bar. Luminious pearl in Mud.

Approach you.

Dazed. Blinded.

You. You. I’m next to you.

“Hi,” I think. I say. You turn.

Your eyes. One me. Up. Down.

“Hey," you sing.

“Buy you a drink?”

“Anybody ever told you how eloquent you are?”

That was a joke. Right?

“No.”

“Figured. Orange juice.”

“Wicked.”

Bar is packed. Lots of screaming. Shouting. Orders. Bills. Spittle. Everybody wanting something. Bartenders running about. Grab one.

“1 orange juice and 2 double vodka limes. 20 bucks if you do it for me now.”

He nods. 2 minutes later. Drinks in hand.

“That was fast.” She’s impressed.

“Didn’t feel like hanging around.”

Double vodka lime raised. Clink!

“You’re funny.”

“I’ve been told that. Yeah.”

Alcohol going down. Lime on tongue. Shiver through shoulders. Tasty!

“Ah! Modest as well! Aren’t we a balanced individual?” She smiles. Sips.

Damn! So fine. Smile back.

“By yourself?”

“Nah.” She looks at dance floor.

“Mom and dad?” She giggles. Turns to me. Hazel brown eyes. I like.

“Yeah. It’s the old folks night out at Bounce. They’re tearing up the dance floor as we speak.”

“’S shame your mom and dad are in there. Bumping and Grinding. And we’re sitting around out here all old like.”

She smiles. Smile of Smiles. Her eyes twinkle. Corny. But true. Maybe.

Heart. Beating. Hard. Thumping. In my Head.

She leans. To me. Her face. Near Mine.

“It is isn’t it? I was wondering whether you were going to do anything about this deplorable position we are in.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Closer.

“Let’s hear it then. Don’t have to be all shy about it.”

Her smile. Can feel it. On my cheek.

“I was thinking it would be kinda fun if we joined your mom and dad in there.”

She’s giggling. Good thing. Right?

“Is this how you ask women to dance with you?”

“Yes.” She’s smiling. Warmth.

“Have you been successful with this…” Her glass. Swirls. Ice. Clinks. “this… method?”

“Not sure.” Her eyebrows. Knitting. Not-a-good thing.

“Why aren’t you sure?”

“Because you haven’t told me what you think of my idea.”

“You mean …” Bewilderment. The Dawning. Knitted Eyebrows. Away!

“Oh, you can’t mean I’m the first!” Surprised! Smile is back. Wide. Sublime.

Turn away. Drink. Pause. 1 … 2 … 3 … Straight in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

She draws closer. Her lips. Millimeters. Her Breath. Sweet. My Ear.

“Let me give you some advice. Next time, be more direct! Let’s go.”

She grabs. My hand. My fingers. Her hands. Soft. Small. Delicate.

Days in goodness spent.

Crowds. Bodies. Jumping. Kicking. Sliding.

We’re in.

Beats. Loud. Every fibre. Of being. Thumping. Soul. Heart. Rattling.

She. Vision. Beauty. Grace. Sexiness. Whoa!

Dance. Dance. Bodies. Bumping. Grinding. Thrusting. Dance. Dance.

Her body. Against Mine. Heaven. A taste.

We groove.

We move.

Forever.

A heartbeat. Later.

Rooftop. Club. Leaning. On rails. Sky. Diamonds on black velvet.

City. Stretches. Far away. Concrete poles. Blinking lights.

Moon. Full. Luminous.

Beats. Distant. Fresh. Cool. Air. Breeze.

Her laughter. Floating. In the air. Sweetest sound. Petals. In my ear.

“This was a good idea.” She glows. I’m falling.

“There’s only so long I can take in there.”

“I must say, I underrated you.” Brushes. Her hair. Black. Away.

“I know you did.” Wink!

“Yeah right!” Smiles.

“Yeah right big time!”

Looks at me.

Her eyes. Her hair. Her mouth. Her lips.

All.

Everything.

Beautiful. Sublime. Mesmerized.

Heart. Pounding. Again.

Keep Breathing.

Shut up. Don’t speak. Anything. Fumbling. Pockets. Searching …

“Cigarette?” I offer. Just Lights. Will she take it?

“No, thanks.”

“Oh, okay.” Put back. Cigarettes. Lights.

“It’s okay, you know. You can go ahead and smoke. I don’t mind.” Whoa!

“S’alright.”

“No, really. Go ahead.”

“S’alright.”

“No, really.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“You don’t smoke?” Looks at me. Strange man!

“Nope.”

“Then why’d you ask me whether I wanted a cigarette?”

“Because you might want one?”

Pause. Smile’s back.

“You are bizarre.” Uh-oh. Not good. Right?

Compliment?

“Uh… thanks?”

“So are you here by yourself then?”

“No.”

“Who are you here with?”

“Some friends.”

“Where are they?”

“Beats me.”

“So what were you doing at the bar?”

“Testing a hypothesis.”

“Oooh. Big word for a place like this. Don’t you know you’re only allowed 2 syllables per word?”

“I’ve already cleared it with the owner. He said it’s okay as long as I only use those words once an hour.”

She giggles.

Her Head. Cocked left.

“And what was this hypothesis of yours?”

“Whether God plays dice.”

“Oh my, that sounds terribly deep.” Feigns awe.

“Yes, it does sound terribly and unforgivably deep, doesn’t it?”

“Umm hmmm. So does God play dice?”

“Beats me. But I feel like I’m on the luckiest roll of my life tonight.”

Big smile. Blushes.

Feels like. Shooting stars. Fill the sky.

“Oooohhh, I’d better be vewy vewy careful of you Mister!” Waggles her finger. Tone. Saccharine sweet.

Shit. What’d I say? Nevermind. Play by ear. Along.

“And why is that, young miss?” Frown feigned.

“Because if you get any smoother I might just slip on your words and fall into your arms.”

“Ah!” Cha-ching! Definitely. Flirting. My heart. Smiling. Ear to Eternity.

“Well then it seems I have found my purpose tonight.”

“Which is?”

I smile.

“Why, to find the right words of course!”

She smiles. Then turns. Away.

Looks. Up. At the stars. Down. At the carpark.

Bites. Lower lip. Grips. Railing. Too tightly.

My back. On railing. A breather?

She titters. In it. A touch. Melancholia.

“You know, we’ve danced, drank and talked for a while now and I still don’t even know your name.”

Her eyes. On carpark. Still.

Bad.

“I don’t know yours either.”

Pause.

“Oh, you are so gonna hate me. Maybe it’s better that way” She says. Softly. For me.

“It’s okay.” It’s not okay. Fuck, it’s not okay.

“It’s not. I …”

My heart. My hopes. Melting. Crumbling. Sandcastle in a wave.

“Please. I know all good things come to an end.” Traction. Major.

“It’s just that it’s been a while… long while, since I’ve smiled so much, and had so much fun.”

“We can leave it like this. Quit while we’re ahead kinda thing. You don’t have to say anything more.”

“I think I owe you an …”

“You owe me nothing.”

“But you made me so happy tonight.”

“I was powerless to do anything else.”

I feel. Her smile. Her sadness.

Her hand. My right shoulder. I turn. Face. To face. Sorrow. In her. Eyes.

“You see. I should have fallen into your arms right there.”

“And I should have caught you right then.”

“Oh, please stop.”

I turn. Away. Too good. Too random. To last.

Knew it. Knew it!

'Okay. Then I'll just, uh, go in then.'

'No.’ I stop. ‘Please. Don't go. I know this might be a bit forward but, uh, I'm going through a really bad and ugly patch in my life right now. And then tonight this, this ray of light. Just feels good, you know? Even though we barely know each other.' Right.

'And, kinda sad because I have to step out of this light. Even though I feel and would want it otherwise.' Uh-huh.

'You know?' Don’t I. Know it. Story of my life.

'B!!' From the door. A girl. Pretty. Tight dress. Approaching us.

'We've been looking all over for you.'

Wearing a pissed off look.

B moves. Away.

Turns to me. Wistful look. Perhaps.

Then. Her back. Faces me.

'Where the hell were you?'

'I just wanted to get some air.'

'Were you dancing with that guy just now?'

'Yes. I was.'

'Who is that guy anyway?'

'Oh. Somebody.'

'What's his name?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you even know him?'

'Sort of.'

'Man, you'd better not let Chris find out you were with some guy didn't even know.'

'To hell with Chris.'

Door opens. Door closes. Silence erupts.

And she's gone. Out. Out of my sight. Of my life.

*sigh*

Did not notice. How beautiful, cool it is.

Up here.

A Junkie Hooker

(Subtitle: Meditations upon empathising in harbouring ambitions of being a junkie hooker for at least twenty thousandth of a microsecond)

If there was anybody who came closer to more than a microsecond of harbouring any ambitions of being a junky hooker, that person might be me. It's crazy, I know, but thankfully, the fever passed as quickly as it gripped me. Before, I had any chance to act out that seemingly insane sort of ambition, which would rank up there with mass murderers and the guy who has to clean the cages in the zoo, it left, as if driven from me like a bad spirit exorcised from the depths of my soul. Despite its terribly limited time with me, I managed to glance some insight into such a lifestyle.

If there was one attractive feature of such a lifestyle it is its sheer simplicity, in essence. Screw people for money. Buy and use drugs. There you go. A complete and total lifestyle in eight words. You cannot get any simpler than that. Of course there is the attendant necessities such as rest, preserving one's physical condition appropriately to be able to carry out such a lifestyle, place to stay, etc. But simplicity in what it is you are all about. Drugs and sex. And by drugs, I mean the hardcore, addictive stuff like heroin. The burn out rate however, I imagine, would be pretty damn quick. Thing about the cake and eating it and then wanting to keep it all applies there.

And this is simple compared to say a typical Malay middle class local graduate who had to borrow money for his tertiary education (okay the last part is fiction). Quickly find a job so that he can pay off his loan, and establish himself by looking for a place to settle down (if he is not staying with his parents, or even if he is, he will soon), get a set of workable wheels, there's his social, familial and love interests to occupy his hours of leisure aside from his own interests. And suddenly things get complicated. He has many things to juggle. Comparing this to the junkie hooker's lifestyle, we see how the latter triumphs the former in terms of simplicity and, as a friend of mine one's described those things, in putting down no 'anchors'.

But the junkie hooker's ultra-simple lifestyle pays the price of limitedness. That choice is one which is very hard to unmake in one sense, and in another, that he will never feel or experience many other things in life other than drugs and sex and the limited range of emotions that lifestyle can only foster (pun intended). And that's what that middle class lifestyle that is progressing would allow, the possibility of the full range and depths of human emotions and possibilities. There is now room for travel, literature, laughter, companionship, for a healthy sort of love to blossom just as they will disappointment, tears and sadness. The point is that there is wealth of experience to be enjoyed and should be.

The horror then of that lifestyle is that a whole world of possibilities and existences is reduced, if not utterly annihilated, to sex, money and drugs, and even that not for very long. There would be little life left in that style. It is the death before death. But I can see how some people who need to escape so far away from everything and simplify their lifestyle so ruthlessly. Sometimes the world gets too great for them and there is no other way. They run, they hide. They simplify. I feel sorry and sad for them now instead of a sense of disgust which I may perhaps feel if confronted with them in real life.

Removes fishnet stockings and thick colourful make up from face.

Say, uh, anybody got a joint or something?

'scuse me, but I just don't freckin' get it - part 1

ThE cAsE oF a wElL kNOwN, bUT aNOnYMoUs, dAtUK/aCtREsS/hOTEL/wHaTeVeR wHO Is nOT VErY aNOnYmOUs, bUT fOR sOmE aNOnYmOUs rEAsONs, sHaLL rEMaIN aNOnYMOuS...

Kuala Lumpur: 3^rd May

A 45-year-old Datuk was yesterday arrested on suspicion of rape and torture of a young actress. It is learnt that the police had gone to the Datuk’s house in Kenny Hill at 3 am yesterday morning to arrest the Datuk. The Datuk, a well known socialite and also the CEO of two public listed company will today be produced in Court for a remand order, said a police spokesperson under condition of anonymity. The police spokesperson, who wishes to stress that she/he (we are not supposed to reveal his/her sex too!) is speaking under condition of anonymity, further spoke to us that the Datuk was arrested after a police report was lodged against him last Friday by the young actress.

The anonymous spokesperson said that the police report alleges rape and torture by the Datuk of the young actress (whose name we are also not at liberty to disclose) on 5 separate occasions. The incidents of rape and torture took place at a well-known 5 star hotel in the city. The 5 star hotel, which is located along Jalan Sultan Ismail near an LRT station and which also houses a famous international café cum restaurant cum pub, was visited by the police last night. It is believed that the police seized the guest registers and CCTV footages. The police had also gone to the rooms in which the alleged offences took place. Just for he record, Hotel Equatorial is not the hotel involved.

Puteri Shafiqah Shakira binti Mat Arop, a practising lawyer, said that under the law the Datuk will have to be produced in Court within 24 hours of his arrest for the police to obtain a remand order. The Court, according to her, is empowered to allow the Datuk to be remanded by the police for a maximum period of 14 days.

Acting on a tip off from our source, who shall remain anonymous, we were at the Datuk’s house, which is along the main road in Kenny Hill and yellow in colour, yesterday morning after he was arrested. Upon our arrival, we found the huge gold coloured automatic gate closed. The gate was not opened even after we rang the bell incessantly. From outside the gate, we could only see the Datuk’s red Ferrari, orange Lamboghini Murcielago and a grey Porcshe Cayene, all of which bearing registration number 2, parked in the porch. The Datuk’s 2 wives, 4 daughters and a son had refused comment. Attempts to obtain further information from the Datuk’s PA at his office on the floor between the 20^th and 22^nd floor of a 45 storey building along Jalan Pinang, near Ascot Apartments, have also failed.

The young 20-year-old actress, from Kelantan, has now gone into hiding. The actress has so far acted in 3 movies and 8 TV dramas. The movies, all comedies, which are titled “Lawak Bodo 1”, “Lawak Bodo 2” and “Lawak Bodo 3”, have a cultish followings among the Malays, especially those who live in Kelantan. Her first name begins with the letter “A” and ends with the letter “N”. While she portrays a demure kampung girl in the movies, she could always be seen in tight low crotched blue jeans and navel revealing tight top at Zouk most of the nights. It was there that she was rumoured to have met the Datuk 2 months ago. Quite what they were doing in a room together at the 5 star hotel housing a famous international café along Jalan Sultan Ismail which is not Hotel Equatorial, on 5 separate occasions is quite beyond us. The hotel’s general manager, who also spoke on condition of strict anonymity, revealed that no one at the hotel had seen the actress being dragged into the room from the lobby kicking and/or screaming on all the 5 occasions.

In an unrelated case, a bak kut teh seller, Cheong Chan Cheng, was today arrested at Jalan Alor for allegedly raping his one of his daughters, a 17 year old who studies at Sekolah Jenis Kebangsaan Klang Lama. His wife, Jenny Lee Tak Poon, who helps him at their stall in the corner shop lot at Jalan Alor was quoted as saying that she will file for a divorce soon. Her daughter, whose name and identity cannot be revealed under the law, refused comment. Her twin sister, Cherry Cheong Leng Lui, whose picture could be seen at our website, who also studies at the same school, when contacted, also refused comment.

The Strength of Man

The strength of Man lies in his limitations and his ingenuity. These two attributes are the true Mother and Father of technology. And what is technology but merely the manner in which things are done. Science has merely improved his methodology and efficiency.

That he cannot walk long distances for long, nor quick enough for his pleasure or business he domesticated animals for his purpose. Now he could save his precious energy whilst the beast of burden did most of the hard work of travelling. But after a while, this too was not quick enough, not large enough, not comfortable enough. Then came the automobile, then huge aeroplanes that roamed the skies as never before. They flew at heights around 30,000 feet in sub-zero temperatures sometimes for 23 hours at a time, besting both Man and Beast by far. We cannot travel in such conditions. Soon after, we sent unmanned sattelites to planets only imagined and calculated. This evolution of technology towards bigger, faster, more comfortable, more value for money, is ceaseless. What used to be a massive undertaking requiring lots of study, preparation, expense and energy is now reduced to less than a few hundred ringgit and four hours. We have the luxury of taking only our wallets, our passport and the clothes on our back on our travels now.

Another example. Man's memory is not infallible and his voice can only stretch so far. So he writes and records, on bits of bark, on stone with paint, with papyrus then finally with paper. It lasts longer, it transmits through the ages, it resonates through history and to so many souls. But paper could not hold enough so then we invented other recordable media like tape that could capture and preserve our voices, our music and sounds better. Then came video and now the visual medium has become one of the most influential if still not the most dominant where meaningful scholarship is concerned (I for one will be glad that I will not live long enough to see the day that, for example, Kant's Critique of Pure Reason is studied by video presentation of the very text itself). So now with technology our written, spoken, acted word is actually a bunch of ones and zeros. Whilst we can understand the contents of the message, we can no longer read or even understand the envelope it comes in anymore. The same actually goes for the message as well.

These two examples above show the subtle shift that technology has set in motion. Technology inevitably becomes more and more sophisticated until a layperson unfamiliar with the intricacies of that particular technology or now, even brand of technology, is no longer able to understand how something is done - all that we can understand is that it is done. And because of this power moves away from the content to the message, because he who controls the message now controls the content. The messager becomes a new source of power.

The second thing of note is that the greater reliance on technology binds us to it. Bound because when we use technology often enough until it becomes integrated into a and our lifestyle, we cannot then live without it and in fact, operate best within it. And when so many of us use it, we then are forced into it. Another example - an ecologist with strong convictions that carbon fueled vehicles and power are evil can do nothing about it. He is powerless to see through or practise his convictions. How can he when so much power generated comes from carbon based fuel or travelling on any vehicle without an animal pulling it in front requires it? We talk about the freedom of choice with technology but the truth is you can only choose whatever it is the prevailing technology allows us to. That they offer us so many choices makes us blind to the similarity of the choices they offer us.

Man used to be in a position of Master and Servant with technology. The movies The Matrix and The Terminator are but two versions of what this reversal of this relationship would entail. But those versions are too simplistic and fantastic as they have to be in this age of visual medium. They bear the usual trademark fear of Man when faced with the unknown. Technology is not neutral, a whole lot subtler and sophisticated in its influence on us that we can know. This is made worse in this age of intensive materialism. The question that has not even begun to be answered and will begin answering itself over the course of the next few hundred years is whether there can be two Masters and no Servant.

[Daef's recommended reading: Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death and Clive Hamilton's Growth Fetish]

dara #3

sering juga aku bertanya
antara kita siapa perindu

kerana bulat mata dan senyum itu
bersama hitam ikal mayangmu
bagai membeku dalam waktu
namun masa dan jarak pemisah
membawa keluh kesah resah
bagai malam membawa kelam
sepi menerkam mencengkam

seribu ragu mengintai
sejuta dusta melambai

masa sebenarnya melalikan kita
jarak lumrahnya memakan semua
mengikis menghakis menghiris nipis
rasarasa didada dan ronarona rindu
tersadai usang termanggu dipenjuru
malammalam sepi didaerah sendu
kita bagai tidak mampu bersatu

kalanya aku rasa, dara
rindu itu bukan milik kita…