شكرا جزيلا & Ramadhan Kareem my luggage store friend..

"Just over three months.." I answered when I was queried about a recent turning point in my life. "Wow.." is usually the response I get. Perhaps that it was unexpected? Was it too random? Or too impulsive. Goodness knows. Typically, whenever there is a discussion about "change", I am often bemused. Bemused by the reaction it provokes, bemused by the bewilderment it conjures up and even slightly amused by the varied facial expressions that usually accompanies the topic. 

But I was recently involved in a rather random and unplanned conversation about change with a certain individual that for some unknown reason, has had me constantly think about it. I was in a mall, wandering about when I walked into a luggage shop. I had finally bought my snowboard boots and realised that I had no space in my check-in luggage. Thus, my stop at a luggage shop in this particular mall in a certain Arabian metropolis.

Anyway, having become accustomed to being attended to by my fellow Asians working abroad; in this particular instance, I was attended to by a rather pleasant young Arab man. Hmm.. A nice change (and admittedly, pleasant to the eyes too, with his greenish-brownish eyes). He offered to help me solve my luggage woes, when I accidentally blurted out what I was thinking, which was that he wasn't from this particular neighbourhood. Perhaps he was curious too, as he too blurted out what he was thinking. 

After getting passed that awkward "you're not from around here" conversation, we exchanged our Salams and I asked him where he was from after he had rather accurately guessed where I was from. 

Hama @Wikimedia

"Hama," he said and lowered his head. A glimmer of what I was sure was a teeny tiny tear in the corner of his eyes made my heart drop to my foot. As the store was fairly empty, (bar one weird lady who had laid out every single luggage on the floor making it impossible for anyone else to move around) and his manager nowhere in sight, the conversation continued with me blurting out, "oh goodness."

In my best bimbo impression ever, I asked, "Syria?" "Yes", he replied. We carried on talking as he relayed the ordeal of running from his beloved city, and how everything he had come to know was now virtually unrecognizable. Not prejudging on whether he was one of the more privileged than those friends or acquaintances who remain in Hama today, here was a young man whose life, as he knew it, was turned completely upside down and inside out. Where he eventually ended up, was as far as he and part of his immediate family could feasibly go, start fresh and rebuild. Some of his friends attempted to run even further. Even to as far as Malaysia. Though he was visibly sad; he was incredibly calm and kept saying الحمد لله throughout. 

We carried on talking, until his manager reappeared. I hastily paid for my new bag and gave him my salams and left. I continued on my Arabian adventure only to realise that I never got the name of my brother.. 

Fast forward to a few days ago. An article appeared of a Palestinian man and a Syrian family, stranded at KLIA. I wont recount the article or how they ended up here, but it reminded me of my luggage shop brother. Whatever apprehension, anger, annoyance, frustrations along with a myriad of other emotional turmoil at the changes I've recently undertaken; was put into perspective. As much as I wish to end the hurt caused by those folks who manipulate and blatantly lie; I am reminded by my luggage shop brother's story.. That my circumstances are not that bad and that I really ought to face it with grace and dignity; be grateful and thankful. الحمد لله

Thank you my brother, for your story has reminded me to remember the importance of humility so that I can keep my feet on the ground despite whatever lofty ambitions I may have;  إن شاء اللهThough he won't be reading this; Salams and Ramadhan Kareem to my luggage shop brother from Hama, Syria and to my friends in Cairo, Alexandria, Khartoum and everywhere else - may it be a blessed one for you and your family.

Footnote:

Hama (or Hamah) is a beautiful ancient city located on the banks of the Orontes River in west-central Syria. Located about 200+kms north of Damascus and 40+kms north of Homs, Hama is the 5th largest city in Syria, after Aleppo, Damascus, Homs and Latakia. The city is known for the 17 remaining ancient "Norias" or wheel of pots / waterwheels along the Orontes river. Possibly rooted in the Byzantine era, these Norias served to take water from the river and channel it through aquaducts and other channeling systems to irrigate nearby farms. 

lies.. damned lies.. and statistics..

I was mulling about doing my own thing on a particular Saturday when I noticed something that set off a few alarm bells in my head. A group of people were seated together talking in a rather serious manner. The fact that the conversation was held in such a public place was an indication that one half of the party couldn't care less for the other parties' reputation or standing; and that the other party was either oblivious of that fact despite their polite courtesy. 

Anyway, I loved the opportunity that it presented as I quietly observed the body language of the participants of this debate. From the moment they sat down and the nervous glances it was pretty clear that this wasn't going to be a pleasant gathering. By the end of it, one could have tried to cut the air with a 300hp chainsaw to no avail as the tension lingered on in the air. 

Mid-way through one could already determine the two main protagonists, the one who spoke a lot and the other who whilst saying virtually nothing spoke volumes as it was obvious that he (who I will now call the "Mr. Director") was the one orchestrating the entire play - all from the sly glances, odd hand gestures and offensive seating stance. Didn't really fancy the vibe from the Blabber Mouth who did all the talking either. Within 10 minutes I grew to really dislike either men. Both gave off really bad vibes and I started to feel kinda bad for the other side. 

Safe to say at this stage - I knew the group, I knew what they were doing, I knew exactly what was going on and I knew the news that was being delivered.. and I also knew that there was something odd in the equation. 

The best part was this - not long after that unceremonious exchange, the news that I had already anticipated and known about for some time made its way to my ear; but not from the grieving party. I guess the grief must've / would hit later..

.. It felt kinda like a delayed reaction a spouse who has been told that their significant other has dropped the bomb that theirs was a relationship that isn't working..

..the kind of reaction that comes from the realisation that actually the statement that "it isn't you darling, it's me. I have to reconcile that with myself.. blah blah blah.." was a half truth to mask the reality that their other half was seeing someone on the side.

.. It's the kind of reaction that comes when one discovers that after the process of cordiality in getting the various separation documentation done yada yada yada.. news floats to the ears of the saddened spouse that their former-significant half got themselves hitched quicker than it took the ink to dry on the divorce papers.. 

Anyway, back to the story. So the news was delivered to me via Blabber Mouth who again oh so unceremoniously announces in public that the marriage was an utter failure; as the other party had demanded too much.. this, that and the other .. etcetera etcetera..

Of course, I had also noticed Mr. Director lurking about nearby.. Before Blabber Mouth could complete the first sentence I could smell the rat and it stank like crap. If it weren't for a need for a kind of decorum in public, I might have unleashed a tongue lashing for the mere fact that Blabber Mouth simply had no manners and was clearly delighted to both wash the linens in public and demonstrate his delight at rubbing salt into the wound..  Was für ein dummkopf!

The thing is.. even before the day Mr. Director and Blabber Mouth came to that meet, I already sensed and smelled the deception.. Someone was telling a lie.. the half-truths, the totally incomprehensible and totally exaggerated excuses filled with grand supercalifragilistic superlatives .. were just a bit too much.

My conscience led me to one day accidentally drop the suggestion into a random conversation with the other half of that ill-fated relationship, it was clear that it wasn't welcomed.. Hmm.. Pride? Ego? 

During the couple's courtship, right from the get-go, this was a relationship I didn't completely agree with all on the basis of meeting Mr. Director and Blabber Mouth for the first time.. I couldn't trust either of them and I wasn't in a position to advise the other half. So, in true Yoda mode: endure, one must; in silence, watch, one must. 

The sad part, I grew to really like some of the members of the other half's family. I can only hope the acquaintances I made with some can grow into lasting friendships.

The other sad part is that the grieving half.. who somehow doesn't seem to realise it's even grieving will be the one to get the most vicious criticisms and the unbelievable grief from highly opinionated armchair commentators, over and over again.. and not the cheating and deceptive half because Blabber Mouth directed by Mr. Director would have either created another deception with honey-coated words to blindside everyone else. I guess it's a given that even if I still love your family, I have no shred of respect for you Mr. Director or Blabber Mouth. 

Boxer Muhammad Ali once said: “Give up what appears to be doubtful for what is certain. Truth brings peace of mind, and deception doubt..” what irks me is if there was an inkling of doubt, which was clearly evident from the very beginning, why agree to having the nuptials??! I suppose when one is hopelessly in love one didn't heed Aesop's advise - "Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow." (??!?)

Der Schein trügt.

Right.. that's off my chest.. 

Traversing here, there and everywhere..

It has been bloody ages since I had the inclination to scribble something on this notepad. Goodness knows why.. Despite my ever growing stack of half-read books that sleep beside me at nights, inspiration has been rather thin of late.

But i recently got a nice hello on twitter all the way from the Dominican Republic. Though I know no one from there, it put a nice wee small smile on my face though I was literally drowning in work. That tweet and the 40+ hour motorsport marathon over the weekend (that produced a warm fuzzy happy feeling watching someone I think of as a friend win the 24Hours of LeMans); a wet and soggy Silverstone MotoGP race as well as truly long drawn-out race in Montreal; and a series of work trips, I thought.. OK let's revisit this notepad.

Despite my vehement protests I've somehow managed to clock up quite a bit of mileage on my passport that I'm already dangerously close to being out of pages and facing the prospect of renewing that little red book.

Hola Barcelona!

Back in the Eurozone

May 2011, my work travels had flung me across into the Euro zone into Espana, Barcelona specifically. It was my second time, though I am not quite sure if the 72 hours in February counts as a visit once you've discounted the jetlag, etc...Anyway.. this trip was truly memorable on so many accounts.

I had the pleasure of working with a certain rider plying his trade in the MotoGP, who was a guest to a certain F1 grand prix event. In the course of the discussions -  some good, some not so good - someone asked me which of the personalities from the two worlds I preferred working with... Without batting an eyelid, my heart chose the former over the latter, but what came out of my mouth was, "they're different and it would be unfair to compare them in that manner." The person read between the lines and got the gist of what my heart chose. 

Two weeks later, I found myself back in the Eurozone, this time.. Italia. I had not been back since Monza in 2006. As a kid and through the late 1990s; I realised that most of my travels to Italia had taken me to the western side.. 

This time, the group I was traveling with were taken across an almost 5 hour road trip to the Eastern side of the boot, on really challenging terrain that is the E35 and A1 Autostrada del Sole. The great ancient Roman highways are really well preserved with virtually no upgrades in the past two millennia.. only the methods of travel must adapt to the terrain.

*Note: if you own a vehicle with more than 2 horse power and intend to use it in Italy; marry a mechanic or invest in the mechanical repair industry.

Sleeping through most of that road trip, we eventually arrived in Forli and in the next days spent a lot of time in Faenza and Brisighella. It was my experience in these two little towns that drew me to this notepad.

Two time zones on the Faenza clock tower?

While the crew busied themselves over angles, lines, scripts.. and me keeping a watchful eye for undercover hey-touristfolks-you-are-not-allowed-to-film-here-and-will-shoot-if-you-do-not-obey-capiche?-cop .. a smartly and neatly dressed man in his fourties on a bicycle stopped right in front of our host and me and said with a huge smile .. "Hello! Welcome to Faenza! You are filming here? Good! Enjoy your stay!! Ciao!" and rode off.. 

I was half expecting a citation or a little black notebook, or .. nevermind.. I simply stared in disbelief with one hand in the air doing a semi-wave back to him..



Medieval Marvel

A view of Brisighella from above

Later that day, we found ourselves in a quaint little medieval town of Brisighella. If one ignores those horse-powered machines with four and two wheels, the communication towers atop the gorgeous rolling hills lined with olive and fig trees.. not a thing has changed since the 12th century. As is typical in some medieval towns, the characteristics of the town includes a sanctuary, a fort and clock tower. If you need a visual-feel to the place.. think "Under the Tuscan sun".. the movie.. cobbled streets.. narrow and uneven lined buildings..  minus Raul Bova.. 

But, what was even more gorgeous was this wonderful young lady who walked up towards us to point us in all the right directions. After climbing up the hill to the top of the little town, we met the young lady again.

Look up "nice and friendly people" in the dictionary and you will find "Brisighella"... Seriously.

Farah's Formaggio

Turns out the young lady's name is Chiara; owner of the Osteria della Fonte, purveyor of extra virgin olive oils; rare and forgotten local fruits and produce in the area; and my 2011 Miss Congeniality award recipient. After discovering my love for cheese, she created a dish for me, which she might put on her menu as "Farah's Formaggio"..

On the penultimate day of our trip we found ourselves back in Brisighella, but sadly that day was also the one day she shuts the Osteria.. so I didn't get any olive oils to bring home.. Nevertheless, my producer and I decided to sit in a hotel cafe nearby while the rest of the crew went about finishing their shoot.. After the event we attended had finished, the town went back to its regular routine bustling about at an eighth of the pace we city-folks are used to. 

The waiter came and we ordered. After observing his demeanor, my friend and I came to the conclusion that here was the town's odd one out. The hair, earring and dress sense was too city-like and concluded that Mr. Waiter was dating the goth Miss Waitress with funky flame red dreadlocks from Chiara's Osteria. As he came back with our orders, I put on my tourist cap and asked about where we could source some nice extra virgin olive oil. 

BOOM.. he transformed into the tour-guide pointing us to many different directions. Turned out Mr. Waiter was also the local tourist information kiosk. As if that wasn't enough, he went back in to answer the phone at the hotel reception. I am sure in the morning he does housekeeping at the hotel; every other day the postman; the summer months the tour operator; owner of a vineyard and the town's medieval festival coordinator.  

After letting my imagination go off tangent, I realised we weren't the only customers there. There was a rather sharply dressed gentleman, who chose to sit at the table next to ours. Striking up a conversation with us, Giorgio (I think and someone will correct me here) turned out to be a really pleasant fella who is in the antique coin minting business. As a traveling salesman I kept thinking how he would meet loads of people along his travels but few end up as friends. We talked.. about coins.. and he figured out what us odd looking folks were doing in Brisighella. He got up half way through his brunch, left everything on the table dashed to his car. 

His excitement ached me so I indulged him. He whipped out his ipad, showed me a video presentation on the rare minted Enzo Ferrari 1:18 scale model his company made. Only 300 pieces in the world at Euro 35K. OK.. I was convinced it was made out of platinum.. We went on our way eventually, and once again Giorgio was all alone again.. I really hate seeing people eat alone.. 

Un viaggio di emozioni

On the final day, realising that Imola was only 40kms away.. i had to .. please??!!! Off we went to Imola. When we got there, the dude at the cafe right across the entrance to the Imola grandstand pointed us to where we wanted to go. He was so nice despite his really scary looking 6foot 5inch tall girth. 

After some 500metres walking through Imola's really beautifully manicured Acqua Minerale park, we were at Tamburello corner... Honestly, flashback to that May Sunday in 1994.. as my elder sister sat with her jaw on the floor and my late younger sister in the garden of our student home in England.. If Monza is La Pista Magica, Imola è un posto molto emotiva.

Imola è un posto molto emotiva

All in all, it was a pleasure meeting all these people and hats off to these hard working folks! Best of luck to Jorge, Gavin, Hector, Ricky, Albert, Chiara, Giorgio, Mr. Waiter-tourguide-postman-dude and his goth-girlfriend, the lady at the Sanctuary; Franco; Mr. Bandini's sister; the bartender, waiter and waitress with the funky cool hair in Faenza.. may lady luck cross your paths and stick around with some good mojo..

Grazie.

An encounter with courage and will.. part 2

I wrote a note about my encounter with Mr. Alex Zanardi a while back and after I was afforded a moment to myself, I finally went digging on that website with vids and stuff..



Granted, I haven't been diligent, but hey who cares? The result was I finally found the interview Mr. Zanardi had on the the David Letterman show! Yippee!!



The interview is in two parts:



Part 1 - Alex Zanardi on the Late Show with David Letterman
(url: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDJ4Dwt1h2c)



Part 2 - Alex Zanardi on the Late Show with David Letterman
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oknye0LfSqY)

The cow ran off and the phoenix burst into flames..

It's been more than a month since I asked the Monkey to fall off the tree to meet the Frog who escaped his well.. I thought I'd scribble again. Not long after that note, I took off to clear my head and my heart, spend some alone time to reflect. It was a concoction of retail and self-imposed isolation therapy to try repair a crushed heart and a broken will.

I came back, with a slightly differing perspective on things, knowing full well that as my good friend the Frog notes, 井の中の蛙大海を知らず (i no naka no kawazu taikai o shirazu), I knew that there are those who will continue to judge with blinkers on, regardless of which approach I use (the JK or EC or SS method). So instead I've embraced the predicament I'm in and try to see the minutests of positives. I can tell you IT AIN'T BLOODY EASY, ok?

One evening I was mucking about on FB and I read a note written by a mate that had me thinking. So, to amuse myself, I read my horoscope. This author is indeed ruled by the water ox and water scorpion. Whatever people say about us Scorpions, I've narrowed it down to this: We are self-destructive.

Why? Cuz that damned tail is pointed to our own backs.. Geez.. I also think we like to reinvent ourselves.. Well yeah, since we've just shot ourselves, we've got to somehow arise from the ashes like a phoenix, except unlike the bird, we somehow come back different.

I saw this on Wikipedia: "Scorpio has associations with 3 animal symbols: scorpion, snake and phoenix(WOW, am I good or what??!). Each represents different levels of power related to personal strength, individual power and intimidation based on the differing cultural associations with these animals; i.e. the fierce determination to triumph over odds and to be ruthless in pursuing goals, traits that are evident in the personality of Scorpio individuals. ...........hmm...

Then I lifted this nugget: Scorpios are the most intense, profound, powerful characters in the zodiac. Even when they seem self-controlled & calm there is a seething intensity of emotional energy under the placid exterior. They are like the volcano not far from the surface of a calm sea, it may erupt at any moment. The perceptive ones will be aware of the harnessed aggression, the immense forcefulness, magnetic intensity (??!!), and often strangely hypnotic personality (are you kidding me??!) under the tranquil, but watchful composure of Scorpio.

As I read this, I was in tears laughing, thanks Astrology.com for making me feel strangely good!!

I swapped to Chinese astrology for the Ox.. SLOW and steady. The Ox is the sign of prosperity through fortitude & hard work. This powerful sign is a born leader (umm....), dependable with an innate ability to achieve great things... calm, modest, unswervingly patient (WHAT??!), tireless in their work.. capable of enduring any amount of hardship without complaint (umm.. might be the scorpion rearing its ugly head here).

Oxens need peace and quiet to work through their ideas.. when they have set their mind on something it is hard for them to be convinced otherwise. (i.e. incredibly stubborn!!).. Strong-minded, individualistic, majority are highly intelligent individuals who don't take kindly to being told what to do. (Damned straight!)

Well, after crying my eyes out laughing, my mood subdued and I began to reflect. There have been situations where my determination means my being uncompromising; where I've tended to wear my heart on my sleeve, only to be trampled on. Then there have been times when I questioned the integrity of those around and above me after witnessing behaviours and actions that I believe are wrong. I began to see and hear their utterances as being purely rhetoric. I was even annoyed at myself for standing on my ground and not admitting that there was a problem for such a long time.

Two Korean proverbs stood out: 소 잃고 외양간 고친다. I had in fact lost a cow before realising the need to fix the barn.. and 손바닥으로 하늘을 가리려한다 I wasn't being honest to myself and was denying what I was feeling.

(now back to Japan) 出る杭は打たれる (Deru kugi wa utareru) so while this stake that sticks out gets hammered down, I realised that 馬鹿は死ななきゃ治らない (Baka wa shinanakya naoranai) one really can't fix stupid..

.... if you've reached this part of this long monologue, ありがとうございます!

Along came the monkey from its tree & the frog from its well..

Honestly, it's been a really #$&!)*# sh*t and crap past few weeks thanks to an overall sense of helplessness brought about by politiking, endless bickering, back-stabbing and a general undermining of my confidence, capabilities and credibility with me fending the onslaught off with what little shred of dignity I have left. My friends and I often wonder why we continue working our asses off to make the powers that be look good and in return we get footprints on an already weathered face.. *sigh* 

Then there's the gloomy markets .. go home check the papers.. lay offs here, there and well just about everywhere, inflation, disposable incomes, credit card debts.. *double sigh*

Switch on the box to catch up on the world, and what do you end up with, endless bickering, back-stabbing and general sense of ineptness in what is seemingly a crippled sense of government. Switch the channels, all one sees is those global stock exchanges in red criss-crossing across the fancy graphs on screen.. *triple sigh*

Seriously, if there ever was a need to have an occupational hazard department, a psychologist and a friendly samaritan on hand, now would be good time... SERIOUSLY. There's certainly a case to be made for the onset of a wide-scale depression!

love this one..

Anyway, the earth's gravitational pull has been incredibly strong for me of late as I've been really feeling down in the dumps lately, if my status updates are anything to go by. Until today. Relief came in the most unusual situations. I was looking up a kanji online (since the translator is so friggin expensive!) and chanced on a Japanese proverb site purely by accident.

The first one was:

壁に耳あり、障子に目あ り

the walls have ears, the paper doors have eyes..

Sounded like a chinese proverb i've chanced on before .. I was like Sh*t!! that's a good one to describe the crap going around my life lately.. one day I vented my frustration and ended up in tears.. someone noticed, and the fact I was crying went round the office faster than you can say "hold on.".

I scrolled down the site and chanced another one:

猿も木から落ちる。

even monkeys fall from trees

"Yeah man!" I thought out loud. I can only do so much with what limited resources I have access to. Anyway, I don't proclaim to know everything and will definitely make mistakes. No one is perfect damnit. Even the powers that be make mistakes mah..

by this stage I was on a roll and then I chanced on:

井の中の蛙大海を知らず。

A frog in a well does not know the great sea

Sometimes, people are simply satisfied to pass judgement based on their own narrow experience, never knowing of the wider world outside.

Nuff said.. and all I wanted to look for was 勝者 and 信じ..

Inspirare.. my award goes to my Grandpa..

I recently had the privilege of attending an award ceremony and it was arguably the most interesting, emotional, intense and inspiring eye-opener occasion for me. The cynic in me naturally countered the soft, warm and fuzzy feeling in my heart with my head saying it was just the mood of the occasion, the music and an acute lack of sleep being the guilty offenders..

Whatever it was, I had the chance to exchange a word or two with some of the recipients, including one man who stirred something in my memory. I remember leaving the venue utterly moved and thinking of my own Merdeka Award recipient.. my late grandfather.

About 15 years ago, our family mourned the passing of my grandfather from my mother's side, although I cannot ever say that I was particularly "close" to him. My admiration of him stemmed from a kind of fear yet I love him dearly. After some time, the family uncovered some of his priceless treasures that he had kept locked away for decades. To my dismay, some of these eventually ended up in the trash before we got our hands on them!

Of those that did survive, I inherited four books from his priceless library - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poems, Plato's Republic, Sophocle's Oedipus the King and Homer's The Iliad - all in mint condition as if it had just rolled off the press.. He had the books specially commissioned and were leather bound with gold trimmings.. truly spectacular and I treasure these..

Meanwhile, my photographer sister inherited his collection of photographs, slides and other photographic paraphernalia.. Little did I know then how valuable his photographic collection is! As a kid, I remembered thinking about why his films were in the fridge, what the humidifier-thingymajig was for and why he wouldn't let us (or rather me) touch anything.. As my sisters and I rumaged through the dusty old shoe box where his slides eventually ended up in, I realised that the slides contained photographs that were astounding and relevant to the history of my own country.

My grandfather was no average man, this I realised even as a child. Though I never really quite understood the man since I was the anti-establishment rebel with absolutely no bloody cause (still am) I never really made that much of an effort to be utterly honest. I was also slightly intimidated by him. Anyway, years later as we ploughed through what remained of his treasures, I came to realise how significant his contribution really might have been.

And I never really knew the man! What little I know was made up of bits of my own memory and stories from my mother. My curiousity to learn more about this elusive man has since grown. From what little I know, I think he lived his life pretty much under the radar.

A quiet and unassuming man, I also remember him as a strict man - a man who ensured we sat with our backs straight at the dinner table. I recall his house in Bangsar, his massive library and a framed photo of him as a strapping young man donning his hat cocked to the side standing next to his horse. I also remember his massive chest that was always kept under lock and key. Every Eid, we would go over and I would find myself staring at that chest, wondering how to pick that bloody lock and uncover the mystery!

Years later, we found out that the chest had in fact contained his neatly folded uniforms, coat of arms and an array of service medals, to name a few. My grandfather was Australian and an officer in the Army. After serving his time in the ranks, he was eventually posted as an officer in the colony to other places in the empire like Merauke in New Guinea and Borneo.

I learned that over the years, he had played an array of different functions including his role as the district land officer in Sarawak and Terengganu. The man I knew was a quiet, private and contemplative man. He never talked much about his past particularly the years preceeding the 1940s. Neither did he ever talk much about his family.

In the last remaining years he was with us, he paid us a visit while my sisters and I were in exile in England. I remember he came with a long list of people he had wanted to meet. That list included friends, acquaintances and fellow colleagues.. It was as if he knew something for it wasn't long before he left us.
A decade and a half later, a combination of circumstances has somewhat stirred something in me. Earlier in the year, we at PETRONAS were given desk calendars and the visuals were made up of photographs by the late Sultan of Terengganu, Almarhum Sultan Ismail Nasiruddin Shah, who was an avid photographer. Of the twelve that were shortlisted, there was one that caught my mother's eye one evening, oddly enough it was the photograph for the month of November (my birth month!). Though it wasn't such a big photograph, she eyed it rather inquisitively before suddenly dropping her fork and spoon, for she had identified a man in the photograph.. It was indeed our grandfather!

Though my reasons are unabashedly and shamelessly personal, this man inspired me in his own way.. so my award goes to my late grandfather, David "Daud" Wilson.