Khaled Talib's Blog, page 6

When they refuse to recognize your talent…

I created a phrase once and included it in an article that got published in a magazine here. Some years later, I met a high profile Singapore university professor at a private gathering who, without realizing it, uttered the phrase in a context to explain an issue.

From the expression on this individual’s face, he behaved like he was quoting a line from a William Woodsworth’s poem without realizing it came from moi.

Now comes the funny part: When I told this PhD super-genius that I am the author of the phrase, he became aghast and refused to believe me.

So, I challenged this National University of Singapore hotshot to find the same phrase elsewhere in the archives, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do so except in that particular magazine, which, incidentally, carried my byline. Yet, the individual simply refused to acknowledge me.

I was shocked by this person’s reaction, but I let it go.

Interestingly, I have met many people like this here: politicians, diplomats, museum heads, members of the arts scene and your regular office executive. Amazing.

But then, I am reminded of this famous quote (and I will acknowledge the author).

“There is a certain category of fool—the overeducated, the academic, the journalist, the newspaper reader, the mechanistic scientist, the pseudo-empiricist, those endowed with what I call epistemic arrogance, this wonderful ability to discount what they did not see, the unobserved.”

―Nassim Nicholas Taleb

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Live Long and Prosper

“Shin” in Hebrew

In conjunction with the Jewish new year today, and Islamic new year,  here’s an interesting trivia.

I am sure many of you already know about the how the late Star Trek actor, Leonard Nimoy, derived the famous Vulcan salute, “Live Long and Prosper.”

He first saw the gesture ss a child at a synagogue service in Boston and learned it was derived from the Hebrew alphabetical letter “Shin.” So, he borrowed it as Spock.

“Shin” in Arabic

The letter “Shin” corresponds to the Arabic letter “Shin” and the font is the same (three upward strokes) with a slight variation.

The connotations of the letter have a different meaning for both faiths, but the central key message is the same – it’s godly.

Live Long and Prosper

 

Happy New Year.

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Pulse Raisers Book Giveaways

Pulse Raisers Book Giveaway
1-15 September.
Join the fun at Captain Don’s!

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Animal Farm II

Pig came to the barn one morning and addressed all the animals.

“From today onwards, I’m going to eat more than my usual share because I’m not mediocre,” said Pig. “I want all of you to give me half of your food.”

The horse snorted. “This is not fair. I will starve.”

“Well, you can learn to fast,” said Pig.

The cow shook its head. “I can’t live on half a meal. I will die.”

“No, you’ll just be thinner than me, that’s all,” said Pig.

The donkey brayed. “You’re greedy.”

Pig smiled. “So I am.”

The ducks quacked in protest. “No, no, no, no!”

“You don’t have a choice. Remember, I’m your leader,” said Pig.

“I hate you, Pig,” said the goat.

Pig shrugged. “Join the line.”

The tuxedo cat and the white mouse looked at each other then stared at Pig.

“If the cow becomes malnourished, where do I get my milk?” the tuxedo cat asked.

“And no goat cheese for me,” said the white mouse.

“I don’t care,” said Pig.

A year past and every animal in the barn became malnourished and sick while Pig grew fatter and fatter. Eventually, all the animals died except for the tuxedo cat and the white mouse who decided to migrate for greener pastures.

Meanwhile, the farmer had been monitoring the affairs of the animals in the barn. He could not understand why they were losing weight and dying though he noticed the pig growing fatter.

One day the farmer’s land was hit hard by the worst drought in history. He decided to tighten his belt. Seeing the fat pig, he realized he could survive on it for months while he waited out his bad luck. So he dragged Pig out of the barn and slaughtered it.

Miles away in the barn on the next farm, the tuxedo cat was having a bowl of milk while his friend, the white mouse, was having cheese. A bird flew into the barn through a window and told them what happened to Pig.

“I wonder if there’s a moral to the story,” said the white mouse.

The tuxedo cat looked up. “Yes, there is … a pig will always be a pig just like a scorpion will always be a scorpion.”

A flash fiction by Khaled Talib.

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My first Italian pizza and the Vatican thriller, Incognito.

This is the photo of my first Italian pizza. I tried it on the second night of my first trip to Bellagio in Lake Como.

I savored the pizza during dinner at the Bellagio Sporting Club after receiving a complimentary dinner voucher from the motel I was staying in. But I forgot what I ate; I don’t know the name of the pizza. I do remember, however, ordering a vegetarian one from the menu. Perhaps from the picture, you can tell me what it is. The waiter claimed it’s the best pizza in Lake Como. I almost believed him but after trying a few more pizzas here and there, well,  I have to reserve judgment. 

Truth be told, I was more interested in what I was seeing rather than what I was eating. Around this time I was working on my thriller novel Incognito, and taking mental and physical notes of places I’ve been and the things I’ve experienced: parks, museums, monuments, boat rides on the lake, bazaar, cafes. I was soaking up and absorbing everything around me. Some of the characters I met were also interesting. 

During this trip, I lost my pocket camera but a waiter at a Bellagio cafe found it and returned it to me. You’d be surprised the number of times I lost my belongings during the trip. Yet each time, I met a kind soul who returned it to me. 

The trip also included visits to Venice, Rome, and Saint Moritz. I was tempted to; learn how to ski in SSaintMoritz but I think it takes a long time to master the sport, so I did the next best thing: I went mountain trekking.

Mountain trekking is therapeutic, and I understand why many people do it. I’d like to describe it as being a land astronaut. The higher you go, the more peaceful it becomes. 

It was on Muottas Muragl (Mount Muragl) that I met a Swiss woman who gave me the idea to incorporate the Vatican angle for my manuscript. She was pointing vehemently towards Italy and ranting about the Vatican. It was a chance meeting after stopping her on a slope to ask for directions. For a moment, I thought I was in Speaker’s Corner, Hyde Park. Well, everyone is entitled to an opinion. But I have to thank her for helping me complete my manuscript. 

By the time I was done traveling, I had enough ingredients to write my thriller. The novel was based on two separate visits to Switzerland. The second visit, which included various regions of Italy, provided the toppings. 

I look forward to doing it again… and this time around, I’m going to be sure to remember what kind of pizza I ate. 

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One Hundred Years of Solitude

Monk’s Hill Terrace. Photo does not belong to me. May be subject to copyright.

Today I was thinking of a girl named Suzanne Armstrong. She used to be in my school. We never spoke but we sort of know each other. She was a thin girl with golden blonde curly hair tied back. We lived nearby, so I’ll occasionally bump into her at the shops in Newton. We’ll acknowledge each other without exchanging words. She may have migrated, I don’t know; many have left Singapore.

Nearby the Armstrong’s was Auntie Kelcey whose father was a British RAF officer. She was a nurse who took care of my great grandmother when the old lady was ill. So every year, during Christmas, my family will pay Auntie Kelcey a visit, never empty handed.

Neighboring them was a shop selling watches: Moses Hai Sion. At first, I thought it was a Chinese shop. Lots of Chinese named Moses here. One day I went inside. I must’ve been around 17. I was looking for a new strap for my watch. Moses was not Chinese. He was an Iraqi Jew. He looked at me and immediately he could identify me. He asked me if I was related to a certain family. I said no, but I know them. He said he knew some of them at a personal level. Charming man. I still remember his words: “Arab money very good.”

A few doors away, there was an angsty Indian barber who once yelled at me when I was eight because I didn’t pay him enough for the haircut. I didn’t know the price was different during the holidays. I avoided him until I was 15, but by then he had forgotten my face. All I saw was a sad man who cursed the world as he cut my hair. I visited him a few times, and each time it was the same story. He kept showing me his tattoo; he once belonged to a gang. One day he boasted about his son whom he said did better than him in life. All said, he was a good barber. He never nicked me.

And then there was Percy, a Eurasian who spoke English like a native. Every single day for years I’d bump into Percy on my way to the neighborhood school. He always wore black and white. One day, he helped me save a kitten in a drain. From that day, we greeted each other whenever we met. The surprise came when I saw him at a relative’s wedding where he also sang one song with the band. I never knew who he was, but years later, when I was invited to a hotel for a food tasting, I saw him there. He was the Maitre de. Hence the outfit. Nice man. Always smiling.

There was also the Chinese doctor who played golf in his house every Sunday morning without fail. Through his fence, I could see a single-story annex building that for some reason I thought was home to Russian spies.

Further down, near Emerald Hill, a grumpy Indonesian tennis coach always yelled at us to go away whenever we stopped to watch him train his students. It was a nice tennis court amidst greenery. The place is no more.

Nearby, there was a small Chinese supermarket …surreal place. Hardly a car drove past. After school, sometimes, the boys and I would go there to hang out.

At the base of a hill along Peck Hay Road/Anthony Road was a Mama Shop (convenience store) with a field of long grass bordered by rows of small, one-story houses. People sat in the field in the late afternoon drinking cola and talking. Now, it’s a memory.

Muhammad Ali … someone I knew from my school days, whose relatives lived in Monk’s Hill Terrace, nearby my school, while he lived in Dorset Road, Farrer Park. I went to Kuala Lumpur with him by train when we were sixteen. We stayed at his uncle’s house, a pilot. Last time I saw him, he was playing the guitar in my room while I was trying to sleep. By the time I got up, he was gone. I never saw him again.

A glimpse of my One Hundred Years of Solitude.

Things you didn’t know about my thriller, Gun Kiss

Before the protagonist was Blake Deco, he was Drake. But the vampire character from Blade: Trinity made me think twice about using the name. Also, I didn’t want the protagonist to look or sound bulky.

The Deringer was supposed to have been one of the stolen/missing items posted by the FBI on their website.  I even considered King Tut’s dagger during a world exhibition tour.

The story is inspired by a real-life actress whose identity is a secret. However, the protagonist’s character is based on my personal experience with Creative Artists Agency.  After pitching my debut thriller, Smokescreen, to a movie agent, I was invited to submit it. Although the novel was rejected as a potential material, the idea of a protagonist as a failed screenwriter came to be.

The book’s initial titles included “Sun Kiss” and “Gun Boulevard.” The first sounded touristic and close to the Californian citrus brand, Sunkist.  The second sounded cliche. The rock band, Guns and Roses, was included in my research to find the perfect book title.

After changing the protagonist’s name to Blake, I contacted an expert in San Diego on skydiving whose named turned out to be Blake.

The cat in the story is based on a tuxedo cat I once owned.

The Balkans scene is inspired by my encounter with a restaurant manager from Montenegro working in an Arab restaurant here in Singapore.

The Besame Mucho scene is based on my own experience with someone as we were driving to Malaysia.

 

Buy Gun Kiss 

 

 

The Brave Doctor

When I was in my twenties, I read her memoir, “From Beirut to Jerusalem.”

Dr. Ang Swee Chai is a Singapore citizen who was born and raised in Malaysia. She initially could not relate to the suffering of the Palestinians. She admitted she was prejudice against Muslims. She grew up supporting Israel. Her church celebrated when Israel won the Six Day War. But things for her changed when she went to Lebanon.

Her book is an eyewitness account as a young volunteer during the Sabra and Shatilla massacre. I remember she wrote about her friend, a fellow female doctor who was shot and killed. It traumatized her.

The doctor was recently on the Flotilla trying to make its way to Gaza. The last I heard the boat was blocked and she was arrested, along with another person from Singapore.

Back then in Singapore, information was not forthcoming, so most people hear what they want to hear from the state-ruled media. Even to this very day, I encounter plenty of ignorance… but they wear tuxedos and attend galas during the weekends.

So, I shocked the island more than 25 years ago when I sent a letter to the main newspaper’s forum page about Palestine. Surprisingly, it was published. The Straits Times. Everybody panicked. “They’ll arrest you!” You got to be careful!” “Oh, cannot-cannot! Lee Kuan Yew don’t like! ISD will arrest you.” I chuckled at the mentality.

At that time, I was working for an industrial oil and gas newspaper. Even my editor, a Sikh — who once worked for Reuters– was shocked the letter got published. He was so excited that he even showed the letter to my publisher, a British national. That’s how frigid things were in Singapore.

Social media has brought some changes. I dare say Singapore still has a long way to go.

Interesting times…

Singapore’s Old World Charm

If you’re ever in Singapore and want to experience the remnants of old world charm, check out these places:

 

Jubilee Coffee in Changi (1960s theme).

Cafe Coldbar at Wessex Estate, 9A Whitchurch Road (British army days). Photo by @sgfoodonfoot

Saddle Club (members-only, but the cafe is open to the public).

 

Some parts of Singapore are still green; the rest of the island I’m sorry to say is mostly cement and glass. Yes, I’m sorry.

I was born here in 1965. It was more exotic before I came. American journalist Nellie Bly must’ve have found it more exciting when she arrived in the 1800s.

Let me just give you an idea of how it was: when I was a kid, whenever I followed my mother to the bank along Scotts Road/Orchard Road, there was a snake charmer sitting outside the building. Imagine that.

Well, I just thought I give a residual taste of the past, or at least what’s left of them.

Nowadays,  people are rushing to who knows where. If you ask me, l find it boring.

[I don’t own the photos;  they may be subject to copyright]

 

Spiral, my new thriller

 

 

 

 

 

Just wrote “The End” on the first draft of my South Australian thriller, SPIRAL.

One protagonist Wadjela, two Nungas, two SAPOL (police) boys in blue, a biker gang, Australian intelligence Services (ASIS) and a Russian assassin.

Here’s a song to celebrate.

Once the honeymoon ends, the tough part begins…rewriting, rewriting, and more rewriting.

May the Rainbow Serpent give me strength.

Didgeridoo – Yigi Yigi by David Hudson