In search of myself on a road less travelled

For Mancis, the writing is on the wall

The cup of tea was still hot when I took the first sip in that hot, humid and dusty afternoon. I had taken a seat in an almost empty stall, with a view of the road in front of me. It must have been a good ten minutes before the first vehicle passed by, a truck laden with timber inching its way towards a destination probably only its driver knew.
 I had exited a crowded highway to Kuantan about an hour earlier, deciding to follow a road less travelled southwards into Negeri Sembilan. The journey, cutting through rainforests, oil palm and rubber plantations and small towns I never knew existed, had taken me here to Mancis, a one street town north of Negeri Sembilan.

Malaysia choose and life will go on.

 Finally, after what may well be four long years, or maybe more, Malaysians are staring squarely at the day of reckoning.  After such a time of having their emotions bottled-up, after seemingly endless arguments which at times border absurdity, criss-crossing truths, half-truths and outright lies, Malaysians will now have the opportunity to either show their appreciation or vent their anger at the ballot boxes which will be opened from 8.00 am on Sunday.
 When I saw a frail old lady planting little multi-coloured flags on the grass sidewalk near my office this morning, I wondered about her wishes, her frustrations and her aspirations.
 Likwise, when I saw youths risking their lives climbing lamp posts to hang party flags, I wondered that besides the money they’d get from doing so, whether they actually believed in the party’s struggles.