PRETENDERS

The Prime Minister of Malaysia announced recently from his position of power and authority, that "human rights-ism goes against Muslim values." He expands, "in this age of globalisation, there are attempts to spread retrograde values such as pluralism and liberalism by linking it to Islam. It is very dangerous to our faith...What more for deviant movements like the LGBT to be recognised and permitted." (From The Star Online)

These dogmatic words come from the poster boy for Islam, Najib Razak, known for more than a few scandalous affairs in Malaysia. They are the beliefs of a person with no sense of empathy. 

I do not link the emotion as being exclusive to being liberal or progressive. I link them to being human. I don't know how he defines the term "retrograde," if he, and those like him, (the Sultan of Brunei comes to mind) sees a nation's progression only in terms of economic development and wealth, but refuses to acknowledge the backwardness of a people and their demeaning of others who are different.

One great thing about religion is that it always brings out the true hypocrites.

KIDS

Bangkok, 1995

My mother was cleaning out some boxes in storage and found this letter that I'd completely forgotten about. She took a picture of it and sent it to me.

People don't write letters anymore, but I'm glad to have artifacts that have come from and survived friendships that did not stand the test of time, the only remainder of what had once been. Maya Angelou said that people will never forget how you made them feel. At age 10 I made one of my best friends laugh hysterically every day at school.

One of the greatest joys in life is being able to be the complete goofball that you are at heart and have your friends appreciate you for it.

PHILADELPHIA

I boarded a train bound for Philadelphia three weekends ago and surprised some dudes at a bike store in North Philly. Walked in on a cold, damp Friday evening and was met with a lingering bear hug from Paul, who I hadn't seen in over a year. The newest and youngest addition to the crew - blonde, blue eyed Mike, who I had only spoken to on the phone on previous occasions, was working too. Izzat wasn't there so I hung out with those ace mechanics until closing time.

Had dinner with little brother and Hanan that night.

Saturday started early. We had breakfast at OCF coffeeshop in the walking distance Fairmount neighborhood before opening up at 10am. Izzat initiated the work day by playing Bobby McFerrin's Don't Worry Be Happy, a song I find suitable to be used as a torture tactic against the people you despise the most, especially if you take into consideration the cruel taunting of the message in that context, especially if played on repeat, and even if I am unequivocally against torture. But the song has been a permanent fixture in the store's daily playlist since the inception of Kayuh Bicycles and the most I will say to express my objection to the song is a simple, "hate this song." To which Paul once immediately switched to another tune as a gentleman would, I guess, but my brother tends to believe that no one is more capable to endure painful things more than I. To some extent, he is right.

Why do Westerners need help with everything? What's wrong with being a bad conversationalist? My theory is that socially inept people tend to become good conversationalists when meeting "their people" finally. It is worth the wait, in my opinion.

Because what's so bad about struggling through life?

Or having breakfast alone at the bar seat?