A few nights ago I was having dinner with some friends when a panhandler approached our tables. It was raining. His hair was wet, white and sparse. He held his paper cup close to his chest but shook it a little. He said nothing.

I remembered a mother and a child who approached me and some friends over lunch some time ago. I gave them some money and my friend's dad was unhappy. He said I was the reason they were begging. He said that they could find a job if they really wanted, but they were lazy. He said I should never give them money and encourage them to remain poor and lazy. I don't remember saying anything after that.

So I stared at him. He came to my side. I don't know what's right or wrong, proper or inappropriate, but i took out my wallet. My friend who was sitting next to me said under his breath, "Sucker." He took out his wallet as well. "Suckers," I corrected him. When we dropped some money into his paper cup, the three of us smiled. Me, my friend and the old man. He still did not say a thing except bow and clasp his hands together to show thanks. He did it many times. He then went around our tables to shake our hands, even those who ignored him.

As he was walking away to another table, something in me wanted to know if there's more. More to what, I don't know. But I asked my friend if it'll be fine if he joined us for dinner. My friend said yes. So we invited him to sit with us. If there's something you need to know about Chinese dinners is that food is communal. The same spoon you drink your soup with will be the same spoon you use for any other dish. Saliva and Hepatitis. Mmmm.

As he was eating, he was also gesturing how much each dish would cost and the price of the dinner. He wrote on the table with his finger. He was pretty good at math. I was moved when I saw my friends mounting food on his bowl like he was our grandpa and we were his grandchildren. Very lovingly and respectfully.

He finished his meal and got up to thank us again. One by one, he shook our hands. Instead of begging at another table for more money, he walked off. All he wanted was money to buy food, I suppose. I don't know why he chose to panhandle or if he had any choice, but I do know that he was full when we looked at him, fed him and acknowledged the dignity we failed to see in him at first impression. As a man, as a person and as a human being.

Some people say that beggars are shameless. It's true and I want to embrace that. I don't deserve so much of what I have right now and I don't really own anything. Breath itself is a gift. I want to have my hands open, waiting to receive than fold them tightly over my chest, thinking I'm too good or great or noble to humble myself to be like a child pauper.

So here's to whatever 2008 has to offer. May whichever road you take lead you to love and hope. As for me, I will remain a sucker.

I have much to be thankful for this year. New friends, old friends, lost much, found some, gained a little, restored, reconciled, searching, rested.

Wishing you eggnogs, warmth, cuddles, Pictionary, long talks, long walks, some clarity, some mystery, truth, realness and love. Love.

I love you.

*That's me on the Brooklyn bridge. Taken by her.

Let's just have the photographs.


New York is empty sometimes.
Ground Zero.
I'm now back home in Malaysia. The humidity kills.

P.S: America, I like you. I like your light. You're a natural.

Meet Irene Huang.

I met her at the library. The library was space-agey and so very hi-tech. Unlike most libraries I've been to, this one had bright yellow escalators and huge glass windows. It stood out from downtown Seattle like it was a few centuries early.

Back to Irene.

She had the sweetest smile. I didn't know her but she was so warm and friendly, I felt like I did. We talked and she showed me the purple muffler she knitted and the purple sweater she was knitting. Purple is her favorite color. Then she took out a book of English poems. She loved English poetry so much she had been coming to the library everyday to type out every poem and save them into diskettes. Yes, floppy disks.

We talked more and she shared about an accident she had that left her lower body paralyzed and how she was unconscious for 45 minutes. And how God healed her. She also shared about how her neighbor's wife who had an accident. She passed away. Irene didn't mention about whether God was there when her neighbor's wife died, but I like it when some things are left unsaid. Some stories are sad and some are less sad. Both are important. Both have something to offer and how we respond to that changes everything.

And because she loved to share stories from her life, I followed her around town. She took my hand and we walked all around. She's too fit to be 65 years old. We moved in and out of buildings and she would tell me how to take a picture.

"No, no. That's not good. Here. Take it from here. You can see better this way."

"No, no. Turn your camera the other way. Let me see."

Her love for Seattle was so infectious. She gave me too many reasons of why she loved Seattle. She would end her sentences with "... that's why I love Seattle."

She also took me and my sister to her son's favorite dumpling restaurant in the International District. Then we walked a lot more and took many buses. And that's why I love Seattle. It was that good. Food here is good. Sushi here is fresh. Cheese aplenty. French is cheap. Coffee shops are everywhere. A city surrounded by the sea and mountains.

And there's Piroshky. What's not to love?

"No more picture!"

This post is actually a few days late as I was having some internet problems. I'm currently in Pennsylvania and it's snowing a ton and I'm having too much eggnog. Here are some photos from Seattle.

My last sunset in Seattle.

Seattle is cold and the sun plays hide and seek here. Mostly hide.

The plane ride here was nothing short of amazing. We scaled the clouds and drifted over snowcapped mountains. We also dove into the clouds and got lost a little. And we landed in nothingness. Fog. Completely out of the Twilight Zone.

We saw our breath escape our mouths and our fingers curl in. We walked in the rain as little paper cups of coffee warmed our hands. Seattle, I hate your cold winds.

Being here made me realize how I've taken Malaysian weather—or the sun for granted. Or how I look for stars in the night sky and forget that our sun is also a star.

But I like being here. This is probably the most laid back part of the trip for me. The first night here was good. We were at the Green Tortoise and it was a free dinner day. Pasta with meatballs. Buffet style. Eat all you want/can. They have a mini library, free internet, a dvd and vhs (yes!) collection, communal fridge and free tea/coffee/chocolate. Friendly people.

There was a girl in my dorm stripped in front of me. Not a pleasant sight in the morning when the last thing you want to see is someone else's butt. But I guess it's a bargain... all the good things for a butt.

I've since moved out of the hostel. Not because of the butt, but because a very lovely couple opened up their home. They have the largest flat screen TV I've seen and a very posh apartment. I didn't like the monster sound the sink disposal makes, but other than that, it's all lovely. The dishwasher sounds like a little waterfall if you can imagine. (We don't use dishwashers in Malaysia. We're still old school.)

Right across our building, there's a bigger more posh apartment with bigger windows and a lonely girl. Every night she has the TV on till late and would play solitaire alone. Appropriate and sad. I could make a sign that says, "Hello" or "You're not alone," but that would scare her I think. Tonight she had her curtains down. Methinks she saw a strange Asian girl staring at her, invading her privacy.

Here are some photos as usual. More to come.

Today is my last day in San Francisco. Yosemite is so gorgeous it will put the fear of God in you. Tomorrow morning I will leave for Seattle.

I have too much on my mind for my own good. But Múm is helping. Till then, here are some photos. I hope they tell a story somehow. Enjoy.

And here's Amoeba, again.

Here I am sitting on an air bed in the home of a WWII veteran and his Malaysian wife in Arizona. They don't have internet access and I'm stealing wireless connection from someone very generous.

America is a very weird place. The first person I stopped to ask for directions from was a man outside a warehouse by a van. Then I saw fuchsia and orange colored lights coming out of the warehouse and his van sported phrases like "striptease dance" and "lingerie dreams." Very helpful and polite man he was.

While waiting in line, I heard too many people talk about their myspace. In one store, a girl yelled to her friend, "This song is in my profile!" And a lot of people greet you with "how are you?" without expecting a real answer.

The food portions here are huge. I can never finish anything I ordered. Despite being pro-green, most eateries here use a lot of plastic and paper. Walking into a supermarket is like being in a gastronomical Vegas. Everything here tempts you to eat more, drink more and have more. Speaking of Vegas, I hated it. I know hate is such a strong word, but I can't find a more appropriate word to describe it... okay, maybe sleazy. And um, artificial.

I stayed in Silver Lake in Los Angeles. Very lovely environment... I'd come back to America just to walk around Silver Lake, Echo Park and Sunset. Possibly. I caught a glimpse of that Elliott Smith wall on Sunset Blvd. the other day but could not stop to photograph it. It was a stab in the heart.

Oh, and there was Amoeba. Love.

Los Angeles can be quite a lonely city. There's so much activity going on, so many people everywhere but there's something sad about it. Something vacuous. Listening to Rob Bell share about reconciliation and life minus the Christian jargons at the Wiltern was refreshing and much needed. I left knowing I'm cared for because God can be trusted.

And then there was the Grand Canyon. Catching the sunrise at 7,000 ft in toe-numbing weather was breathtaking. You stand in the midst of greatness being more aware of your breath, your breathing and life. Strangely, people watching the sun rise over the canyon don't talk. They whisper. It is as though talking would disrupt nature or cause the sun to halt or stir the canyon from its slumber. A fitting way to respond to majesty, I suppose.

Here are some photographs:

Walking alone along the edge of the forest in the canyon was good. Very good. Then came the squirrel poop, rabbit poop and poop by some larger unknown animal.

I'll leave Arizona in two more days for Yosemite and then San Francisco.