You know how people say you should plan for the unexpected, because you never know what might happen? It’s good advice that.

Certain aspects of my life is so predictable, that when I planned to come to KL to see my son on the first leg of Tour D’ Tom Yum, I necessarily had to have a contingency plan.

You see, my x has become so predictable in using my son as a pawn in her bitterness, that even my sister in

Cape Town, some 7,000 miles away, knew that she would let me fly all the way to KL only to come up with some crock about why I couldn’t see him.

And that’s exactly what happened. The drama of it all *rollingeyes*.

Luckily there’s good people in KL too

With the predictable part of our visit to KL having run its course, related emotions boxed and tucked away, we forked our plans and met up with tree-hugger extraordinary, Ian and the lovely Eve.

Immediately they plunged Julia and myself into culinary abandon at some secret Baba-and-Nonya restaurant tucked away in the corner of a building, which was a much longer walk away than Ian claimed. It was worth it though as Ian demonstrated the barrel of laughs hidden in innocent looking cendol.

With our stomachs full a nap was in order and much desired (considering our 4am start this morning), but instead we headed to the SA High Comm to go and sort out some stuff and meet some interesting people and some not-so-interesting people. But it turned out well and Julia was treated to a good 10 minutes of Afrikaans banter as I sorted out my stuff.

We then indulged in a bit of window shopping over at KLCC and sampled some of the food from which we are deprived in Kota Kinabalu. Our day ended in the company of Ian and Eve again, them clearly being on a mission to fatten us up.

Their local food haunt in Lucky Garden was to be where we gained our first kilos on this Tour D’ Tom Yum, and to make sure we didn’t burn it off in the day immediately following, we chugged it down with beer.

Great day, and all things considered and some ignored, not a bad start to Tour D’ Tom Yum.

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From a previous post on the topic it will be easy to see that there is no love lost between myself and a certain person at the South African High Commission in Kuala Lumpur.

Over the last 8 years I have had no choice but to interact with the face of the SA High Comm in KL, Komotie*.

*I didn’t change her name on purpose (although I might have misspelled it), because I hope she or her superiors discovers this post and do something about her attitude.

Komotie, I have no doubt, was once a diligently compassionate employee of the SA High Comm servicing the needs of South Africans and those hoping to do business in or travel to South Africa, whether it be silly questions or otherwise, pertaining to their status in Malaysia and their connection with South Africa.

That was likely very, very long ago.

From the post above you know that I first encountered Komotie in 2000 and few things have changed since.  It was then with little pleasure that I had to phone the High Comm again this afternoon to ask a rather simple question.

You see, according to my xyf, I’ve recently infiltrated the bureaucracy of the South African government and can now manipulate government processes at will. “Someone smells like a fish, isn’t it?” she said in her accusatory, but otherwise delightful SMS.

If she is to be believed, I have maliciously manipulated the passport application of my son and made it miraculously disappear.  Aside from being the most outrageous thing she has come up with this er, month, it is also patently false (let the record show).

As a point in case: My lawyer says I should should phone, so I phone the SA High Comm to find out what the story is.  Yes, like everyone else, I have to phone the South African High Commission in Kuala Lumpur’s office number (which btw is +60 3 2168 8663 or +60 3  2170 2400), because unlike what the xyf may believe, I don’t have a red phone waiting for my call.

I have formulated the very simple question: “what happened to the passport?”, with some pre-amble to explain who I am and what my involvement is with this situation.  I expect it to be an easy call.

Komotie’s not unpleasant voice answers the phone, and I recognise it immediately.  I know I’m in trouble, because she’s like a stone wall, and if at first she says “no”, that’s all you’re getting, whether you beg, cry or plead, the woman will bend not an inch.  I explain who I am. I always make the mistake of thinking because I’m South African and she’s working at the South African embassy, she will be happy to hear from me. “We were just dealing with this”, she says in a patronising tone of voice, “why now do you suddenly phone?”.

I struggle to not put my arms up in defense of her aggression. “I’m the boy’s father and my signature is on the passport application form, I’m inquiring as to what happened to the passport.”

“I’m not saying anything”, she says as if I’m a reporter phoning to hear what her personal opinion is about Jacob Zuma and his prospects as South Africa’s next president, “you can wait until Marianne gets back from Bangkok.”

“But,” I start, now a little more defensive because of her tone and blatant rudeness, “do you know what the problem is?”

“Yes,” she says, “I’ve already explained it to your wife so you can talk to her.”  I can only imagine the conversation those two must have had.

Now I’m on the offensive, “It’s my EX-wife”, I underscore, “and if we were talking I wouldn’t be phoning you, now would I?  Can you just tell me what happened to the passport?”  “No,” she says, wielding her unrelenting batton of authority making sure I’m well aware of exactly where I am in the food chain, “I won’t.  Sort it out with your EX-wife.”

“Let me guess,” I say in an effort to catch her of guard, ” this is Komotie, right?”.  There’s only half a second of hesitation.  “Yes,” she says with an audible full-stop.

“I’m asking you a simple question to which you know the answer, why can’t you give me the answer?” But there is no guard to catch her off off.

“I’ve already told you” is all she says.

Now, completely exasperated, I say “Komotie, are you naturally attacking and unhelpful, or have you been jaded by all your years with the South African embassy?”

And that was the end of that conversation, because after the question mark Komotie from the South African High Commission in Kuala Lumpur hung up the phone.  This was at about 2.30pm and the 4 consequent calls I made went unanswered, except for one particular long-ringing call, which was picked up but hung back up a few seconds later. I guess she’s alone in the office and can do as she pleases.

So, there you have it.  Not so in with the South African bureaucracy after all.

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During this last week I received a shit-storm of text messages from u-no-hoo.  We’re having not-so-polite exchanges about me seeing my son.

I would like to share a particular line of text from one of the little gems she sent on over: “… I do not want to see him become a blogger, a traveller, eco-warrior with no direction & goals.”

I totally agree with the part of not wanting to see my son with no direction & goals.  She thinks I have none of these.  But alas, just because you do not know of something, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

A blogger

What on earth is wrong with becoming a blogger?

It’s a profession, it’s a talent, it’s a hobby.  And if you do it properly it will earn you a salary from which you can live.

Bloggers provide information, insight and even entertainment - whatever information it is you seek, there’s probably a blogger out there giving it.

Bloggers talk about issues, get them known, network across the Internet, spread the news.  We promote  causes that are right, make known what is wrong, expose corruption, we do marketing, advertising and can even generate donations.

Bloggers are resourceful, innovative, rebellious, we break the mold, we make the mold, we think outside the box, inside the box or without the box.

I would want my son to be a blogger, so that he can explore thinking for himself, can learn how to consider matters from various angles.

I would want my son to be a blogger, so that he can conduct a debate about his views, he can raise questions,  state his opinion, solicit comments and weigh them against what he knows and learn new things.

I would want my son to be a blogger so that he can articulate what he thinks / feels / who he is, and open himself to criticism and be able to look at it objectively to either learn from it or defend it.

I would love for my son to become a blogger.

A traveller

What on earth is wrong with becoming a traveller?

Yes, travelling is probably not for everybody.  If you’re open minded, non-racist, curious, adventurous, interested in the people and the world around you, then travelling is for you.

You will learn much about the other people on this planet and about yourself - you will learn that there is more to life than just your own little world.  You will discover alternative ways of thinking, you will gain understanding of other cultures, what before might have been strange and even scary to you, will become clear within the knowledge you will gain of the cultures you will encounter.

If you’re a narrow-minded, selfish, racist, hateful, know-it-all who thinks you’re superior to other human beings, then for the sake of your own reputation (and safety), the reputation of your country and the self-esteem of the people you may meet if you are considering to travel, don’t! Don’t travel! Travelling is not for you.

Stay at home, keep on thinking you know everything there is to know, that you are right and everybody else is wrong, keep on thinking that your way of thinking is the only correct way.  Keep on hating other cultures mainly because you don’t understand them, live only for yourself and learn nothing new.

I would want my son to be a traveller.

He is half South African and half Malaysian, he should explore at least those two cultures and learn about them as much as he can.  Fortunately both South Africa and Malaysia are multi-cultural, so there’s potential to get in touch with the whole world from within these two countries.

I would love for my son to become a traveller.

Eco-warrior

What on earth is wrong with becoming an eco-warrior?

This should, in fact, be a non-negotiable for everybody born after the year 2000.  It’s all of our responsibility to do as much as possible to keep our earth clean.

To recycle, take part in clean-up operations, use reusable bags instead of taking a new plastic bag everytime, taking shorter showers and all the other things we can do to minimise our impact on the environment, is hardly being an eco-warrior - it’s just being eco concious.

What’s the point of hoping to send your son to university 13 years from now if we’re going to have to wade through rivers and oceans of trash, hide from the sun, eat scraps of synthetic protein, move to higher ground and generally enjoy a progressively poorer quality of life because we’ve ruined our environment?

Go to uni and study about how there used to be plenty of fish in the sea, how we use to be able to drink water straight from rivers, explain to him what a forest is, where the Amazon was and why it was such a great loss?

If you’re not an eco-warrior you’re an eco-fiend.  Frankly, if we were all eco-warriors this earth wouldn’t be in such a poor state.

I would love for my son to become an eco-warrior.

Much worse things to be

There are plenty of things I wouldn’t want my son to be.

I wouldn’t want him to be self absorbed, I wouldn’t want him to be narrow minded, I wouldn’t want him to be hateful, or racist, or spiteful.  I wouldn’t want him to be a person who can never forgive, never compromise, who can’t see other people’s point of view or a person who insults other people or lies to himself to make himself feel better.

As long as he doesn’t push drugs, illegally trade weapons, become a hitman or something equally destructive, as far as I’m concerned, my son can become anything that he wants.

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Last night’s post that got destroyed… or so I thought, and then like Hiro Nakamura just appeared from nowhere. Yatta!

I seriously don’t trust my host anymore - weird things have been happening to my account, and in the wee hours of the morning, the bastards, so they think I don’t notice - and I know it’s them, because this blog falls down and then another one I host with them on a separate account also falls down and the whole thing is just too suspicious. Add to that the fact that they don’t reply to support emails and you know the fish has been out of the freezer too long.

I thought it had something to do with the fact that I’ve ignored the brightly coloured bar in my WordPress admin area that keeps on reminding me “your version is out of date, and upgrade is available“. I could get into the blog and admin area intermittently and finally, when I did manage to upload everything, but before I implemented the upgrade, it came back online - so my shitty hosts have obviously been using the o.o1% downtime they claim to have.

When I get my new credit card, for which I was recently approved, I’m moving!

I’m using a HostGator reseller account for the collection of domains and websites that I host at work and it’s sweet, even thought I don’t actually resell anything on that account. The cheapest reseller option, the Aluminium package, gives you 24Gb space with 250Gb bandwidth and that you can then chop up and divide as you fancy through packages that you create and assign. I use to create different accounts for every different domain at work, but you could sell it off if you like. It costs just under $300, or around RM1,000, A YEAR, which is a steel.

They give you WHM (Web Host Manager) which allows you to automatically configure the mail servers and DNS and other technical rubbish that I know nothing about, and each account gets Cpanel access, allowing whoever owns the account to do their own email accounts, SQL databases and everything that has to do with the domain. WHM also does billing tracking and reminders and stuff so you could run it as a business - you can even brand the entire thing and sell it off as if it’s your great work and as opposed to that of HostGator’s magic.

The best thing is Fantastico - it’s an auto-installation script that comes with a shitload of software that you can automatically install - and of course, WordPress is one of about 6 blog programmes on the list. There’s also shopping carts, mailing lists, bulletin boards, live help-type applications and loads more.

The other thing you get with your HostGator reseller account is an Enom reseller account, which enables you to register domain names at $8.95 a pop - so it’s an all-in-one solution if you’re thinking of setting up a business, or just want to cut out several middlemen in your quest to host your own sites.

As for reliability, HostGator runs something akin to the Googleplex in Huston with Amazon rivers of bandwidth, redundancies, power generators and whatever else you need to be assured that your website will never go down and will always be secure and available.

My own shitty hosts started out with HostGator, which is how I got on to the Gators in the first place, but now, it seems, greed got hold of them and they moved to some cheep-o unreliable provider that makes my blog fall down at least once every two days (that I know of).

So a HostGator reseller account will be my first ever piece of credit card debt.

Why all this excitement over a credit card? Yeah, big deal right? You don’t understand. I’m an Expat in Malaysia not earning an Expat salary - things are difficult. My bank only gave me a car loan after I begged and pleaded and basically got a local friend to say that should anything happen she would pay for it - so they finally relented - poor friend, what a burden. And after according me that large heap of debt, they couldn’t fathom giving me a credit card, so I have been begging and pleading for that for a good year already - not that I need the credit, but being online without a credit card is like being in a candy store without teeth. So flexibility is around the corner, phew!

Anyway, earlier on I took Flabby Gut for a run. It’s been a good two weeks since I’ve done anything mildly exerting and Flabby Gut loves it. I aimed for a very doable 5km’s and the first two actually went ok - halfway around the first lap I latched on to two other blokes doing the circuit at an only slightly faster pace so I thought I could cope. After the end of the second lap I was finished, literally, so I walked the remaining 3kms. Hey, it’s still exercise - I walked fast and clenched my core, so at least I was building stomach muscles - there’s a six pack in there somewhere, I just need to find it so I can release it - at the moment, I can identify more with this kind of six pack.

Present time: After I spent a good hour assembling the above, I posted and what had happened? My host went down and I couldn’t post it. I was devastated. At work earlier this afternoon I posted a snippet of what had happened and then the draft appeared out of nowhere - didn’t realise it had auto-backed up because I couldn’t see it.

Good old WordPress.

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Well, here we go - I’m blogging again - it’s been a while, a long while. Lots have happened. For one, I built suteraharbour.com and I have to say, it’s looking good. Loads of programming and it actually works the way I wanted it to.

Lots of tweaking to be done, but hey - it’s a work in progress.

On another front, the xyf has decreed that I’m never to see my son again, which sucks. “If you don’t like it, go see a lawyer”, she smugly said knowing full well that I can’t afford a lawyer… yet (want to help?). But her day will come. Met her in Coffee Bean the other day and The Little Guy was there too, so spent a few precious minutes before she shoo’ed me away, shortly followed by them leaving. The Spineless One, aka the new husband, sat there too, stunned. He graciously asked me to leave at the start of the month when I went to their office to confront her about her keeping him away from me. Now he could just sit there and look geeky. Not his office, is it?

This time he could do nothing but sit and watch.

“I have two daddies now, Daddy”, said TLG when I picked him up and I asked him who his other daddy was knowing where he’d point. So, I guess it’s clear they got married when they went to the Land of Kilts to visit the fam.

Blegh, it’s late and I’m not really up for the blogging thing, so I’ll stop now and let it be before I come back here and work on it some more.

Let me just mention, I’m in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, Malaysia and I blog about all sorts of rubbish. When I target my blogs better I will generate more traffic, and will eventually write a lot again.

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