With land getting scarcer by the day in the island, there is no other way to build affordable housing in Penang but up. Residential development has been going vertical for a while now with many projects rising more than twenty storeys. What used to be suburbs are now thriving townships peppered with a mix of high and low-rise apartments.

High-rise living takes a lot of getting used to, especially when many families live in close proximity to one another in such confined spaces and amenities have to be shared among those living in the same building. Additionally, each apartment has to contribute to a monthly service and maintenance fund to keep the common property in good habitable conditions. The amount collected goes towards paying for the water and electricity supplies to the common property, maintaining the elevators, employing security guards and cleaners, among others.

Where I live, we have not been issued with Strata Titles yet. The developer controls the management of the premises. Apartment owners like us have little say in the running of this place which we call home and which rightfully belongs to us now. We are left to the mercy of their whims and fancies. We were never consulted over major expenses and construction of additional structures which have now been deemed illegal by the authorities.

The monthly collection amounts to nearly RM49,000. The management takes RM4,000 for their services, the guards RM12,000 and cleaners RM9,000. For the amount that the management charges us for their services and employing of guards, I would expect a certain degree of professionalism on their part. Complaints, verbally or through letters, to the management went unheeded. This is truly appalling.

I wrote a letter to the management more than one month ago. It was regarding a fire that broke out at the apartment one floor below mine. That letter was copied to the State Assemblyman of my area YB Goh Kheng Sneah and the Pengarah of Jabatan Bomba dan Penyelamat for Penang. A few days ago, I received the copy of a letter from the YB Goh regarding this matter. It is good to know that he has taken a concern in this matter and is acting on it. However, I am disappointed that the management have neither bothered to reply nor acknowledge my letter to them.

The arrogance on the part of the management is a major cause for concern where safety issues are related. I came to live in this apartment knowing full well the risks of staying in a high-rise apartment for a disabled using a wheelchair. I would have no cause to complain if the premises is properly maintained. However cars are allowed to be parked indiscriminately in the driveway that prevented access to fire engines on two occasions when fires broke out. The emergency generator which should be maintained was not.

When a blackout occurred in my area in April, the emergency generator could not start because the battery was flat. The generator provides essential supply to power elevators, corridor lightings and the pump to provide water pressure to the rising mains. It is crucial that water pressure be maintained in the rising mains at all times, especially more so when there is no power supply. Some people will resort to lighting candles to illuminate their apartments when there is a blackout. Should a fire occur, I would want to see how the firemen extinguish the flames at the higher floors without water.

There are many other issues which also need to be addressed. The management should listen to the grouses of residents and try to get to the bottom of it accordingly. This is really a nice place to live in. The management should be genuine and honest in helping us resolve our concerns and problems. If only both parties can sit down and discuss in-depth the issues at stake without one trying to stamp their clout over another, many problems would already be settled by now. For now, I will just have to wait and see how the local authorities will act on these complaints.

There was no Mass this morning. The parish priest is attending the Priests Annual Retreat at Stella Maris which began on September 7. Instead, a Service was conducted by a lay leader in his absence. A service without a priest felt somewhat different. Nevertheless, the essence of the worship was still the same. We came together as a community to strengthen our faith and to renew our spirituality.

After the Service, Peter and I went to pay our last respects to Father Arthur Julien who died September 11. He was eighty seven. His body is laying in state at Dewan Holy Spirit which is adjacent to the Cathedral. I do not know Father Julien personally. What I knew about him I heard from my parents a long time ago. They had had talked about Father Julien and had high regards for him for the immeasurable role he played in the realisation of the Heng Ee schools.

He was a well respected figure in Penang for his ceaseless effort in supporting Chinese education here and for being able to speak fluent Mandarin. Many older generation Catholics and those whose lives have been changed for the better by Father Julien’s works remembers him with affection. To quote Lucia Lai: �Father Arthur Julien will indeed be remembered fondly as the mat salleh man who became Chinese in the process of his contribution to Chinese education.�

Jeff Ooi and Lucia Lai also blogged about the demise of this great educationist. Father Julien had touched many with his generosity and effort in promoting literacy here. Foreign Catholic priests like him who had dedicated their lives to the educate Malaysians are a dying breed if not already extinct. They have transformed countless lives with their selfless contribution based on their love of educating people from all walks of life all, irrespective of creed or colour. Father Julien is one of those outstanding ones. His funeral is on September 14. May the Lord grant him eternal peace.

“Fine lines radiate out from the outer edges of the eyes that had long lost its gleam. His skin seemed dull and lifeless. Permanent creases line the forehead. What once was a full head of hair is thinning out with obvious hints of grey. He tried hard to bring to mind another face he was very familiar with that had such worn features. It has been slightly more than one year. The impression of that face he had seen a million times before has become vague. The mirror began to reflect back some of those blurred features as he gazed into it.”

How I have aged. It felt like only a while ago when my face was bursting with youthful vibrancy. What the visage does not divulge, the body confirms - aching joints, failing eyesight, decreased stamina and the list goes on. My right knee can tell when rain is imminent more accurately than the weatherman. This is the perk of suffering from osteoarthritis. I will never be caught dead in a rainstorm again. That knee was injured in my early teens and again after the paralysis when I underwent intense physical therapy.

What I miss most is the ability to read minuscule texts without a pair of glasses. Reading the Reader�s Digest from cover to cover in one sitting is one feat I can no longer perform. My eyes now struggle to focus on each blurred line with great effort. This could also be caused by the long hours I spent looking at the monitor since the time when processor speed was a measly 4.7Mhz. I do not read as much as I used to or like to anymore. The John Grisham and Ernest Hemingway that Wuan gave me are stacked up nicely and gathering dust.

Youth came and went without my realising it. When I was young, those formative years felt like they would last forever. At twenty, thirty sounded like it was still so far away in the future. When it arrived and wheezed past, I did not give it much thought. Life began at thirty, so they said. My fortieth milestone is coming up. Life truly begins at forty, I was told. Then I read that life begins at fifty, sixty seventy and every decade thereafter until life decides to give up on us.

Thinking back about the age-worn face that looked back at me from inside the mirror, I am given the realisation that life begins the moment I wake up and try to live another day. Life begins anew everyday. This finite cycle is one we cannot evade. Why wait for thirty? Why expect that something exciting will begin at forty? Much time had been wasted waiting. When I was in my early twenties, I waited for the day that I could walk again. In my early thirties, when the hopes of ever walking again vanished, I waited to have a family to call my own. That did not work out either.

Unfortunately, looking at the big picture, I still do not know what I want to do at forty. While I attempt to fully utilize my daily waking hours in the best ways possible, it will be nice to be able to do my part in contributing to the greater good of humanity. All my life, I have been at the receiving end of acts of kindness. It is about time I pass on that generosity to those who are in need.

Mirrors do tell a story indeed. I gazed into one and it unwittingly triggered my subconscious to unleash untold stories of my past. Perhaps if I look into one long enough I can steal a peek into the future too and discover my true calling. I have wasted enough time waiting for that to come.

“God, I do not want to be doing at forty what I had been doing when I was twenty and thirty. Please do not let me grow old and rot away without You making use of me as an instrument to spread Your goodness. I pray that You will grant me the insight to recognise the calling that You have designed for me. Give me the perception to comprehend Your purpose for me and the courage and resolve to carry them out to completion. Amen.”

Much has changed from one year ago. That is how long the maid has been here. She had taken over most of the housekeeping and cooking chores. Over the months, we have an unwritten list of daily tasks that she is to get done. She does not need much prompting. This apartment is now spick and span except for the mess that I created on my workspace and the sofa beside me.

I am by nature a disorganised person. My things are strewn all over the place. Tidying is futile. They will become a jumble again in no time. Still, I can find something that I need from under a pile of papers and books. I thrive in such chaos. Tidy up everything and I will have a hard time looking for the items that I want. The maid knows it and leave that heap be.

She may be a good housekeeper but her cooking skills leave much to be desired. I am not complaining though. For the remuneration that she is getting, I do not expect her to cook like a chef. She needs to be guided every step of the way from the cutting of the ingredients to the amount of seasoning to use. She has improved from when she first came but still likes to add more salt and other seasonings than necessary.

The heavy rain woke me up this morning. The clock showed 9.25am. It was time to get up anyway. I decided to skip breakfast and got her to prepare lunch. Rummaging through the fridge, we came up with the remaining of the okra that was bought two weeks ago, a bundle of kangkung and a piece of belly pork from the freezer. The menu for the day would be stir-fried kangkung with okra and stir-fried pork in turmeric.

She got all the ingredients ready and arranged them nicely on the kitchen counter. I would usually tell her what I wanted and she would cook it with her own ingenuity and from what I had instructed her previous times. Today was one day I would stay in the kitchen and watch her cook from the beginning till the end.

When she was cutting the onions I wondered how I was going to manage my meals when she leaves for home in one year’s time. Her culinary quotient may be lacking but I have had the benefit of eating home-cooked food since she came. I thought about how long it was going to take me to finish cutting the onions which took her less than one minute.

Living independently by myself is one aspiration I have had for a long time. I thought I could manage. I can, to a certain extent. The kitchen counter height was built to suit my requirements. An unkempt apartment is the least of my worries. There is a washing machine for my laundry although I dislike hanging and collecting them. Washing dishes and cooking utensils is not a big problem.

The one major obstacle to living alone is my meals. My lack of hand dexterity impedes my ability to cook anything but the simplest dishes that needs little preparation. Eating catered food everyday is out of the question as I am on a strict diet. As I ran those thoughts through my mind, I began to appreciate how much she had assuaged my disabilities.

I can get another maid when she leaves but that is not what I have in mind. I genuinely want to see how far I can make it living with minimal assistance. For the tasks that I cannot perform like changing bed sheets and other more laborious chores, I can get someone to come and do it on a fortnightly basis. This needs plenty of planning. I should start taking over the cooking from her soon if I want be to well prepared before she departs. I wonder if I can cook better tasting food than her.

Growing up was something that had eluded me for many years. When one is suddenly taken off the loop of interaction with society, one tends to regress. I stopped growing up right after I became paralysed. I was mothered over, pampered and got things done my way, almost always. The world moved forward unceasingly while I stagnated in all aspects of my life.

My parents saw to it that I was never in want. Material wise, I never was, but I yearned for more. I hankered to grow like other teenagers - go to college, date girls, be gainfully employed, get married, have kids. I had dreams. Unfortunately the paralysis had become a life sentence. I could not live those dreams anymore. I was trapped in a body that I no longer had control of. I looked out to the world and wished I was free again.

Months turned into years. I saw those dreams fade away one by one as my condition did not improve. I gradually retreated into a world that neither had marker stones nor landmarks that I could find my way around with. I drifted aimlessly in an ocean of despondence, my bearings determined by the capricious currents and wayward winds. My existence then had become meaningless. I had ceased to seek.

Someone once said that for a man to be happy, he needs three things: something to do, someone to love and something to look forward to. I had only one of those. I thought I had found love. One out of three is not that bad considering the condition I was in. I was to discover later that love too was a cruel joke. How could women find my emaciated body appealing? Love was not forever after all and promises were meant to be broken.

I meandered on aimlessly looking for a cause to call my own. Mum gave me all the support she could muster. She knew I was searching for a basis to make my own being purposeful. Parents can only give us so much. There are things that we have to strike out by ourselves to discover. I gathered some courage and took small timid steps. She followed from a distance, making sure that she was there for me should I falter in my quest.

Then I met Wuan. She was not only a confidante but a soul mate in every sense. We knew exactly what each other was thinking without words being spoken. Have I finally found my purpose in life? Wuan�s coming into my life has certainly filled many gaps in the tapestry of my destiny. However there are still many fissures that I need to plug that she could not help me with. It is something I have to do by myself.

And then Mum fell ill. For the first time in my life, I had to take responsibility, not only for myself but for Mum. I grew up a lot those few months. I realised how much she had sacrificed for me through the things that I had to do for her. I really grew up. I was an eighteen year old boy imprisoned in a thirty seven year old man�s body. The teenager in me suddenly grew up a decade or two.

All too soon, I became an adult orphan. Once again, I had to pick up more shattered pieces of my life. The passing on of the surviving parent quickly broke down the belief that death is a distant event for me. The buffer to my subsistence was no longer there. I was abruptly thrust into the realisation that my mortality is a certainty and close by. My clock began to tick away the seconds.

Suddenly there was much to do and little time to accomplish them. I did not even know where to begin. I got lost in the midst of all those ideas that were constantly swirling inside my head. Then reality struck. I was in no position to map out the remaining of my life with so much. My health is such that today knows not what tomorrow brings. The best way for me to live is to live each day to the fullest, one day at a time.

Most important of all, I had fulfilled the uppermost in my list of priorities. I am walking the faith that was explicitly revealed to me at Mum�s deathbed. I was reborn a believer in the salvation of Jesus the moment she breathed her last. She died so that I could live the faith she was inducted into as an infant. She died so that I could grow up and take charge of my own life.

The cause to validate my being alive still eludes me although I now have devoted my life to serving God and the community that I live in generally. I am still searching for that clear path that will lead me to live a fulfilling life. This growing up process is slowly but surely turning me from self-centric to Christ-centric and community-centric which I am happy to say has filled me with much contentment.

The adult-teenager in me is slowing emerging from the cocoon as an adult. Adulthood comes with a different set of responsibilities. I am learning to be a responsible adult. There is still a lot of catching up to do. The direction of my life is still vague. I have a faint inkling of the exact course I want to take. Hopefully the fuzz will clear up and hopefully I will have time to realise them all before my time is up.