海龟浮上海面

This is a circumstance of bewilderment where everyone is trying to move on or move out, a shattered organization attempting to rebuild itself physically and spiritually.

Head resting on his folded arms on the office table in front of him, Mister President is trying to bury his grief. The profession of psychological consultancy would be wipen out once and for all if he did succeed.

Grief is a kind of human feeling that can remould humanity and advance civilization and ultimately facilitate happiness, if it is being treated properly. One may consider this proposition as misleading relativism or bewitched dialectics. But, it works for Mister President.

He has just dismissed both the revolutionary and the philosopher as planned. The two have accomplished their mission and were compensated with the contracted reward and extra bonus.

Mister President's grief is not monetary, but fraternal.

Mister President believes in self-healing, bodily and organizationally. Inviting the revolutionary and the philosopher into his board is some sort of vaccine to prevent virus infection.

His board of directors is now becoming more united after endless rounds of debates and quarrels ignited by the two characters. At least he believes so. High body temperature is an indication of recovery in process.

After a long while, Mister President is back to himself again. He picks up the phone and dials his fiancee up. There is still a lot to be prepared for their wedding later this year.

"Honey, ....", Madam Harmon says at the other end of the wire.

Further Reading:[list1]
[*]Search for "a harmonious society" at China Daily
[*]China's Harmony Renaissance (Update, 5 March, 2007)[/list1]

I'm thinking what if I sleep 1 hour less each day, am I gaining or losing time, in my fooling-around life.

Doctors recommend an adult to sleep between 7 and 9 hours per day for him/her to "function" (or fool around) properly. If we build sleep deficits, it seems only reasonable to find a way to catch up. And, it's possible to overdo it.

I suspect I probably will pass away when I'm 60, less longevous than an average person because I did and am doing too many evil things. My godfather knows them all, because I share that with him. He loves listening to all those wrongdoings of mine. I know it, because he sometimes takes notes. And I know also that Heaven is not going to take me. I deserve live a shorter life.

Anyway, that means that I will be "inactive" for 20 years just lying in bed doing nothing, if I choose to sleep 8 hours a day, i.e. 1/4 of a day or my lifetime. And, if I choose to sell myself 8 hours to a boss, then I will have to deduct another 1/4 of my life with the assumption that I need no retirement and work till I die, and my boss or any other boss will retain me to a job. Afterall, 60 isn't really that old as one may believe otherwise. It happens that Stanley Ho, the Macau Tycoon still bears child at his 80. And Nicolas Tse Tingfung's father at his 70 is still fooling around with meimei.

Arithmetically, I will have 30 years to fool around. Yet, no. I need to deduct another 4 hours as a buffer for travelling between locations and filling my stomach, presumably per day. I've just killed another 10 years. Hm.... I have now only 20 years left. Hell, no! I'm already over 20. Am I dead or alive?

I better get some sleep...

You snooze, you lose.

A growing TOP epidemic is forcing Mister President to face some uncomfortable truths about his Corporation.

On the first floor of a crowded clinic in the corporate compound, several fat managers and manageresses wait, quiet and fearful. They're standing outside an TOP counselling centre. Inside, behind white clinic screens, counsellors comfort sobbing managers who have just learned what it means to be infected by TOP epidemic. They will continue to grow fatter and fatter until one day they aren't able to walk or move.

These managers and manageresses had visions of a happy, managerial life. Instead, they've been handed a 'death sentence'. It's a scenario that's beginning to play out all over the Corporation. Ironically, joining the managerial team of the company puts them at the greatest risk of contracting TOP.

"It's a very bold statement," says Doctor Blue, an epidemic specialist. "But unfortunately, it's true. Only managerial staff get infected, whichever department they come from."

Doctor Blue and his colleagues estimate that in the next year more than half of the managerial force of the company will become TOP-positive.

"We are still in the middle to locate its source. But the good news is, the epidemic won't transmit among human," smile and says Doctor Blue.

In the office, Mister President is preparing a long replacement list for his senior staff. He has no reason to be happy. But, he is. More than you can imagine.

It will save him a lot of pension fund. Early retirement because of lost of working ability marks an end to their future, monetarily and professionally. Years of insurance premium payment has finally paid off. The insurance company is going to take care of the rest of their lives.

Doctor Blue recommended him to enlist young and healthy staff who have better immune system.

Mister President knows what he is doing. He has never liked those patriarchs left behind by his father. After his succession, he has decided to eliminate those who are against his new corporate development plan, and their followers. He doesn't have to find an excuse now. The epidemic has saved him from the trouble.

"But, what's TOP?" "Where does it come from?" "Am I also infected?" "How long is the latent period?" "Can we find cure?" "Is there any bacterin available to prevent it from happening again?"

Mister President has no idea. Until one day, a systems consultancy firm issues a press release citing their findings. All newspapers bear the same headline on their front paper.

"Replacement of Intranet System Will Stop Spread of 'Taste Of Power' Epidemic."

Update: (29 October)

1. Power Corrupts. In Some Places, Almost Everyone (China Daily)

2. Punishments Reflect Resolve to Fight Graft (China Daily/Xinhua)

3. President Hu Stresses Anti-Corruption drive (Xinhua)

Wang sits on a sofa chair a brick throw distance away from the secretary desk. Miss Secretary is rhythmically typing on her keyboard tapping out beats of a very familiar song, 'The East is Red'. He loves that. Following Miss Secretary's directives, he slightly taps on the floor with the tip of his right shoe.

He's trying to recall what he's been told an hour or so ago. He's on a mission. He shouldn't let his folks down. They're all on the same boat, as he's been told. They're brother-in-arm. If they're down, he'll certainly be drown. He's made up his mind. He shouldn't have any second thought. The mission must be accomplished. He adores Tom Cruise. He's so very Man. He did things all by himself. He hung himself all the way down from the ceiling. He adores the security chief in Crazy Stone too. He himself is also a security. He's proud to be one of the team, especially after watching the film.

"I'll not let myself down." He said confidently.

The tick-tack rhythme stops. Miss Secretary raises her head and sees to his direction over her left shoulder.

"Are you talking to me?" She said with a hesitation.

His tap stops at the point whilst the lyric of the song ends at 'The East Emerges with a ...'

"No... Yes, is Mister President free now?"

A fatherly-look gentleman leaves the room adjacent Miss Secretary's desk. She stands and walks out of her corner.

"Mister President." Wang walks to him.

"I have to leave now for a meeting. Do you mind if we talk while we walk?" said the President.

"Yes, sir." Wang replied solidly.

"Call my driver. Tell him I'm going down to the car park now." He turns his head to Miss Secretary and says.

"Sir, we want a raise. We want to have a bigger slice of the cake." Wang says whilst he's walking the President to the escalator.

"Why do you want a bigger slice?"

"Because ours're far too small..." Wang emphasized on the word 'ours'.

"But yours'll grow along with a bigger cake." The President gently replies and presses the lift call button while they're in the lift lobby.

"We still haven't enough to feed our families. Our families grow too, sir."

"Who sent you here? What's your name? Young man."

"They called me Wang Wang, sir."

"Who're they?" The President leads Wang to the lift cabin and presses the basement button.

"They're my colleagues, your staff, sir."

"Why don't you make your request at the human resources department? Which department are you from? ...Never mind, young man. I like you."

"I like you too, sir. Will we have a bigger slice then? Sir."

"I'll inform my secretary to make some arrangements with the HR department. Does she know where you're from?"

"She didn't. I'll tell her afterwards, sir."

"Go wait for the good news, young man." The President says as the lift doors open.

Wang follows him out to the carpark runway and says composedly, "Are you sure, sir. Don't be a liar, Mister President."

The President turns his shoulder whilst he enters a Mercedes. He pauses a little and answers, "I won't."

Wang sees the car off with bewilderment. "It's not as difficult as they said afterall." He murmurs.

Two weeks later, Wang sits on a bench outside the reception parlour at the gate of a factory enjoying the morning sunshine. A couple of workers raise their thumbs to Wang whilst they pass him by. He waves his hands back to them happily.

At noon, Wang still sits on the same bench as he's in the morning. An old lady comes hold him by the hand and leads him out of the factory gate.

"Time for lunch, Wang Wang."

Update: (27 October)

Thank you for the compliment, Veronica. I'm glad you like it.

Labour disputes can actually be handled smoothly and in harmony, though it isn't always the case. Successful deal doesn't usually make by wise guy, but honest one, with the condition that the counterpart is also honest.

I haven't made any political implication to the immediate Chinese politics, and it isn't a metaphor. It just happens that the boss' surname is 'President' and his first name 'Mister'. ;p