That familiar chime. Then another. And another. The relentless vibration in your pocket. You glance at your phone only to be met by a sea of crimson notification bubbles – 27 unread messages in the Family Fun group, 15 in the School Parents Committee, 8 in the Old College Friends thread, a flurry in the Project Alpha team, and let’s not forget the neighbourhood watch reporting a suspiciously parked bicycle. Sound familiar? If you find yourself drowning in a deluge of WhatsApp groups, you’re not alone. But this constant connectivity comes at a steep, often hidden, cost: your mental well-being. We joined these groups with the best intentions – to stay connected, coordinate schedules, share memes, or be part of a community. However, the sheer volume quickly morphs from convenience into a cacophony of cognitive demands. The  relentless notifications  fracture our focus. Every ping triggers a micro-interruption, pulling our attention away from work, conversation, or precious moment...

At 55, I decided to embrace a new adventure: buying my first scooter. As someone who had always admired the elegance and charm of scooters, I set my sights on a blue eclettico Vespa Sprint S150. It wasn’t just a practical purchase; it represented a new chapter in my life, filled with freedom, exploration, and a little bit of nostalgia. Growing up, I often saw people zooming around on scooters, their faces lit up with joy and excitement. The idea of navigating the open roads, feeling the wind in my hair, and relishing the ease of movement always intrigued me. Now, having reached a stage in my life where I have more time to enjoy those simple pleasures, purchasing a scooter felt like the perfect way to add a touch of thrill to my routine. Choosing the Vespa Sprint S150 was no accident. This model embodies style, comfort, and performance. The vibrant blue color immediately caught my eye, reminiscent of clear skies and open adventures. It felt like a perfect fit, representing both my perso...

The Traffic Jam Dilemma: An Ongoing Malaysian Saga Right. Let's talk about the national pastime that isn't eating, *lah*. It’s sitting. Sitting in a metal box on a road that’s become a car park masquerading as a thoroughfare. The Great Malaysian Traffic Jam. It’s not just an inconvenience; it’s a soul-sucking, sweat-drenched, sanity-eroding *saga* played out daily on asphalt stages from Johor Bahru to Alor Setar. You know the drill. You leave with optimistic Google Maps timings, a podcast cued up, maybe a lukewarm *kopi O* for company. Ten minutes in, the creeping begins. Then the stopping. Then the staring. You stare at the bumper of the Myvi ahead, adorned with fading stickers and a thin film of exhaust grime. You stare at the eternally-red lights at the Jalan Sultan Ismail intersection, mocking your dwindling fuel gauge. You stare at the driver next to you, picking his nose with a dedication that suggests it’s the most important task of his day. The air-con whines, battling ...

Let’s cut the polite Malaysian “lahs” and “lors” for a moment, shall we? Because some things deserve pure, unadulterated rage. Exhibit A: The entitled, brain-dead, utterly  Ugly Malaysian  who sees a bright blue and white  OKU (Orang Kurang Upaya) parking spot  and thinks, “Ah, perfect! Reserved just for me and my precious Ferrari/Land Cruiser/Merc!” ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! USE YOUR BRAIN, YOU ABSOLUTE DIMWIT! Seriously. What part of the universally recognized wheelchair symbol, the stark blue paint, the glaringly obvious sign screaming  “PARKING FOR DISABLED PERSONS ONLY”  fails to penetrate your thick skull? Is the sheer, blinding  inconvenience  of walking an extra 50 meters from a  regular  spot really worth stealing dignity and accessibility from someone who  genuinely needs it ? This isn’t just inconsiderate. It’s not just rude.  It’s an act of profound selfishness and staggering arrogance.  It screams to the world: “My...