Recently, after encountering a public toilet in terrible shape, I reflected on the following... The fault can only lie with the users and/or the cleaners. Maybe the cleaners are not doing a good job because it's not THEIR toilet? Maybe the users are not using it in a considerate way because it's not THEIR toilet? Does the man on the street treat his own home toilet the same way they treat public ones?
Hey! Public toilets belong to everyone, including the one-time users! And do the cleaners not use the toilets they clean too? Does a messed up toilet make the next user more likely to mess it up more in exasperation, or to be more careful, so as to not make things worse? Why should anyone be inconsiderate to unknown future users just because some unknown past user was inconsiderate to him? If vengeance was in mind, it doesn't work. From something as simple and routine as the way we use toilets, we can reflect on our level of sensitivity and consideration. Do we practise equanimity in treating all toilets with the same respect? In fact, should we not treat public toilets with greater respect since they are for countless more people? Do our mindfulness fluctuate in different situations?
One good turn definitely deserves another. But should one "bad turn" deserve another and another endlessly? Why do users choose the vicious cycle instead of the virtuous? Why should everyone compound the problem and make public toilet trips unpleasant to everyone, including themselves? Users point their fingers at cleaners for unclean toilets and cleaners point at users - but none of this pointing will work unless every single person points at himself to be responsible. Yes, every single person plays a part - as it only takes one person to disregard responsibility to mess things up.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Leona ....
This story goes way back to my younger days. Days of innocent love, or maybe it was not love at all.
It all started when I was seven, a boy attending YMCA’s day camp. Till today, I could still picture the moments when Leona was sitting next to me on the excursion bus.
Somehow, I was young and never knew what love really was. I was bored singing in the bus like everyone did so I took my fingers and started drawing and writing on the misted window of the bus. I don’t know why but I scribbled the words ‘I love you’ circled with a big heart and bravely asked the girl beside me if it was nicely written. She nodded.
On that day, we spoke often and sat together all the time. Believe it or not, we exchanged numbers.
I found myself punching in the numbers on the telephone dial. On the other end, a familiar voice answered.
‘Can I speak to Leona please?’ I asked politely.
‘This is Leona.’ The sweet voice replied.
There was a pause. I was nervous. I did not know what to say.
Leona broke the silence with a simple question. ‘Have you had your dinner?’
‘Yes I did.’ I replied.
She started my appetite going. We talked and laughed. In a children’s world, what more could we talk about besides school and ambition.
I recall telling her that my ambition was to be a policeman and that my father was the Head of a Police Force. She believed it. I wish I could tell her the truth.
Every night before I slept, I will be looking forward to seeing her in the morning at YMCA. She was the reason why I wanted to go to YMCA day camp. It used to be so boring hanging out with other children singing songs and eating from Styrofoam boxes and plastic cutlery.
It was the last day at YMCA. We promised to keep in contact by phone calls and letters. We exchanged addresses and bade farewell. Before she left, she gave me a peck on the cheek. I was ecstatic. I cannot remember if I kissed her back but the kiss was something I will never forget in my life. Leona was the first girl to kiss me.
She became puppy love or was it, first love?
I refused to wash my face that night when I got home. I wanted to keep the kiss forever.
Days, weeks and years passed us by.
I was fourteen and she was thirteen. It was surprising how we managed to keep this friendship and treasured it. All those years, we exchanged letters and photos of each other. I remembered once when she sent me a photo of her and her tennis racket. I was proud of her. She played tennis, I don’t.
Sometime that year, I received a call. It was during the school holidays and I happened to be home to pick it up. Given my age, it would have been disastrous if my grandmother picked up the phone. Moreover, I was from an all-boys school.
‘Is this Mark?’ the voice asked.
Recognizing the voice, I spoke confidently.
‘Leona, how have you been? It is the holidays now. Are you going for day camp?’
‘I don’t think we can meet this month. I am in hospital.’
My God. What was she doing in hospital?
She broke the news to me that she has got cancer. She had to undergo surgeries.
At that age, I did not know the other consequences of cancer except death. My aunt Daisy passed away due to cancer too. I could only relate it that way.
She explained to me about the other consequences like losing hair during her chemotherapy and looking less pretty.
I felt sad. I cried. Was that love I thought? I was worried for her.
Few days later, I called the hospital. The reception put me through to her room.
A voice answered on the other end, it was not Leona’s.
The voice sounded older. It could be her grandmother.
‘Can I speak to Leona please?’ I asked politely.
I was told she is asleep. I don’t know why her grandmother told me all these but she told me she is resting after having some ice cream.
She must be all right now, I thought. Mothers usually allow ice cream only when their children are well enough.
I somehow managed to assure myself.
Weeks past by and I decided to give Leona a call to see if she is better.
Her telephone number was imprinted in my memory.
Quickly I pressed, 3-6-8-5-9-9-1.
The phone was ringing. No one was picking up the phone. I tried again fifteen minutes later.
‘Hello, can I speak to Leona please?’
In heavy Filipino accent, she said. ‘ Leona passed away, I’ll pass the phone to Mum.’
I was shocked. I could not believe my ears.
I clicked the phone. The line went dead. My heart felt heavy. It was broken.
I searched frantically for the past weeks’ newspapers. I had to look at the obituary.
I scanned through all the photos.
A smiling face stared at me. It was Leona’s.
My tears streamed down my cheeks as I touched the face on the papers. A face with a happy smile. Even as I relate this story these days, my tears fill up my eyes.
At a young age, she had to leave. I could not imagine the pain she had to go through.
I felt shattered and betrayed. Why did she have to leave me like this? She never said goodbye. Where was the ‘I love you’ she promised. We had a pact to be a couple when we were older.
That's life ... that's suffering...
It all started when I was seven, a boy attending YMCA’s day camp. Till today, I could still picture the moments when Leona was sitting next to me on the excursion bus.
Somehow, I was young and never knew what love really was. I was bored singing in the bus like everyone did so I took my fingers and started drawing and writing on the misted window of the bus. I don’t know why but I scribbled the words ‘I love you’ circled with a big heart and bravely asked the girl beside me if it was nicely written. She nodded.
On that day, we spoke often and sat together all the time. Believe it or not, we exchanged numbers.
I found myself punching in the numbers on the telephone dial. On the other end, a familiar voice answered.
‘Can I speak to Leona please?’ I asked politely.
‘This is Leona.’ The sweet voice replied.
There was a pause. I was nervous. I did not know what to say.
Leona broke the silence with a simple question. ‘Have you had your dinner?’
‘Yes I did.’ I replied.
She started my appetite going. We talked and laughed. In a children’s world, what more could we talk about besides school and ambition.
I recall telling her that my ambition was to be a policeman and that my father was the Head of a Police Force. She believed it. I wish I could tell her the truth.
Every night before I slept, I will be looking forward to seeing her in the morning at YMCA. She was the reason why I wanted to go to YMCA day camp. It used to be so boring hanging out with other children singing songs and eating from Styrofoam boxes and plastic cutlery.
It was the last day at YMCA. We promised to keep in contact by phone calls and letters. We exchanged addresses and bade farewell. Before she left, she gave me a peck on the cheek. I was ecstatic. I cannot remember if I kissed her back but the kiss was something I will never forget in my life. Leona was the first girl to kiss me.
She became puppy love or was it, first love?
I refused to wash my face that night when I got home. I wanted to keep the kiss forever.
Days, weeks and years passed us by.
I was fourteen and she was thirteen. It was surprising how we managed to keep this friendship and treasured it. All those years, we exchanged letters and photos of each other. I remembered once when she sent me a photo of her and her tennis racket. I was proud of her. She played tennis, I don’t.
Sometime that year, I received a call. It was during the school holidays and I happened to be home to pick it up. Given my age, it would have been disastrous if my grandmother picked up the phone. Moreover, I was from an all-boys school.
‘Is this Mark?’ the voice asked.
Recognizing the voice, I spoke confidently.
‘Leona, how have you been? It is the holidays now. Are you going for day camp?’
‘I don’t think we can meet this month. I am in hospital.’
My God. What was she doing in hospital?
She broke the news to me that she has got cancer. She had to undergo surgeries.
At that age, I did not know the other consequences of cancer except death. My aunt Daisy passed away due to cancer too. I could only relate it that way.
She explained to me about the other consequences like losing hair during her chemotherapy and looking less pretty.
I felt sad. I cried. Was that love I thought? I was worried for her.
Few days later, I called the hospital. The reception put me through to her room.
A voice answered on the other end, it was not Leona’s.
The voice sounded older. It could be her grandmother.
‘Can I speak to Leona please?’ I asked politely.
I was told she is asleep. I don’t know why her grandmother told me all these but she told me she is resting after having some ice cream.
She must be all right now, I thought. Mothers usually allow ice cream only when their children are well enough.
I somehow managed to assure myself.
Weeks past by and I decided to give Leona a call to see if she is better.
Her telephone number was imprinted in my memory.
Quickly I pressed, 3-6-8-5-9-9-1.
The phone was ringing. No one was picking up the phone. I tried again fifteen minutes later.
‘Hello, can I speak to Leona please?’
In heavy Filipino accent, she said. ‘ Leona passed away, I’ll pass the phone to Mum.’
I was shocked. I could not believe my ears.
I clicked the phone. The line went dead. My heart felt heavy. It was broken.
I searched frantically for the past weeks’ newspapers. I had to look at the obituary.
I scanned through all the photos.
A smiling face stared at me. It was Leona’s.
My tears streamed down my cheeks as I touched the face on the papers. A face with a happy smile. Even as I relate this story these days, my tears fill up my eyes.
At a young age, she had to leave. I could not imagine the pain she had to go through.
I felt shattered and betrayed. Why did she have to leave me like this? She never said goodbye. Where was the ‘I love you’ she promised. We had a pact to be a couple when we were older.
That's life ... that's suffering...
Broken heart
Ivory keys playing to a rhythm of tune
lyrics of spoken words echo the room
'Take my photo of the wall ..' the song begins
Memories of joy framed deep within
Years of love swallowed by the sea of lust
Lost in conscience reveals a man's trust
'Look what you have done ..' the voice sings
A cheating heart slammed with poisonous fangs
Betrayal frequents at the darkest hour
Sorrow rests in the heart almost forever
Though the heart is still aching
'There is nothing there for you to do..' she'll sing
lyrics of spoken words echo the room
'Take my photo of the wall ..' the song begins
Memories of joy framed deep within
Years of love swallowed by the sea of lust
Lost in conscience reveals a man's trust
'Look what you have done ..' the voice sings
A cheating heart slammed with poisonous fangs
Betrayal frequents at the darkest hour
Sorrow rests in the heart almost forever
Though the heart is still aching
'There is nothing there for you to do..' she'll sing
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