29 Wednesday Feb 2012
Posted in Poetry_Poems
Tags
Eric Alagan, Inspiration, life, marriage, Poems, poetry, reflections, Singapore, Spirituality, thoughts
Man is the hunter-gatherer, even in love. We ‘hunt’ for partners and gather what we sow…
Snared you, I have with love as porous as my net of imperfections. Within seven years or less I shall harvest bountiful discord.
******************
28 Tuesday Feb 2012
Posted in Life of Mechanic Leigh
1960s’ Singapore: The continuing saga of a boy called Mechanic Leigh…
Rascal Slim came to class with an inflated paper bag (plastic bags have not been invented yet and earth was still safe). He wore a sly smile.
All of us knew his intentions – an old stunt – burst the bag as some unsuspecting soul stepped into the classroom. We even knew who the victims were – Prim and her twin sister, Proper. It was in-between lesson periods and the lady teacher, Miss Pincher (her idea of punishing children was to pinch stomachs until the skin broke), had ordered everyone to remain QUIET! – until Mr Sir returned. Of course, as soon as Miss Pincher stepped out, the classroom turned rowdy.
Prim and Proper left to visit the bathroom.
Rascal Slim positioned himself inside the swing doors – Naval Base School in the 1960s had those cowboy style half-swing doors.
The class fell quiet with anticipation – Rascal Slim had more influence on the children than any yelling, screaming and pinching lady teacher.
The doors swung open and as the twins Prim and Proper stepped in, Rascal Slim burst the bag with a loud clap. The girls shrieked and the class roared.
The room stank – someone with very bad indigestion had broken wind.
Rascal Slim bubbled laughing. Turning to the class he proudly announced how he had farted into the bag; trapped it by tying a rubber band and you know the rest…
As he spoke, the class dropped silent.
Mr Sir, who was a few steps behind the girls, had walked into the stink bomb…
He dragged Rascal Slim by the ear to the principal’s office. Ten strokes of the cane later, Rascal Slim came to be called Cowboy Slim – because of his bow-legged walk.
********** Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2012 **********
27 Monday Feb 2012
Posted in Poetry_Poems
Tags
Darkness, Eric Alagan, Inspiration, life, Philosophy, poetry, reflections, Singapore, Spirituality, thoughts
Have you noticed how darkness keeps us company?
Day and night… 
**************
26 Sunday Feb 2012
Posted in Fiction & Non-Fiction
Tags
Eric Alagan, Indonesia, life, micro fiction, novels, Poems, poetry, Singapore, thoughts, writing
in 1999, I was contracted to install security equipment for a large American gas supplier in Aceh Province, Indonesia. Apparently, the GAM guerrillas, fighting to establish an Islamic state, were terrorizing the base camp.
A company of Indonesian marines provided armed security but the military simply attracted attacks. Two weeks before I arrived with my team, the guerrillas had shot dead four Indonesian soldiers near the perimeter fence. Tensions were high between the local Acehnese and the Indonesian military.
The Americans picked up my team and I in a private aircraft and we landed at a forward airfield. From there, we took off in two helicopters to the base camp. Instead of lifting off and nosing forward, the helicopters spiraled vertically, reached 10,000 feet before heading forth – To avoid rifle fire from the trees, called out the pilot.
Mike, the Security Manager, whom I knew from years earlier, briefed us. He went over the routine:
Sleep fully clothed with passport and wallets strapped around your waist. Socks on and shoes next to your bunks. The two helicopters will be manned 24 hours a day and ready to take off within seconds. If the GAM breaches security, the perimeter triggers will go off…dash for the helicopters…the crews will not wait for stragglers.
My team and I were scheduled to spend 23 days in fun country.
Mike then took me on a tour of the perimeter fence and the spot where the four soldiers were killed. We looked down from a steep cliff. Through the thick cauliflower canopy of green, thin smoke tendrils curled lazily into the blue sky.
“Villages,” said Mike. He pointed out salient features of the landscape and all the while kept glancing at his watch. Then he said abruptly, “Times up, let’s scoot!”
I skidded down the slope after him, wondering what the rush was.
“Two minutes, that’s all it takes for their lookouts to alert the guerillas.”
“Two minutes?” I panted after him, my hand reaching for my side arm in a futile gesture.
“Yes!” Mike replied as he pulled up at the bottom of the slope and I almost ran into him. “Then the turkey shoot starts as anyone on that cliff made an inviting target. The four Indonesians who got killed, they took a smoke break, two and a half minutes.”
********** Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2012 **********
24 Friday Feb 2012
Posted in Poetry_Poems
When I posted TROPHIES, Peter blogging as Grandfathersky responded with a haiku and this led to an interesting exchange. I enjoyed it so thoroughly that I decided to make a post. For those who have not, I would suggest visiting Grandfathersky to relish his writings.
1. Peter’s first comment,
Or nameless hills in
Far Away forgotten lands
Wet with soldiers blood
2. Eric Alagan: February 23, 2012 at 8:24 am,
Medal for a limb
Folded flag for shattered lives
Fair trade wouldn’t you say
3. Grandfathersky: February 23, 2012 at 8:57 am,
The Sioux always had
The widows at war councils
They would speak their peace
4. Eric Alagan: February 23, 2012 at 9:10 am,
“Leaders” speak money
Clothed in “nationality”
Young bleed, widows weep
5. Grandfathersky: February 23, 2012 at 9:25 am,
Heroes heroin
Ban those dirty Taliban
Poppies for Harlem
6. Eric Alagan: February 23, 2012 at 9:32 am (Well done Peter – keep it coming…),
Buyers and Sellers
The Cycle of Destruction
Judge not the guilty
7. Grandfathersky: February 23, 2012 at 9:51 am (Likewise. What have we learned?),
Cast from the Temple
Pharisees traded their gold
For the souls of men
8. Eric Alagan: February 23, 2012 at 9:58 am,
Holy men, their keys
Do not open their heaven
What about of ours
9. Grandfathersky: February 23, 2012 at 10:03 am,
Abdicated our souls
Trusted into the hands of men
Greed was in their hearts
10. Eric Alagan: February 23, 2012 at 10:08 am,
We are to be blamed
Mindless sheep we, led by wolves
Return to Our Lord
11. Grandfathersky: February 23, 2012 at 10:19 am (Past 9 here now, I have to say good night… and Thank you. This has been rewarding),
Awake you who sleep
Now the time of man is nigh
He will lead us home
12. Eric Alagan: February 23, 2012 at 10:25 am,
When we sleep we live
When we awake we prepare
For a life that’s True
(Eric: I thoroughly enjoyed this too. Perhaps one day we ought to set up a post and invite all our blogger friends to contribute. It will be a blast. Thank you very much Peter. Good night)
********************
23 Thursday Feb 2012
Posted in Poetry_Poems
Tags
Eric Alagan, Inspiration, life, Philosophy, poetry, reflections, Singapore, Spirituality, thoughts, Trophy
So much energy…an expended life…
**********************
22 Wednesday Feb 2012
Posted in Life of Mechanic Leigh
1960s’ Singapore: The continuing saga of a boy called Mechanic Leigh…
Every morning, rubbish collectors came around in an open truck. Unlike the present day, the men did not wear uniforms or gloves. They wore filthy clothes and stank as bad as the rubbish they collected. Plastic bags were not invented yet and people simply tossed the crap into unlined tins, which came in all shapes and sizes – I was referring to the holes in the tins. Quite often, when the men lifted up the tins, filthy fluid would flow out and drench them.
I remember this rubbish collector. He was stout, sported a thick moustache and always sang songs as he went about his work. Mr Moustache seemed to know the first verse of every single Tamil song.
One night, the drama came to our village and every family turned out in full force to gawk at the outlandish and garish costumes of the actors who pranced about on the roadside stage.
It was a period drama enacted over five evenings. There he was, Mr Moustache, the star!
Everytime he made an entrance, he would jump and flick his sword left and right – swish-swish-swish. When there were badies, he would follow through the swish-swish-swish with a tang-tang-tang as swords clashed.
Normally, after the third ‘tang’ the badie would fall on his back and die dramatically – but only after reciting a two-minute speech of repentance. I always wondered why people, no matter where they were stabbed, had to cough so much after every sentence and before they die!
Within each two-hour segment, he killed off half a dozen bad guys and rescued his amply proportioned heroin from a strange two-legged tiger. I really thought it was the skinny tiger that needed rescuing.
For several weekends after that, whenever the rubbish truck came through, we kids would arm ourselves with sticks, run after the truck and shout swish-swish-swish and tang-tang-tang! Then we would bend forward and laughed until our stomachs ached.
Once I was so engulfed in my naughtiness, I did not realise that all my friends had run off. I looked up and there he was, Mr Moustache standing arms akimbo and glaring at me. My voice quavered as I expected to feel the back of his hand.
Instead, he ruffled my hair, wheeled and in an easy lope caught up with the truck. As he hopped onto the foothold, he turned, smiled and waved.
I held up my hand as in a trance and by the time I regained my senses the truck had turned the corner.
After that day, we never teased Mr Moustache. When the truck trundled past, we would run after it and wave at all the gruff men. They were so nice and we had such great fun.
These men became our friends
********** Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2012 **********
20 Monday Feb 2012
Posted in Poetry_Poems
Tags
Creation, Eric Alagan, Inspiration, life, Philosophy, poetry, reflections, Singapore, Spirituality, thoughts
This is a follow-on to the poem Creation Fails Without You…
The next time anyone suggests that you are lost, please help him find himself!
*****************
19 Sunday Feb 2012
Posted in Poetry_Poems
Tags
Dreams, Eric Alagan, Inspiration, life, Philosophy, poetry, reflections, Singapore, Spirituality, thoughts
Adapted from an old Taoist (Chinese) verse:
A Taoist monk, who had travelled extensively and spoke brilliant English, said this: Next time you awake from a dream with a Whoa! Do not dismiss it as a mere dream…
***********************************
17 Friday Feb 2012
Posted in Life of Mechanic Leigh
1960s’ Singapore: The continuing saga of a boy called Mechanic Leigh…
School recess was all too short, only twenty minutes. The bell rang. I rushed to the toilet, just enough time for a quick pee before the mad dash back to the classroom.
Mother had bought the cheapest school shorts – with zippers – no more struggling with oversized buttons and tiny buttonholes. (For the uninitiated, back in the sixties, Japanese products were cheap but sucked).
Dashing into the toilet, I unzipped, peed, flicked and zipped up – yarrgh!
In my rush, I missed a step – tuck into underwear before zipping up!
The thin foreskin caught in the teeth of the zipper. I screamed and just as quickly, froze. Taking a deep breath, with feverish hands I tried to move the zipper – no! The pain was hellishly sharp and heart stopping. I could not budge the zipper, not even a tiny fraction, without razor-sharp pain shoot up my, by now, shrivelled member. Red blood stained the front of my shorts.
(Ghost writer: Red blood – you are stating the obvious)
(Leigh: Will you be quiet, it hurts just to recall)
The second shorter bell rang and stopped. I could hear the deafening silence in the corridors outside. Curfew was in force. Any child caught outside the classrooms, when lessons commenced, can expect caning – yes, our teachers knew all about nurturing.
I stood shivering. Just then, Rascal Slim appeared. I was so relieved to see him but was also afraid that because of me, he too will receive a thrashing. He touched the zipper and I sucked in air with a painful hiss.
Then he hit me!
As I let fly with torrents of Hokkien expletives, I realised what he had done. The same time he hit, he had snapped down the zipper.
A tiny sliver of skin ripped off but for the most part, the pain was gone. He grabbed a handful of toilet roll and asked me to dab the profusely bleeding wound. Rolling the tissue around my member, I carefully tucked in, zipped up and we both rushed back to class. Fortunately, the teacher had not arrived.
Escaped!
I could not thank Rascal Slim enough. Even now, I marvel at the quick thinking and maturity of this ‘rascal’ whom all the teachers pointed out as someone, “you don’t want to amulet.”
(Ghost writer: Emulate)
(Leigh: Huh? Oh, okay, someone you don’t want to emulate)
I was too embarrassed to tell Mother or even Brother, who was the greatest bully on earth.
However, Jack knew something was wrong when he saw me holding out my shorts as I walked – remember Jack, the union steward in the dockyards? He was so perceptive. (Yes, I already knew this big word – clever huh!) After my bath he took me into his room, dressed the wound with a small bandage and plaster (Band-Aid came years later).
If Pa were alive, he would have done the same. Sigh!
I love Jack.
(Ghost writer whispers: Dear readers, it is the first time Leigh has mentioned his father. Please don’t mention him in your comments)
********** Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2012 **********
