As I Turn The Final Corner

Me, on the last day of 2012

Well, apparently I'd turn 52 in less than a month's time. That means I'd be about 18,900 days old. And that’s a lot of days.
 I have outlived a Volvo car, arguably the most long-lasting car man has ever made, by some 2.66 times.
 While I am not about to succumb to a downhill ride, I am beginning to feel the strain of age. And somewhere in my mind, that date with destiny is always there. Like a car long after it left the showroom, I could feel certain changes to remind me of my age.
 Looking back, I remember that once I was a very active tennis player in college. I could play an entire singles match without much of a problem.

Of birthdays and such

Today's toys are very different from what they once were

JANUARY is a busy month for me, as far as birthdays are concerned. Both my daughters were born in this month, with their birthdays just five days apart.
 We try to celebrate their birthdays, at the very least with a simple dinner at a place of their choice. And then there are the presents of course.
 It was different when I was small as I was never really bothered about my birthday. Most of the time I forgot, save for a few occassions that I was reminded of it.
 But I remember I got a toy from a sister once, when I was about eight. It was a battery-operated capsule of the Apollo spacecraft, a popular toy a time when America was in the final stages of putting man on the moon. I had wanted the toy so much after seeing it in a toyshop right at the far corner of the Port Dickson town.

Another year

Me, at the command centre in the newsroom.

AND so another year is coming to an end. We leave another chapter behind and continue to hope for a better one come January 1, 2013.
 The Christmas week is always a slow week for us in the newsroom. Most people are on leave and even if they're not, most would be occupied with the impending return of schooldays in about a week's time.
 All said and done, my 2012 was a good one. Indeed there were ups and downs but here I am, writing this now, still very much in one piece and not much different from the person I was at the end of last year.
 I guess as we grow older, it gets a bit more difficult to put our finger at the meaning of progress, except perhaps in the spiritual sense. It feels like we've seen and done it all and that there's not much else to achieve except to continue living a happy life.

A journalist's life

A Buddhist monk performing self-immolation during the war in Vietnam

GLAMOROUS is nowhere near a depiction of a journalist's life. When I joined, I didn't even have a desk of my own, let alone my own workstation.
 A fellow who joined a year after I did got it all wrong when he walked into the office with tie and all, and asked to be shown to his place. There was none, and he lasted a short month, perhaps realising it wasn't his cup of tea.
 There were always many people running about the newsroom but I must say that the best of times would be after that story was done and I'd find one corner of the building to sit and reflect for a while, just me and my pack of cigarettes.

Listen and thou shall know

In my office at the newsroom

ONE of the things I have learned to master over the years as a journalist is to listen more than I speak. Since I don't talk that much anyway, many-a-times, I just listened and hear people tell their stories. After several years of doing this, I also picked up the ability to read between the lines when people talk and also the skill of observing people's body language to figure out what they actually mean when they speak.