Taking charge

As I sat eating my lunch at a fast food outlet, I couldn't help but felt annoyed with this boisterous  boy not more than 3 running amok at the counter. He was a curious little thing; poking around and trying to get his fingers on everything, including unsuspecting adults waiting in line.  I was quite sure I was not the only one getting annoyed.

I felt sorry for the embarrassed young mother who tried to calm him down. Instead of earning her son's respect, she received continuous kicks from the unrelenting child. 

In the end, she gave up.

As I sat there, I thought about all the possible ways of dealing with the situation, if I were the mother. I must confess that giving the child a good spanking was one of them.

The woman looked relieved when she finally reached the front of the counter. She probably thought her ordeal would end soon once the child got distracted by French fries or a sundae. Instead, I watched him abandoned her and walked towards me.

With all the energy he had, he dragged a chair all the way to the counter. Once the chair was parked securely by his mother, he pushed himself up and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. The woman looked mortified as soon as she realised what happened and proceeded to reprimand him.

I don't know what it was but my initial impression of the boy changed. I was amazed to see how he took charge of his life; he wanted to reach up to be able to see something way above his eye level and he didn't ask for help nor wait for help to come. He just went for what he thought would help him accomplish what he wanted, albeit unappreciated.

I then began to think about all the possible things this boy can achieve when he becomes an adult.

*******************************

If you were the mother, would you have reprimanded the child for dragging the chair?

As a mother, how do you "discipline" your child without compromising his/her self-esteem to take initiatives and take charge of things?

Joe is smokin’!

Above: Smoking Joe’s signature barbecued pork ribs with beans and potato salad on the sides.

How do you like your barbecued ribs?

I like mine meaty yet tender, slightly burnt and caramelised on the outside but moist on the inside. Above all, it should have that smoky taste and smell.

When I first saw my plate of barbecued ribs at Smoking Joe’s, I was not convinced that they would be anything but dry and hard to chew on. I also didn’t like how they were covered with what looked like dried oregano.

Well, I was pleasantly surprised when I finally bit into the rib. The meat was not only tasty, it was so tender that it could easily fall off the bone with one gentle gnaw. The herbs on it were in fact, Smoking Joe’s very own signature St. Louis rub mix which contains a secret ingredient. The mix was salty, aromatic, slightly hot and tangy. It was so good that Joe the owner, uses it  liberally on almost all his dishes. Customers can even buy them at the restaurants. I brought mine home with Joe’s signature on it and have been using them to spice up my grilled meat.

Left: A customer holding Smoking Joe’s special seasoning mix

 

Above: (l) The feast we had at Smoking Joe’s, (m) Pulled pork, (r) The gooey and yummy macaroni and cheese

Above: (l) Joe giving us his personal attention (m) Roast turkey & beef briskets (r) Side dishes and salads

Smoking Joe’s is the kind of restaurant that serves simple but hearty American food. My kind of comfort food with lots of meat, mash potatoes, coleslaws, beans, creamy soup and macaroni and cheese. If you’re concerned about your waistline, fear not because it also serves hearty portions of lean turkey meat and beef brisket on a generous bed of salad leaves.

The other thing which I liked about the menu was the fresh potato crisps sprinkled with Smoking Joe’s signature mix. Unlike the usual Lays’ potato crisps, these were only slightly thicker, not as crispy that it felt artificial and you can really  tell that they were made of real potatoes. I wouldn’t trust those bags of potato crisps that claim they’re baked without preservatives anymore.

The ambience was nice and at first I thought the place was a bit too classy for what it serves. One would not have guessed that such a tastefully decorated restaurant would be serving normal regular American food. But again, what would I know since I had only gone to Pappy’s Smokehouse for barbecued ribs before?

It was a refreshing change from the usual loud and rowdy restaurants such as Pappy’s where customers are forced to line up to get their orders before being seated on uncomfortable wooden benches and then pressured into chowing down their food as quickly as possible in order to give the table up for the next customer. Smoking Joe’s is all about comfort, style and good value for money because believe it or not, the food cost almost the same as Pappy’s, if not less.

Above: Joe showing us the new logo for his chain in Jakarta.

Left: What did I tell ya? Ain’t Joe smokin’?

For real and simple American food, this is as good as it gets. It’s so good that Smoking Joe’s is going international by opening a new chain in Jakarta, Indonesia next year!

I wish Joe all the best and hope I’ll get to dine in his restaurant in Kuala Lumpur one day.

 

 

 

Smoking Joe’s is situated at:

1901 Washington Avenue, St. Louis, Missouri, US.

For more information, you can check out its website here.

Redefining leadership

This is my contribution for the American Council for Young Political Leaders (ACYPL)’s blog.

Above: The delegates from the South-East Asia programme at the Legislative Fellows Congress at the US State Department, Washington DC on 8 & 9 November 2010.

When I was thirteen, I stood up in my classroom and told my teacher that I disagreed with his method of punishment, which consisted of drawing on the faces of misbehaving fellow students with a white chalk.

That day, I took several strokes of the cane on my open palm for being disobedient but I left the classroom with my face untouched and a new resolve to end my teacher’s abusive and degrading treatment.  Since then, nobody had their faces drawn on again and my teacher was suspended indefinitely.

That was the only time when I felt like a true leader.

Many years have passed and I often look back and wonder where that thirteen year-old girl has gone.

It is probably no surprise that as an adult, I have continuously chose to work for human rights and humanitarian organisations because of my lack of tolerance of those who disrespect the dignity and integrity of other human beings. However, none of my accomplishments as an adult has come close to what I did when I was thirteen.

Sure, I would often try my best to execute my duties and responsibilities to the best of my abilities and judgments, but I have always allowed others to lead while I stay happily behind the scenes. I would often shy away from social engagements, hide from the spotlight and prefer to live a life that is free from what I assume as cumbersome commitments.

My philosophy has always been this: do the right thing but leave the big things to those with big ambitions.

When I got into this programme, I figure that I’ll be able to learn more about leadership.  Thankfully, I’ve met many people with impressive portfolio; young politicians and corporate executives who have founded or co-founded organisations or other miscellaneous community projects. I learn that these individuals do not sit and wait for others to solve issues faced by their communities. They get out from their comfort zone and do something about it. Not only do these individuals want to see a change in their communities, they want to be a part of that change.

At the same time, I also discover that in order to be defined as a leader here, one often needs to be seen as a leader; the one who asserts him/herself forward, the one who gets him/herself noticed and the one who is competitive enough to want to be recognised as a leader. These are aspects of leadership which I have never felt comfortable with.

Throughout my stay in St. Louis, I’m forced to ask myself these questions:

“If I don’t want to appear on the television, does that mean I’m not a leader?”

“If I don’t care enough about meeting very important or influential people, does that mean I’m not a leader?”

“If I don’t care about being photographed with important people, does that mean I’m not a leader?”

“If I don’t want to give a speech in public, does that mean I’m not a leader?”

After much pondering, my answers to all the above questions are an affirmative no. I realise that in order to be a good leader, I need to stay true to myself. There comes a time when I need to be honest and courageous enough to make a stand on what are the things I will support or need to do and what not. Leadership is not just about “being out there” but also about making the right decisions, no matter how tough they are, and taking necessary actions to implement those decisions.

When my best friend asked me over Skype what I’ve learned from the programme, I told her that most of the people I’ve met here inspire me to get out from my own comfort zone and start thinking about what I want and can do for my community. I told her that I’ve always wanted to run a non-profit organisation which provides youths with a platform to have their voices heard and to become more socially responsible within their own communities and I would like to see this vision coming to fruition.

So, by being in this programme, I think I’m able to see the reincarnation of that thirteen year old girl again. Hopefully, I’ll be able to have the courage she had by standing up in the midst of a crowd to advocate for what is right without fea

Sex, drugs and HIV/AIDS

This article was first published in The Malaysian Insider on 9 November 2010. Below is the original version.

It was another quintessential night in Chow Kit; hot, humid, red and reeking with the thick smell of danger for those who would shun the district. Celeste, Joanna, Samantha and Lola lined the street of Lorong Haji Taib. In between small chats with each other, they call out indiscriminately to men walking by; teasing them unabashedly in their deep hoarse voices. For those who bother to play along, they are rewarded with flying kisses.

The night was slow but not devoid of excitement. Just as the night, they came slowly and quietly for them. They are ambushed by a group of uniformed policemen. Lola and Samantha manage to escape. Celeste and Joanna are quickly handcuffed and brought to the police station.

Less than 24 hours later, Celeste is released. Joanna? Dead. But not before being forced to perform sexual favours on the commanding officer while being restrained by his two subordinates. They eventually “finish” her off by applying multiple blows to her skull when she refuses to let them take her from behind.

Joanna never had a chance.

Celeste returns with a mission. She saw what they did to Joanna and vowed never to end up as another unclaimed corpse. She pleads with her friends to stand united and fight for their honour and lives. Together, they vow never to be silent again.

Celeste’s blood-chilling and piercing cry, “Joanna dah mati!” would echo in their minds forever.

It may not be as real as Poh Si Teng’s acclaimed documentary “Pecah Lobang”, a Freedom Film Fest winner in 2008, but that was the script used by the Bar Council MyConstitution Campaign team to send out a strong message to sex workers and Mak Nyahs at the Jom ke Chow Kit Carnival at Lorong Haji Taib on 31 July 2010.

Above: The MyConstitution Campaign team

It took the team a few days to put together the skit but not without first spending hours after hours debating and deciding on a suitable yet effective message. Most of the team members were lawyers but none of them knew what sort of message would make an impact on one of the oldest professions in the world.

Lawyers are useful when it comes to giving advice on what to do when one is being arrested but what can they tell a highly stigmatised community who not only are prime targets of the police and religious authorities, but also vulnerable to abuse and violence?

Joanna

That was when the team decided to tell the story of Joanna, a transsexual sex worker who died in police custody.

The message was simple. It is louder when four persons scream at the same time than just one. The chances of being heard are higher if you continue to scream. Sooner or later, someone will hear you.

The crowd responded. They laughed and cheered when they saw Celeste, Joanna, Samantha and Lola blowing kisses in the air. The atmosphere turned sombre and quiet when Joanna was being tortured by the officers. Some wore grave expressions on their faces as they watched Celeste bringing news of Joanna’s death and crying out in anguish. They clapped thunderously when the girls came together and agreed to do something about it.

The image of helpless Joanna being forced to face her opponents alone is more real than imagined. Most of us are aware of the discrimination and injustice faced by the community of sex workers, yet we choose to keep silent and stay ignorant of it. While we will readily acknowledge the right to live, life without dignity and justice is not a life worth living.

The organiser, the PT Foundation (PTF), is to be commended for providing an opportunity and platform for people living with HIV/AIDS, sex workers, drug abusers, men-who-have-sex-with-men (MSM), gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender people to learn more about their rights and HIV/AIDS. Combating HIV/AIDS is after all one of the UN Millennium Development Goals.

According to the Ministry of Health’s statistics in 2009, there are 86,000 reported cases of HIV/AIDS in Malaysia. Everyday, 15 Malaysians are diagnosed HIV positive and the majority of them are men. 34% are in their twenties. The high-risk groups are surprisingly not sex workers, drug users or homosexuals. They are fishermen, factory workers, long distance drivers, housewives and heterosexuals.

Jeremy

Speaking to Jeremy provided a sense of comfort and assurance. He came across as someone who is wise and easy to talk to; and he is a gay man who occasionally also drags or crossdresses as a woman in special functions such as at the Jom ke Chow Kit Carnival.

Jeremy works towards educating and sensitising people on the importance of safe sex, sexuality and self-acceptance - all the right qualities to help fulfil PTF’s objectives.

I first spotted Jeremy when he was standing in front of the stage with a microphone in his hand. He was giving out a series of HIV/AIDS related trivia. It was difficult not to notice him as he was dressed in a black body-hugging t-shirt, hot pants, black stockings and Mary Jane shoes. In addition to his thick make-up, he was a picture of confidence and determination as he asked the crowd, “Can you get HIV/AIDS by holding someone’s hands?” while loud pumping techno beats were playing on the background.

Later in a private interview, Jeremy disclosed that he had come a long way before his family and friends accepted his sexuality. He was reluctant to call this episode in his life a problem but preferred to see it as a challenge instead. He added that at the end of the day, what’s really important is for a gay person to come to terms with his own sexuality, first. But it is important to take the time to figure out who he really is before arriving at that critical juncture.

When asked whether he faced any discrimination while growing up as a homosexual, he answered no. He explained that Malaysia is that sort of country where you would not get into trouble if you do not tell. An example is how PTF is not allowed to publicly inform people that they provide counselling to gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender (GLBT) people. They may only call it “sexuality counselling”.

He also said that while law enforcement authorities do not harass PTF directly, they face many obstacles when trying to implement their HIV/AIDS education and prevention programme for sex workers in massage parlours, karaoke lounges, motels and nightclubs. These places are raided by anti-vice enforcement officers and too often in the presence of PTF, which consequently prevents the businesses from wanting to engage with PTF.

When asked who his hero is, Jeremy declares that he is his own inspiration. His father once told him in an acceptance speech, “Whatever you do, you’re an adult now. You’re responsible for your own life.” He said that it is important for everyone to be themselves because in the end, it is up to each individual to find out who they are and to grow comfortably into their own shoes.

Eddie

Such positive self-image was unfortunately not seen in Eddie, a 39 year-old former drug user. He was seen sitting alone at the back of a tent, quietly colouring his face with bright blue paint.

When I asked him what he was doing at the Carnival, he insisted that I would not be able to stomach his answer. “If I tell you, you won’t be able to take it. So, I rather not say anything,” he said to me again and again and all the while avoiding eye contact.

After some coaxing, he revealed that he is HIV positive. He said most people who learned about his condition would run away. We ended up having a long chat about his life story.

According to Eddie, he started using drugs when he was 15-years old. His family moved to Kuala Lumpur from a small village in Negeri Sembilan. He experienced culture shock and was not able to adapt to city life. Due to existing family problems, he experimented with drugs and it subsequently became a means of escape for him.

He spent most of his adult life in and out of prison and rehabilitation in Sungai Buloh and Kajang. He still remembers starving in prison where inmates were under-fed and often resorted to eating left over fish bones and banana peels. When asked whether he was ever physically abused by prison guards, he replied, “Only if you disobey them. That’s all I’m willing to say.”

He said many inmates died in rehabilitation due to their weak and frail physical conditions, mostly pronounced by poor nutrition. Like him, most of them had no families or friends who would miss their absence. The moment they all discovered how low they had sunk, they would drop out of their lives.

Eddie added, “It hurts. It hurts greatly to see how they looked at me with disgust. Once when I came out of rehab, I had the will to turn over a new leaf. I really wanted to change my life. When I got home, my mother and sisters were busy cooking the whole day. Do you know why? They had planned to feed me well and then send me away for good. I never saw them again.”

When asked whether he is afraid of death, he paused briefly before admitting that he is more afraid of dying a painful death and being alone.

I asked him whether he ever regretted his actions that have led him to this situation, he answered bitterly, “Of course! Who would want to live like this? Because of my health condition and medical treatment, I’m feeling sick all the time. I can’t find work and I have no money or friends.”

Access to assistance

That night, 40 people were arrested by the police on their way to the Carnival which incidentally, was endorsed by the Ministry of Health. They were apparently tested for drugs. As fellow columnist, June Low wrote in her blog, thanks to the police, these 40 individuals missed out on a chance to learn more about the risk of HIV/AIDS.

There is something fundamentally wrong when people are being stopped from having access to help. It is morally sinful when people are being deprived of such an opportunity.

Is it because they are different? Is it because they are considered as moral pariahs?

It is time to ask ourselves these questions.

What makes these people different from us? What makes them so contemptible that we allow them to fight their battles alone? Does that not make us even more contemptible for not coming to their defence?

Finally, how many of us actually give ourselves to others without expecting anything in return; whether it is for love, sex, financial security, companionship, procreation or power?

Answer this truthfully and you’ll know that we are all the same in the end.

I asked Eddie what keeps him alive.

He replied, “What keeps me going is that every year I vow to change my life for the better. I vow to take my methadone and anti-retroviral treatments more diligently. I vow to secure a job to keep me financially independent. I’ll be 40 soon and I think there’s hope. After all, isn’t it true what the Western people say about life beginning at 40?”

The question is: will he live to see that change?

Many days and weeks later: Silence of the Lim

I blame it on the hotel suite at the Residence Inn, Marriott and the Office of License Collector in St. Louis. The day I moved into the suite, unpacked my 2 suitcases and began to make myself feel at home, that was the day when I stopped blogging.

It’s like when I saw all my clothes hanging on the wardrobe rack, arranged in the order of warm, formal, work and casual; and the rest folded neatly away in the countless of drawers in the bedroom, I kind of sub-consciously told myself that there is no urgency to pen down my daily journal as religiously as when I was in Washington DC.

Yeah, a bedroom suite with ample of storage space and living out of a suitcase is bad.

Picture above: The St. Louis City Hall

On top of that, living the unaccustomed life-style of a “foreign dignitary” (believe me, I wouldn’t like to be referred to as that but for Michael and Charlotte who insist on calling us that), courtesy of our hosts at the Office of License Collector, has made it impossible for me to keep track of what had happened in the last few weeks. By the time I wanted to blog about something new that had happened on the day before, it had become old news.

At the risk of sounding as if I am having too much of a good time (although I insist on calling them socio-cultural activities), I’m just going to provide a very summarised version of some memorable events that had taken place, or will be taking place:

• Attend the St. Louis Development Corporation (SLDC) luncheon at the Renaissance Hotel;
• Field passes to watch the St. Louis RAMS versus San Diego CHARGES game at the Edward Jones Dome;
• Attend the 100 Black Men masquerade ball at the Hyatt River Front Hotel;
• Attend Sunday service at the Prince of Peace Church;
• Shopping at Macy’s, Saks @ 5th Avenue, the Mills, etc.
• Dining at various local eateries and soul food;
• Attend the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People (NAACP) gala at the Millennium Hotel;
• VIP seats for America’s Got Talent live show at the Fox Theater;
• Going up the Gateway Arch;
• St. Louis Zoo at Forest Park;
• St. Louis Science Centre;
• Live jazz and blues at BB’s, South Broadway;
• Trip to Jefferson City, capital of Missouri State;
• Trip to Chicago;
• Attend Friday Shabbat at the Temple of Emmanuel;
• Attend the Rally for Sanity, Gateway Arch.
• Halloween with the St. Louis BLUES hockey team against Atlanta THRASHERS at the Scottrade Centre;
• Visiting legendary baseball player Lou Brock at his home; and

the list can go on…..

Wonder whether I do any work or serious stuff at all? Of course, I do. Who am I kidding?

In addition to the countless of meetings with government and elected officials, non-profit and business communities, I have been working with the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) for Eastern-Missouri on their campaign to push for the passing of a State Bill to bring the police from state to local control of what is known as Proposition L (Prop L). A referendum on Prop L will be carried out simultaneously at the mid-term election next Tuesday.

Above: A rally that was held outside the St. Louis City Hall in conjunction with National Day Against Police Brutality on 22 October 2010

Above: Doing some community work with Mission Continues, a non-profit organisation which aims to help former war veterans to find purpose and meaning in their lives again.

And if you think some of these activities are not serious enough, here’s a photo which will prove it.

Standing on the glass floor at the top of the Willis Tower (formerly known as Sears Tower), Chicago, has got to be some serious stuff, man!

Anyway, I’ve already got some articles planned for my TMI column. Do watch out for that.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo on the left, courtesy of CW Lim.

The World’s Worst Spouse

This was first posted on The Malaysian Insider on 11 October 2010.

If there is a competition for the world’s best spouse, I’ll be stuck at the bottom two with Ike Turner.

“Why do you say that?” my husband asked when I read this line aloud.

Sounding a bit too sorry for myself, I answered, “It has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I’m just horrible to be around.”

“Well, why is that?” He wanted to know since it wasn’t the time of the month.

“Nothing is working! I’m tired of every single thing; the bank’s incompetency, the traffic, the bloody noise outside our windows, the brainless drivers on the roads. Sometimes I get so tired of trying to deal with stupid people doing stupid things that I become this horrible monster who’s ready to tear anyone apart! It has nothing to do with you. Just let me rant, OK?”

He looked at me sympathetically and said, “OK, but don’t say you’re the world’s worst spouse ‘cause you’re not.”

I was left burning with my own thoughts as he walked out of the room quietly.

For the past few months, I’ve been experiencing what I call “being-on-an-overtime-job-and-home-for-too-long” syndrome. After working on a demanding public campaign for close to a year, I am feeling rather burnt out. In addition to this, what’s left of my energy has been spent mostly on sorting out my own personal affairs and to rectify mistakes made by service providers who are not only completely clueless of what it means by customer service, but also don’t seem to care too much for it.

Bottom line is, I have been spending most of my waking hours away from work fighting. I have fought with a waiter who told me that I could not use my credit card because the system was down and another who neglected to return my five sen worth of change simply because he unilaterally decided that I wouldn’t mind.

I have fought with a taxi driver who decided to pick up another passenger on the way without my consent. I have fought with my bank for mistakenly deleting my record on their computer system and a hospital staff for failing to call me up when I left my medical reports behind.

I also fought with the only good electrician I knew who made me wait without feeling remorse or shame for three hours. A sincere apology would have flushed away any ill feelings.

Hence, I am constantly irritated whenever my husband asks for my help to sort out some administrative matters with local service providers as he doesn’t speak the local language and still finds it difficult to understand Manglish.

The thing is, if I encounter bad service in another country, which I most certainly did during my travels, I would have been more forgiving and patient in trying to deal with them. I would shrug it off and convince myself that there is nothing I can do but to accept those flaws as part and parcel of life.

But not in Malaysia. No siree!

I keep riling myself up at the slightest mishap; whether they are being carried out intentionally or not, simply because I witness every day, in and out, how badly we’re doing in every aspect of our service sector. There is so much more room for improvement and yet not many of us have the will to push for these improvements. I hear people constantly moaning about how bad a service is but yet they do nothing about it and then wonder why the service continues to be bad.

Perhaps it is true when older people often say that we tend to be tougher on people whom we love. I am more tolerant and patient when confronted by poor customer service in other countries but not in my own. Contrary to what many people may believe or think, I love this country so much so that I’m allowing my blood pressure to rise every time I try to make Malaysians account for their mistakes.

“These carrots are bad!” I shrieked as soon as I tasted the acidity of a deceitful stick of baby carrot on its way out. “We should take it back to the store and demand for a replacement or get our money back,” I suggested to my husband.

“What? Waste fuel just to complain about a bag of carrots that cost less than three ringgit? Are you mad?” He slammed my suggestion down despite knowing how much this kind of thing usually annoys me.

“But how else would people know that they’re not supposed to sell expired goods if we don’t say something? You know this is not the first time it has happened. All you ever know is to complain but what are you going to do about it? I’m sick and tired of people thinking that they can get away with anything. I am even more tired of people who allow others to think it’s perfectly ok to give sub-standard services!” I screamed out in exasperation.

Like most spoiled brats I have encountered, their annoying habits are mostly manifested from the absence or lack of discipline and reproach from adults around them. That is my theory anyway and the same applies to how we, as Asians, rather stay mum than confront or find faults in others. We allow people to get away with bad habits and mediocrity while we complain behind closed doors.

My husband just shook his head and tossed the bag of carrots into the bin. That signalled the end of our discussion while I continued to stay irritated for the rest of the night.

Perhaps I am difficult, nasty and arrogant to many people but in all fairness, I do give credit when it’s due. I show my appreciation when I am pleased with a service. I tip generously when I’m satisfied that a waiter or waitress has made sure that all my dining needs have been attended to with a pleasant disposition.

I will salute and treat a policeman who does not take bribes respectfully. I will be generous with my compliments and encouragement when I know that the person sitting behind the counter has tried very hard to solve a problem I raised.

Recently I was hosted by a religious organisation in Kinarut, Sabah. The hospitality and courtesy extended to me were both abundant and unconditional. This was not the first time I had been given the royal treatment. It was the same in Kedah and Sarawak. My hosts had countless times humbled me when I think about how good traditional values such as kindness, generosity, selflessness and politeness are no longer practised in Kuala Lumpur.

It is not often one gets to be humbled or inspired by city folks. Whether you agree or not, I find it easy to unleash the demons in me when I’m in Kuala Lumpur. I have lost count of the number of times when I feel like taking a baseball bat and swing it at a bunch of ruthless boys speeding back and forth along the road outside my windows with their modified exhaust pipes.

I have heard comments from different people about how scary I can be when I am annoyed and upset about something. When my husband told me yesterday that I’m turning into someone we both know, who is critical of everything, I was stunned and it silenced me for a long time. I was shocked to learn that I may have turned into someone I despise and I asked myself these questions repeatedly: What and who created this ugly monster in me? And how do I get rid of it?