My Number One Indulgence

It's not everyday that one finds someone or something magical.

My 26 year "love affair" with Japanese singer Akina Nakamori (中森明菜) occurred in January 1984 via an evening newspaper (新明日报) calendar showcasing 12 young singers on that Saturday's telecast of the 1983 34th Annual Red  and White Song Festival 紅白歌合戦 (held on NYE every year).

It was love at the first sight when my eyes landed on "July" and saw Akina's photo. I still remember it being one of her in a purple long sleeved blouse with a yellow headband beside a window (or something of that sort). I remembered my father watching the previous year's telecast and I fell asleep halfway, so I wondered why this captured me the way it did that day.

Being the eldest, I had the "power" to force my siblings to play the games I want to, so excitedly, I went home, spread the paper and asked them to each choose one. Interestingly, neither of us chose the same. My sister chose Yu Hayami (早見優), which is funny in hindsight because some of my friends compared her similarity in looks at a certain point in her life to Yu. My brother chose 柏原芳恵 for reasons unknown. I'd like to think it was because of her buxom appeal.

That Saturday, I sat down with Dad and watched the program from start to finish. Dad went to bed halfway but I waited and waited for Akina's performance. She was totally what I expected and not, at the same time. Underlying that sweet look was a deep voice I had never expected. She was different, in a good way.

I don't think the infatuation commenced immediately because I didn't rush out to get her cassettes or anything like that, but it did plant a seed, and when my older cousin passed me his copy of the 34届紅白歌合戦 mix-tape, there was no going back.

My infatuation with J-Pop commenced then. I had no idea what they were singing, and till today, it makes no difference. I love the infectious melodies and it was also the start of the J-Pop craze in Asia like how K-drama captured hearts a couple of years back. Everyone was wrapping their files with posters from HK magazines like Good Times (好时代) and New Times (新时代).

It was also then that I met Leslie and he jokingly blames me for his infatuation. I would like to say that though I did plant the seed, he definitely exceeded all expectations.

I come from a middle income family with a sole breadwinner. Times weren't bad, but we didn't have indulgences very often. A trip to MacDonalds was an indulgence for us. Dad worked hard and Mum did her part by taking work home to supplement the income. We were always taught to be frugal, and Mum was strict with the family budget and with us, but we were never denied anything that we truly wanted. She would tell us stories of her impoverished childhood and we loved them, even though that would mean that we would not get the new toy or something that we were going to ask for.

I can see how it was difficult for my parents financially at that time, to support us through school and made sure that we had a good life. My parents were strict, so that we would be better people when we grew up, always encouraging us to do better, all the time.

Many a times, growing up, I didn't always understand why I had to do all that. Leslie always had extra pocket money but I didn't. I was envious that he could buy anything that he desired while I had to compromise. To me, those were necessities in life, but not everyone understood. Only friends like Leslie and Terence did, but understanding didn't bring the goods.

Mum will say  that the infatuation was my "downfall" because it led to my relative  "ignorance" of my studies.  I never stopped my love for learning but it just transferred to another path - J-Pop instead of my textbooks. I pored over magazines at bookstores because I didn't have money to buy them. I read anything I could. I was hungry. Love is a mystery and the transition to  teenage-hood is all but an easy path for me, a misfit of sorts. It was  the start of my rebellious years ...

I was a pudgy boy in the early years of my teens. When others sprouted, I waited for mine which never really came. It was all just a gradual process for me. I tried sports, but didn't like it. I did it so that the "cool ones" would not tease me too much about it. I tried hard to fit in, but always felt like a fake waiting for someone to expose me.

Akina was my security  blanket. Someone whom I could hide behind and be who I truly wanted to  be. She created fantasies and dreams and made me believe that I can be  who I want to be. Her music brought solace to my uncomfortable teenage years and inability to fit in with the general crowd. If I was termed a nerd, I might actually find another group, but I wasn't really one, so I was relatively alone. Except when I was with Leslie and Terence, who shared my passion for J-Pop.

It was also around this time when I wanted to know more about J-Pop that I finally discovered Familiar Music Library - my home and a home for many people like me. It was there that I met Zing, an influential person in my life. He opened my eyes to the world of music and taught me all I could never learn from books and magazines. He was my mentor of sorts. He was so cool to me, and he was my friend. When others in school would never cast a second eye, he lent out his hand. I don't know know what I would have done if I had not found Familiar Music Library and friends like Zing at that time. He made me believe that it was alright to have an infatuation.

This sparked the beginning of my rebellious years. I became the villain at home. Poor at studies and constantly having arguments with my Mum. I was no happy because I felt that all Mum cared about at that time was my studies, and not me. If she had shown some acceptance of my love, I wonder if my life would have turned out differently.

In hindsight, it was not really a rebellion because I didn't do too many hurtful things (at least not outside home),  but myself finding my own voice within, and believing that I can love  and be loved. I know I may have hurt my parents and my siblings, but I was trying to find myself, and not drown.

If I had the chance to rewrite this part of history and do it all over again, the only thing I would do is to cause my parents less pain, and the knowledge that what they truly wanted for me was to have options in my life, but I guess that is what life is all about. Learning from experiences. Falling down and getting up again.

I have spent much on J-Pop and Akina and some may say it's a waste, but the expense is nothing  compared to the solace she and they provided. Akina is like a closest dear friend, always  listening, singing to me my deepest thoughts (even when I have no idea  what she is saying), and she's telling me "Everything is going to be  alright ...".

Thank you Akina for some of the most beautiful  moments of my life ... the anticipation, the exhilaration ... if only  once, I can say I have truly lived.

War and Peace

It had been a long time since I last went to a movie with Mum. It could be the first time with just the two of us because my siblings would always be around too. We watched Mandarin movies mostly when we went out with Mum because she was educated in Chinese and didn't understand English unless there were available subtitles. Movies were an escapade for her from having to mind what the three of us were up to, so I don't think she wanted the extra task of reading.

After an invigorating and inspiring trip from HK, I prompted a movie outing to the film "City of Life and Death" (南京!南京!) which if translated directly from its Chinese name, means "Nanking! Nanking!). With a desire to have special time with me, she came along though I understand that she would probably have preferred a lighter hearted movie.

Filmed entirely in black and white, it is a reminder of the great movie "Schindler's List" with similarities running throughout both films. Like the latter film with a generous German character, this film looks through the eyes of a conflicted but sympathetic Japanese soldier.

The "rape" of Nanking or the Nanking Massacre, as this event is more commonly known, takes place during the Second Sino-Japanese War in 1937, where a massive number of Chinese prisoners and civilians were killed. This film attracted plenty of controversy because some critics felt that the film was sympathetic towards the Japanese (as portrayed in the central Japanese human figure as opposed to his ruthless counterparts), but I believe it was the most objective a war film could get.

The film did not shy with any of the atrocities that the Japanese committed - the mass firing, house burning (with thousands of prisoners of war), raping of the women, and the most disturbing to me, the throwing of a helpless child out of the window, but it also offered a human side to war that is not often portrayed. The irony.

People like to think of war in terms of winners and victims and films portray and glorify the fomer, but I think this is where most fails. When will a time come when we realise that there are only victims, no winners. The power hungry people who proclaim themselves winners, those who manipulate and move troops like pawns on a chess game, are the worst losers because they failed to understand the meaning of life.

I do not understand how we can still not learn from these past mistakes and all that suffering, and still engage in power struggles. I guess it is because these power hungry people at the top do not have to make the moves and feel the suffering themselves. They let others do the work and they reap all the benefits. In an ironical sense, it is also a reflection of the world, even in peace times, and we all have to play the game, like the soldiers during the war, for survival.

Most of the criticisms surround how the film does not encourage hatred and was too sympathetic towards the Japanese. This is dangerous ignorance. Life is not about the power over people to destroy. It is easier to hate than to love. Where this power could be used to better the lives of humankind, this is often misused to satisfy one's ego and ultimate self-unworthiness. It is their need to feel better about themselves, and in their efforts to appear omnipotent, they are ostracised and feared, rather than loved and revered.

This is definitely one of the better Chinese movies that I had watched for a long time, and though it is no means of an escapade, it helps reaffirm my priorities in life ... love and relationships, not power. I do not need to overpower someone to feel good about myself. I prefer to give and share, and though I may never be rich in money or status stakes, I am rich emotionally because I know that I have my family and good friends that I can reach out to, when I need them.

We have to play the game of life and survive, but we can choose to play fair. Not everything about life is about choice, but this is one. I am not interested in power. I believe in love instead. The love and respect for my fellow human-kind and a belief that ultimately we will reach a point in life where we will finally realise what life is all about. I just hope it is not too late for some.

Responsibility

Responsibility. Does anyone even recognise or use this word anymore? All day long at work, I am faced with differing requests and complaints, not only from students but also from adults (and parents), that someone else is responsible for their "failures". When will they realise that we all have a part to play.

I am currently reading this engrossing book "We Need To Talk About Kelvin" by Lionel Shriver (female author). The writing is beautiful, even poetic at times, and it is a book of letters, from a woman to her husband, trying to rediscover what went wrong, after their son goes to high school and kills 9 people one day.

She traces all the way back from when they first entertained the idea of children, to the fateful day Kelvin commits the shooting. Where did they go wrong? The writing is raw and harrowing, and Lionel has a real gift. What happens when a mother does not feel the motherly love when she holds her baby for the first time, and what happens when your child is evil in nature. Why is it that the mother always cops the blame? I am only halfway through the book and I am already questioning the judgment that we are quick to pass about parents.

One good example is how quickly we condemn the mother who leaves her child in the bathtub for 5 seconds to pick up the phone and comes back to discover that her child has drowned in two inches of water. Two inches. She could have been a great mother all this time, but we discount that. We only remember and judge her for the 5 seconds that she was away. As if to say that the loss of her child and her guilt is not enough to tie her down already.

As you can tell, I am loving and savouring this book. It is not difficult to empathise with the mother in the book, but let me reassure you that she is flawed, and she is real. The book paints the father as a doting parent, the perfect child loving adult with a blind spot. It really makes me appreciate the responsibility that parents take on.

Does this responsibility towards our children blind us to the point of protection that we will blame anyone or everyone than our own child for something that they had committed. Are we teaching them the right thing by shielding them and reaffirming their perfection? When and how do we teach responsibility. Will this world be a better place to live if we all took some responsibility instead of trying to find excuses and place the blame on others?

I 'm Back and More Coming Soon ...

I am so sorry for the lack of posts recently. I have been back for a week and a half from the trip of my lifetime, but I have not been feeling very well.

It was probably due to my hectic schedule and exercise routine that I kept up during the four week Europe trip, and then not letting nature takes its course by allowing my body to experience the jet lag . Instead, I continued to punish my body further by insisting on keeping the same schedule as my family in Singapore.

I didn't have much of a choice because my stay in Singapore was relatively short (ten days) as compared to the past trips and I feel so guilty about spending so much time away from them, and I do miss them as well. So, I tried to do as much as I can, and I believe that when I finally arrived back in Sydney and went straight back to work in an hour, my body raised the white flag and protested.

Still, there are no regrets at all (if any, it was still too short - especially the Singapore leg), and I had the time of my life.

I have yet to post much photos (except on Facebook) but I want to do proper entries on my blog, because all the memories are still fresh, both as a memorial piece and an update of my wonderful trip.

I have finally finished the bulk of work which I have a deadline at the end of this month, so I am able to steal some time off work to do some blog entries and organise my photos on the web. I was initially thinking of using Flickr again but its not very user-friendly, so I thought of Picasa web albums but the irritating thing is that the software insists on changing all your photos on your computer to the Picasa album, and that takes so much time.

Does anyone have any suggestions?

My Father

It seems fitting that I should pen my tribute to my father on the upcoming Father's Day celebration in Australia.

If there was a job that everyone was destined in life, then my father's would be a dad. He is what one could call a 24 hour Dad, never tiring of the role that he was born to play. My father wasn't there in the hospital when I was born. I learned it from a letter that my Aunt Alice wrote to him when he was working in Germany. I chanced upon the letter via incident more than ten years ago and have never been able to locate it since. One of those unsolved mysteries ...

The letter was written by my aunt because the common language between my parents was Cantonese and my Dad would not been able to read the Mandarin characters, so it seemed fit that my aunt would be the one to write. The basic premise of the letter is to announce my birth and my adoption of his unofficial Christian name, James. I do not know why my aunt chose my father's name for me. I guess it could be a way to honour my father's best characteristics most significantly, his integrity. I certainly hope I lived up to that expectation.

Unlike my mother who would share stories of her childhood and youth, my father was a relatively reserved man. We knew that he came from a polygamous family, and somehow I was always under the impression that his father did not feature significantly in his life. I had imagined that it was his father's relative absence that inspired him to be involved in all aspects of our lives. I later realised through my aunt (his sister) that it was not true.

I know that there are many untold stories of my father's childhood that I wish to hear, to know what my dad was like as a child and a young man. To see the similarities or differences we share I also know that I will be the one who will have to take the initiative to dig them out, so I am hoping that this will help ease the first lines of communication.

Growing up, my father was a kind and loving disciplinarian. He played good parent while my mother played Ms Hyde most of the time. Together, they would try their individual best to instill the best values and knowledge, probably due to lost opportunities of their own life. They were very strict, insisting that we place studies above all else, so that we would end up being independent and dependable adults.

Every night, he would tuck us into bed, asking us if we loved him, which can be a little embarrassing at times, but thinking back now, it can be rather sweet too. As I mentioned before, my parents never shied from showing affection, and I can remember the day still that I told him not to hug me in public anymore. It must have hurt, but that is the impulsiveness of youth.

He also had his unique way of instilling his values in us. Besides showing his affection for us, he would make us promise since young that we would:

(a) never smoke
(b) never take drugs
(c) never gamble

It has proven to be really effective because I can still hear from his voice right now as I am typing. My mischievous little brother would sometimes try to get his way when he lost, by shouting to Dad, "Daddy, big brother is smoking" and Dad would storm into the room, and say "Is that true, James?". Such an insignificant but fond memory.

Dad was also rather good at mathematics, so he would sit us all down at the kitchen table every night when I started primary school and go through all our English and Mathematics homework. However, since he was not a teacher, there was only a limit to what he could impart. I remembered failing a Mathematics paper when I was in Year 3, and since I miraculously topped the class for the first (and last time) after the mid semester, my teacher wanted to know what happened. I told her eventually that my father didn't know enough about algebra then to teach me. I can't remember what happened after that, but in some ways, I probably knew that I was going to have to do it on my own from then on.

The other fond and significant recollection that I have is my Dad buying the entire collection (or the remainder) of the Secret Seven series that I lacked. All thirteen or so copies of it from the third book onwards. I knew that we were not rich because we rarely ate out, and we had to help Mum with the sewing as well, so I was astonished when he bought them all at MPH. I can still vaguely remember how proud I was when Dad brought them all to the counter and paid for them. That was his grand love for me.

The other reason why this stood out was because it was also the day that my grandparents moved to their new and eventual home in Ang Mo Kio. We visited them that afternoon immediately after the shop and someone spilled Fanta Orange all over some of the books. I can remember my anger and disappointment then, but nothing could rob me of the joys of owning the entire set, which I still own at home.

During my teenage years, I started to rebel at home. I had a "violent temper", one that Mum was quick to point as a flaw I shared with Dad. My results at school would deteriorate because I found it difficult to adapt to my teenage years as a "nerd" and misfit. I was plump and not as agile or sports oriented as my other fellow students. The only sport I was good at was swimming because Dad paid for lessons, but we never had swimming lessons at School, so I never had a chance to prove myself.

I feared Parents Day because I knew that I had let them down again but there was no way to get out of it. My only asylum was Japanese music, which my mother had no empathy at that time for, because she thought it was a hindrance to my performance at School. She was not entirely wrong. However, the more she objected, the more I rebelled.

Dad shocked me after one Parents Day though when he brought me out, after my teacher's less than favourable review, and bought me the most expensive watch I had ever owned. Even till now, I have no idea why he did it. I can only guess it is a way to motivate me to do better, but I didn't. I was lost.

I guess I didn't find myself until I left secondary school and realised how badly I had done in my "O" Levels, which left me little opportunities in life. I also worked for the first time in my life, lost some weight and gained some self confidence because I realised that I was a relatively fast learner and could adapt to changing demands rather fluidly. It was probably then
that life started making some sense for me.

Dad was an engineer, so in some ways, he probably wanted my brother and I to walk the same path as him. Alas, it was not my calling, but I managed to persevere and graduate with a Diploma in Mechanical Engineering. I made many good friends at Ngee Ann Polytechnic, sadly many of whom I had lost contact with. Thankfully, I found one of my best friends last year incidentally, and though the lines of communication are still rather irregular, we will never lose the bonds of friendship we held.

Dad's love for his children is never more pronounced when I started my two and a half year compulsory Army service after that. Unlike my fellow camp-mates, I was one of the only few that was picked up every Saturday afternoon and driven back every Sunday night by their parents. He never faltered once. It seemed that he would give up all other engagements so that he could be there.

It can get potentially a little embarrassing at times because I didn't want to be seen as being pampered, but strangely, the Army does strange things to immature minds. The absence from home and familial love makes one treasure the bonds of kinship more than ever. I was seen as the lucky one and I never took my parents' love for granted from then on. He is always keen to share his generosity, so my neighbouring friends benefited from the lift as well.

It is always interesting to see my father in the eyes of his friends, because that is the real him, not the familiar role of a father he adopts in our lives. There is an air of authority, integrity and respect that he garners and I can see that vividly in the eyes of his friends. He is usually silent, squirms a little under the praise of his friends, and I see and feel the strong and loyal man/friend they say he is.

He is a worker, not a talker. Through my aunt, I have learned more about my father than I could ever know, because he would never brag. I admire his courage and strength. When my grandma was on her death bed and the doctor wanted the family to make a decision to amputate her legs, it was left to him. The eldest son assigned by his mother and two younger siblings to make the most difficult decision one could ever want to be responsible for. I can not for my life, imagine how one would not crumble at this point in life, but knowing my father, he probably took it as a life decision that had to be made. I wasn't there, so I don't know if he ever wept, but knowing him, he probably did not do it in public.

When my aunt flew back from Australia to attend my grandmother's funeral, it was in the middle of our university Summer Term, and my father told us that our studies were more important, and how she would understand. After my aunt returned, she told us about her half siblings that she was surprised to see at the funeral. They had lost contact for a very long time and since my grandma bore some old grudge against my grandpa's other wives, the relationship has never been warm. So, when they arrived and adopted the deceased 's children identity (it is Taoist tradition that the more children you have, the more glorious you will look in the other world), my aunt was even more surprised. She engaged into lengthy conversations with them, and learned that the reason for them taking this duty was to return the favour my father gave to their mother a couple of years ago. No one in his family knew about it. Since he acknowledged their mother then, it was their turn to acknowledge his. I was moved to tears. I know my aunt was so proud of her brother then.

My father is a very kind man who loves children. I see it whenever I see him play with my nephew and niece. I see shades of my father as a young dad again. I have to say that he was a little surprised when I hugged him for the first time in years when I returned to Singapore from Australia, because he probably thought he would never get that back again. It is good that I am able to hug him now when I arrive back in Singapore and leave, or whenever I want to. I am also happy that we can tell each other that we love each other very much too.

Compared with many other friends and stories of upbringing I have read and heard, I think that though my childhood was relatively sheltered, we have been very lucky to be loved by two wonderful parents who always put us in the first place. We were not rich, couldn't afford as many luxuries, rarely ate out (McDonalds was considered a relative luxury), or went overseas for holidays, I still believe my parents came out tops, and there is not a thing I would change, except if I could have been more mature earlier in my age.

I want to thank my wonderful parents, for the love, patience, care, concern and support they have always provided us. My sister has been ushering me to write this because she says "He is just the best Dad in the world", and it is entirely true. My only wish now is to be able to learn more about the man I lovingly call my father.

I do not know if we make you both proud, but I hope we do. We may not be great achievers in life if you measure things via monetary means, but life is more than that. It is about love, relationships and respect. These wonderful loving lessons that we learned from the best teachers in the world, and in this aspect, we can proudly declare "Thank you for the rich lessons of love and life." We love you both very dearly.

N.E.R.D.

Interestingly, the definition on dictionary.com for nerd reads:

1.	a stupid, irritating, ineffectual, or unattractive person.

2.	an intelligent but single-minded person obsessed with a nonsocial hobby or pursuit: a computer nerd.

I would like to think that I do not fall into the first category but beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so who knows. This thought came about due to a conversation I had with a fellow colleague where we remarked at the "impossibility" of growing up in our old days with the internet and all these technology that we take for granted today.

Since I was not "built for sports" while I was growing up (read: plump and pudgy), I preferred the more leisurely activities like reading and listening to music, the former which I did plenty of. My parents had always advocated reading since young, so we were always brought to libraries and bought books instead of toys.

I also remember when I was first allowed to go out and venture on my own at the age of 13, and how I was given the "green light" to go to the library with my backpack and borrow books for my siblings and I. There was no electronic card system and I had to make sure I had the paper borrowing cards with me so that I wouldn't go home empty handed. I also had to pick ten books for all of us and carry them all back. I wonder now how I managed to pick the books for them as well because there was no guarantee that they would all be good, but I did alright, I guess.

One of my favourite past-times during school holidays was also spending the entire day (at least 5-6 hours) holed up in the reference section of the National Library. The wonderful archive of books and music, most unavailable or unwrapped in bookstores, and mostly unaffordable for a student like me.

I loved spending all that time there reading all the trivia, listening to the CDs that I would never buy or afford to buy and watch the movies that I do not have access to. It was the pleasure of reading for the sake of having fun, and not having to be tested on the material afterwards.

So yes, by this definition, I was indeed a nerd. Today, with the internet so readily available, I rarely spend as much time or visit the library as often anymore, and thinking back, I do miss those days very much. I still crave the trivia and knowledge but I manage to get that online. However, this ease of accessibility and availability makes me realise how much more transient the experience is, as opposed to those days when I just soaked in it. No longer immersed in my own world, with no one to disturb and without a bother in the world.

I wonder if we will ever return to such indulgences? It is a test that I will have to experience and tell ...

Such is Life

I just finished watching the sombre film "My Life Without Me", a small indie movie that I like very much. As the name suggests, the movie explores what we might do if we realise that we only have a very limited time left on Earth. Not everyone is as lucky to get notice, because for some of us, it will just come very suddenly, with little or no warning.

After this, I browsed through my fellow friend's blog and read about a sudden death of his friend, someone that he used to keep in touch during his school days even though he was his senior, but had sort of lost close contact with since. News of death is always so difficult to accept, especially when it is someone who used to be close, but as a result of time, distanced ourselves not of choice, but because of life.

I had a friend like that too. He was in his 50s, still too young to leave us. He taught me much, lessons that I still cherish till today. Even now when I feel low on creativity and inspiration, his voice of encouragement still rings in my ear. He was a teacher when I stepped out here and lived on my own for the first time. I remember his generosity when I moved onto my first apartment with my other housemates. We had no cutlery, crockery, plates, little things that cost plenty of money, and he was like coal in Winter, helping us create our first home out of nothing.

He always had so many stories to tell, and an eager ear to listen as well, always ready to give credit and the encouragement when due. I realised at his funeral that I was not alone. Many other people were touched in the same way. Through his encouragement, I organised my first and only Halloween Party to date, my only cooking party and inspired us with his marvellous cooking, to always go for the best. He also helped me with my one and only attempt at proper dessert making - Crème brûlée with a chocolate mousse topping, an old French recipe from the oldest French Cooking Book, which he swore by. Like the song "MacArthur's Park", the recipe is now gone forever with his departure.

He had his idiosyncrasies as well, but those just made chatting with him more interesting and challenging at the same time. He may be difficult to some but he was always kind to me and many others. It has been 2 years since he left, but the memories still lay fresh on the days when I brush by a familiar scene, and the scenes of laughter and friendship we shared replay.

This is the beauty and the fragility of life. We may not live forever but we leave impressions on the footpaths of other's lives. I will always miss you, Jack, and the other people I have lost, but the traces of all of you will always grace the pathways of my life as long as I should live.

The Miseducation of Youth and Invincibility

Britney Spears. Yes. Amy Winehouse. Yes. Lindsay Lohan and her peers. Maybe. But Heath Ledger?

Shock waves "tsunami ed" through the workplace this morning with the surprising news of his death. Another overdose, this time more unfortunate because they are not recreational drugs ... not long after the death of another fellow, less celebrated child actor Brad Renfro due to overdose. What is happening to Hollywood and this generation of celebrities? What ever happened to dying of natural causes, old age, or major illnesses brought on by substance abuse (cigarettes and alcohol). Are our advertising campaigns working only for these legal "drugs" and not effective enough for their "lesser known" evils)?

I have seen all the "P" plate drivers and all the horrific deaths concerning accidents or staring incidents that result in "glassing someone" (as in smashing a bottle in their head or face) and I am distressed and surprised at where all this rage and air of invincibility come from? Where have all the fundamental respect and values that our parents taught us disappeared to?

I am not a big fan of Ledger but I have to say that it is sad whenever anyone dies, let alone someone who has moved hearts with his performance in "Brokeback Mountain". Heath was always an uncomfortable celebrity so maybe this was his only way of dealing with the price of fame. Still his little daughter, Matilda, who will never know what her father is really like, , due to his young and untimely death, which is really sad.

This is proof that money and fame cannot buy happiness or sensibility. Hopefully, we will always have our loved ones and our dearest friends to remind us what really matters in life.