The Amazing Race

Of all the reality shows, I like The Amazing Race (and The Amazing Race Asia and Explorace) best. Love them in fact. Maybe because I love going for treasure hunts and travelling. OK, OK, treasure hunt is nothing compared to The Amazing Race: the latter covers numerous days, thousands of miles, various countries and cities, involves challenging tasks, with the participants working in pairs. Hence it is a lot more tiring, taxing and exhausting, and really tests the relationship between the couples. The few treasure hunts that I’ve been on so far required teams of four people, driving around based on tulip readings, solving puzzles and riddles along the route and finding the required treasures. And they all ended after a predetermined number of hours after flag-off. Mind you, frictions and arguments can still occur in groups of four: in our car, the driver would always have disagreements with the assigned/appointed navigator (who is no other than yours truly), or sometimes both the driver and navigator would have disagreements with the passengers. So yes, frictions can occur regardless of the duration and the number of people in a team.

Back to The Amazing Race: I usually have one or two couples that I favour and root for and also a pair that I get annoyed at. As for the Asian edition, although I enjoy it, I am not rooting for any particular team. Not yet anyway. I do like the Filipino guys; one of them is particularly dishy. And the girls, wow, some of them are really pretty (don’t worry, I’m still straight).

Every time I watch the Race, whichever edition, I find myself thinking and wondering how I’d fare had it been me in their shoes. For starters, I’m not sure if I could run around carrying backpacks while searching for clues and the right direction. I went backpacking before and the first time I tried on my backpack, I immediately sat down again. It was only a month later when I returned minus some body weight that I discovered I had walked around Europe lugging 15 kg on myself. So no, I don’t think I can do that again.

Then of course, what would I pack for such a race? No, don’t laugh. This is important. What clothes should I bring? They must be tough and durable and yet light enough; easy to wash and dry and care for (so I won’t look like I’ve just stumbled out of bed with a crumpled top); and comfortable to wear and can absorb perspiration, just to name a few criteria the clothes must fulfil. That was a problem we faced when we went inter-railing in the height of summer: we had to change clothes often but because we were constantly on the move, it was a challenge to launder and have them dry in time before moving on to our next destination. The clothes must also be able to cover me decently; after all I am a Muslim wherever I am. And that’s just clothes: you also need to pack multi-vitamins, pills, food supplement, toiletries, footwear, etc, etc.

And more importantly, there is the task of reading, interpreting and understanding the instructions and directions. As you know, I’m a confused and confusing lass and I’d probably misread or misunderstand some instruction. As for directions, I like to think that I have a good sense of direction and I can read maps pretty well. But oh, what about the roadblocks? Can I perform them? I can’t do anything too physical as I’m not physically strong and I tire easily. I also don’t drive, can’t swim or dive (yeah, I’m pretty hopeless and helpless) and I refuse to eat or handle anything gross (one episode of The Amazing Race: All-Stars had the participants making sausages and eating them. Euwww...).

I also wonder how I’d behave under stress, duress and pressure. I know that there are the crew and their cameras about but I can’t guarantee I can control my behaviour. I’m short-fused, short-tempered, quick-tempered, hotheaded, impatient and stubborn so chances are I’d be arguing and bickering with and shouting at my poor partner. So my partner must be a very patient person and must really understand and be able to bear with me. I also panic easily, I curse and swear readily and I bet the crew would have a field day trying to silence my expletives. And how did they (especially the girls in The Amazing Race Asia) do it going through the race and yet still looking calm and presentable at the end of each leg? If I were in their shoes, I’d probably be looking so harassed and stressed when I step on the mat ready to collapse.

So can I run around with a (carefully packed) backpack on me, looking for clues and understanding directions and instructions and staying calm throughout? Probably not. That’s why I’ll just stick to watching. Anyway, I probably won’t even make it through the selection stage, but then, I can’t help wondering how and why some of the participants got selected.

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Boro gunned down Arsenal’s amazing race in the EPL yesterday and the Gunners registered their first defeat of the season (Liverpool also scored their first defeat on Saturday). Silly Gunners! And to lose to Boro too, of all teams. They managed to draw with ManUre and Liverpool and yet lost to a team amongst the bottom in the table. Hmph!

Playing God

I was thinking recently of people playing God. Of doctors thinking they know the best treatment for their patients – because they claim to have their patients’ interest at heart – even if the patient doesn’t desire such treatment. Of family members thinking they know what is best for their ailing loved ones who are incapable of making decisions on their own either because they’re in a coma, in persistent vegetative state (think Terri Schiavo) or because they are underage.

Of bosses thinking they know best how their subordinates should be rewarded and what they deserve. I can’t help thinking how they can be fair if they already have a pre-conceived idea or formed opinion of how an employee is, or a biased preference for particular subordinates. These decisions may well have long-lasting effects on the affected subordinates.

Of patients themselves deciding on euthanasia for themselves, or of pregnant women proceeding to abort their foetus after they decide they don’t want the child.

What do you think? Do we consciously or subconsciously play God in our everyday lives? What makes us, mere mortals, think we can make such a decision?

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On an unrelated note but a sort of a follow-up to my earlier entry, I met some new people last week. One girl particularly caught my attention as she looked sullen and grim. In fact, she looked like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Then I found out that she had been subject to what she termed ‘capital punishment’ from her parents as she was growing up (she is still staying with the parents). She confessed finding it difficult to forgive her parents for what they had done to her.

Then I found out that another girl was also subjected to similar abuse from her father. He even spat on her once (can you imagine how she must have felt then). But fortunately for her, her mother is a very strong woman and supportive of her. And one day, she sat down with her father and confronted him for all his wrongdoings, abuse and punishment to her. He was already an old man and wasn’t fast enough to escape so he just sat there. He did, however, immediately turn on the TV after she finished.

I felt a mixture of emotions hearing to their stories. Anger at the parents for having subjected their children to what they think is the right way of disciplining. Horrified at what they had to go through. And thankful too for being blessed with my lovely parents who I take for granted for despite all their scolding, I was never pinched, let alone caned me.

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And another totally unrelated note: why, oh why, did Arsenal have to draw with Newcastle last night?!

D Word

What would you do if someone you know/care about is having problems? And by problems, I mean marital ones. Would you stand aside and watch and pray that he’d make the right decision? Would you step in and offer advice? Would you confront the root of the problem as you see it? Or would you just do nothing as you don’t believe you should interfere in other people’s affairs?

I am in that dilemma. I pray to God that this person I care about will take the step to address the problem once and for all. I can only see one way out and it’s one that a few other have suggested too. The dreaded word, divorce. For no one can see how the wife can change her ways. No amount of hints, advices, even sarcastic remarks and nagging will work. She’s just dim and dumb like that and oblivious to anything.

You probably think I only know one side of the story, his side. But if you see the situation, you’d take the same view too. Trust me. He loves and dotes on the children but he’s too stressed with her behaviour and the situation at home that he’s suffered chest pains a few times and even been hospitalised for it.

He doesn’t want to take that dreaded route though. Not for now, at least. There are the children to consider. But I think differently. I don’t think and don’t believe that a couple should stay married just for the sake of the children. To me, that is the worst thing they could do to the children – raise them in an environment where the parents don’t even care for or love each other. It may not be the most desired position to be in because everyone wants to play happy families but unfortunately it doesn’t always work out that way. To me, if one has exhausted all possible way to salvage the marriage and the situation still deteriorates instead of improving, then the dreaded word is an alternative to consider, even if it sounds dirty and diabolical. Or would you rather be miserable for the rest of your life just as long as other people’s disapproving tongues don’t wag or feelings are not hurt.

But what do I know, I’m not even married. But this much I know: I wouldn’t want to remain in a miserable marriage. I hope and pray for the best and that he will be guided to making the right decision.

Enchanted

Fairy tales, oh, they are something, are they not? I grew up reading them and believing that there is a Prince Charming somewhere out there for me (and for every other little girl). I dreamt of being swept off my feet by a dashing stranger; of being rescued by my hero just in the nick of time; of being wooed and pursued and ‘wined’ and dined in the most romantic setting. All thanks (or no thanks) to fairy tales. Because when you’re a child, you believe you can be anything you want to be; go wherever you want to go; get anything you set your eyes on. There are no limits, you expect the unexpected, believe in magic and happily ever after.

My guy friends all laughed and teased me when they somehow found out my fantasies (those dark winter nights sure have a way of having us bond in the kitchen). And over time, I realise that reality and fantasy do not go hand in hand. Because when you grow older, the innocence is shattered by the harsh reality of life. And you realise that you can’t be all that you want to be after all, that you won’t get everything you want and you just have to accept that. Oh, I still cling on to my (perhaps ridiculous) dream of Mr. Right aka Prince Charming (not Mr. Perfect, mind you, as no one’s perfect, least of all me), just because.

I watched Enchanted on Saturday and throughout the movie, I couldn’t help thinking how corny it was. And unrealistic. Oh, the movie was enjoyable as a whole but corny and cheesy. There was that scene where Giselle started singing in Central Park and suddenly, right on cue, half of New York (I would’ve said the whole of New York but that’d be exaggerating) started jumping in and dancing away and singing along. All in perfect choreographic precision of course. Excuse me, but I think I have seen that somewhere before. Oh yes, in some Bollywood movie – and I don’t even watch them Bollywood movies. Sheesh.

The movie has a happy ending – do you expect otherwise – but I found myself pondering why the story turned out the way it did. Why of all things, did the evil stepmother change into a dragon (that reminded of the she-dragon in Shrek but evil stepmother is more, well, evil) and scale up the Empire State Building (just like King Kong did!). And gosh, whatever happened to Giselle’s dream? She dreamt of Prince Edward but instead ended up with Robert.

OK, I don’t know why all these questions were on my mind. After all, it was just a movie of a fantasy, which is as far removed from reality as fantasy can only be. at least Malay folklore stories don’t all have happy ending - think Si Tanggang and Batu Belah Batu Bertangkup (infact, I can still remember going to be crying to bed when I was about 4 after Mummy told me a folklore story).

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And the reality over the weekend was Bolton shocking everyone, themselves included I think, by defeating ManUre 1-0. So Owen Hargreaves, how did the ‘best team’ in England manage to lose to Bolton? And Arsenal scored their two goals in the last 10 minutes of the game to beat Wigan – they sure have this annoying habit of giving me threatened cardiac arrest by only scoring in the last quarter of the game. I must admit though, Wigan’s defence was good.

And that was the footie reality, not fantasy, nor MTV or even Channel [V].

Extraordinary People

I’ve just finished reading My Story by David Pelzer, which is a compilation of his three novels A Child Called ‘It’, The Lost Boy and A Man Called Dave. I cried through the first few chapters of A Child Called ‘It’. I couldn’t help it (I’m emo when reading touching stories and even watching sad movies) and I wondered how some mothers can be so cruel and abusive to their own flesh and blood. It’s beyond comprehension. But then again, Dave was born in the 1960s (he was rescued at the age of 12 in 1973) and at that time, people didn’t talk of things like this. In fact, they probably regarded what he received as a form of disciplining children and so what if the parent was a little harsh. And people believed in minding their own business then so even though the neighbours were probably aware of what was happening, they didn’t think of notifying the police.

The Lost Boy describes Dave’s account as an adolescent in the foster care system, how he adapted to life in the real world and the difficulties he faced with this and with dealing with the questions in his mind of why his mother abused him so. All this was made even more difficult as he had to move from one foster home to another because of circumstances. He craved for love and attention (as any child would). In those days, people looked down on foster children and foster parents; if you ended up in foster care, it must be because your parents couldn’t handle you (or in other words, you were either a difficult, problematic child who couldn’t be disciplined) or an unwanted child. As for foster parents, the perception was they were only doing it for the money.

In A Man Called Dave, Dave talked about his struggles to earn a living, his first marriage which eventually ended, joining the Air Force, his father’s death from terminal cancer, how he finally made peace with his mother, his voluntary work with youth at risk, and his second marriage. It’s amazing what he went through really as you’d expect someone in that situation having to overcome so much and adjust oneself to the real world would have a lot of difficulties, a low self-esteem and insecurities.

I couldn’t help but wonder what made abusers the way they are. Were they abused at some point in their early life too? Why doesn’t society try better to help the abused children or the youth at risk? Isn’t it better to help them when they’re young before they turn into frustrated, confused, angry abusers themselves later in life?

And while reading this book, I was reminded of another extraordinary person who also managed to overcome obstacles in her life: Liz Murray, a homeless girl who eventually was accepted into Harvard (there’s a movie on her, From Homeless to Harvard). Isn’t it strange how cruel humans can be, to inflict pain and suffering on others, and yet how amazingly strong human spirit can be in facing life’s challenges?

Numb3rs

As a student, I was intrigued with numbers. I’d look at numbers and wondered if they could be divided by 3, for instance. I can still remember sitting in our Perth kitchen apartment with the sunlight streaming in doing Maths questions that Mummy prepared – I must finish those questions before I was allowed to go out and play – and mind you, it was school hols then. Instead of hating or resenting it, it somehow made me love Maths even more. I’m not as good at mental calculation as Abah is but I can calculate Scrabble points pretty quickly if I can say so myself.

When I was in Form 2, there was some virus in school and the sickbay was overflowing. I succumbed to the virus too and was ill for about a week. Abah drove down and brought me home to recuperate. When I returned back to school, I found myself behind in class, especially in Maths. I had to learn quickly to catch up with the rest of the class. But I still loved Maths.

When I got to Form 4, I discovered the wonders of Additional Maths and simply fell in love with the subject. I loved it so much, I’d attempt all questions in any Add Maths exams even though we were only required to answer six (I don’t know if I could’ve been good at Physics as I was in the Social Science stream). And I subsequently fell in love with Pure Maths when I did A Level. Maybe I’m just weird that way. (I’m not, however, good at teaching my friends Maths especially Modern Maths).

I don’t, however, share the same passion for the subjects Statistics, Accounting and Finance. These are beyond me even though I eventually did study Accounting later, and I can’t be an analyst at work. Oh I can understand ratios and trends but I can’t analyse static numbers. The numbers would all swim before my eyes but I can’t make much sense out of them.

I can, however, give you my own version of footie match analyses. Like how one billion people globally tuned in on 3 November 2007 to see Arsenal register their third draw of the season. We still top the table after 11 games, thanks to a goal from Gallas at the eleventh hour. To be honest, as the full time neared, I did wonder if I was about to witness Arsenal’s first loss of the season and at home ground too. We do have defence weakness and we must acknowledge and address this pronto.

And Fàbregas is back to scoring goals – he’s scored more this season so far than he had the whole of last season. Last Saturday was the third consecutive match that he’s scored in (he didn’t play in the Carling Cup match last Wednesday) after three consecutive EPL matches of not scoring. Hope he enjoyed his Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

Chelshit is now at the third spot, breathing down the necks of both Arsenal and ManUre. Liverpool, the only other team to also remain unbeaten, is now at seventh spot. And Portsmouth, well, they’re actually looking at a possible Champions League spot now.

So What

So what if Arsenal players are mainly kids - as long as they have the footie experience and skill. Because there are other more seasoned players who still lack the skill and expertise.

So what if Wenger doesn’t spend much on getting new players. After all, he’s defended his tight grip on money by saying, ‘We don’t sign superstars; we make them.’ And he has more or less proven that he is indeed capable of creating superstars.

So what if Almunia looks like he belongs more at a beach working, say, as a lifeguard rather than a goalkeeper to be taken seriously. He’s proven himself to be as good as, if not better, than Lehmann. And the saves he made in the match with Liverpool last weekend!

So what if Henry is no longer around. The other players have so far proven themselves capable of playing without him. Golly, even Henry needs to adapt at Barcelona.

So what if we’re going to meet ManUre and Froggie this weekend. After all, ManUre lost to Manchester City, didn’t they, and subsequently got knocked out of the Carling Cup too. It just shows that even ManUre is not infallible. The Arsenal kids, on the other hand, will now go to the Carling Cup quarter-finals after having won on Wednesday evening against Sheffield United; as the end of this article put it: the match was men against boys, and the men took one hell of a beating.

So all those critics out there, please, stop putting Arsenal down already.