mypensieve

Six Months Later

2008-01-05T04:59:00.000-08:00

The New Year of 2008 burst upon the scene in style as I watched fireworks dash dizzily across the sky above KLCC - golden cascading waterfalls of sparks and stars spilling down as if into the unblinking eyes of those watching. The red umbrellas that opened up right above my head - the noise deafening yet muted by the breathtaking display that made my heart skip a beat in wonderment and hope. 2007 was simultaneously a blur of fresh experiences , challenges embraced and to-be executed projects littering my work landscape. Six months of being in a state of stretch - abilities and beliefs - imbued me with newfound confidence and stability. Like the vodka martini - shaken sometimes by my own insecurities but not stirred.. Almost no regrets - except for a sense of nostalgia for what could have been that sneaks up sometimes. It is balanced by the sense of relish that comes from biting into substantial portions of life-changing events. I pushed myself to jump and grew after every hurdle. What's even more exciting is that there's more to come in this new year..

The Awkward Age

2007-06-12T10:41:00.000-07:00

I'll be 45 in a day/s time and hopefully I will have passed this awkward age of 44 plus.This past few years after I reached the big 40, I waited for my life to begin as it was supposed to - people say so anyway..but it didnt, not in the way I imagined. It was only when I took my life and shook it by scruff of its neck, that it truly began. This past year, I've been ironing out the kinks, preparing myself for a huge step that I will take next month - leaving my comfort zone for new adventures elsewhere to begin "life anew" as a friend pointed out. I tell people I'm leaving for financial reasons but those perceptive enough ask me what's the real deal, as "I'm not the money type". After all 18 years is a long time to be a civil servant and to leave it for the bright beckoning lights of the corporate sector, seemed more a belated move if I really were the 'money type'. I made the decision based on the simple fact of whether I could continue to be of use to my organization and the answer was no. At least that was the situation six months ago when I made the decision to apply and send my CV. Now though, just as it seems I can make a difference again, I leave. I'm told to look at it this way - I'm tossing seeds of ideas and concepts here and there. Hopefully, some will germinate. I have to move on to a new field and plant and grow new seeds. This time God Willing, I will be able to see them through treehood. Looking back over the past eighteen years, I like to think that I made a difference in my own small way to this world of education that i love so much. It's a noble profession with pure objectives and the struggle to bring change, improvements and new technology was worthwhile and rewarding in itself. But when the opportunities dried up and operating covertly took its toll, I started to suffocate. This time I did somthing abt it after almost five months instead of waiting ten years like before. I looked for a place and found it and they actually wanted me! This past eighteen months both the first and second half, I can feel the awkwardness drain out of me as I stopped vacillating abt my choices and chose!There is a clarity and a courage to say what is right and follow it up with action. I'm anti NATO (no action, talk only). I say goodbye to the first half of being an early fortysomething and embrace its second half. Minus the second-guessing and dithering, I like to think I'm a better and more stable woman - who is at ease with others and comfortable in her own skin.

Tq K for getting me thru this awkward age ;)

13 June 2007

Nooks and Crannies

2007-01-15T06:29:00.000-08:00

A gold box surprise
Sweetness freely exchanged
Heady and delicious

An unexpected pairing
Questions in their eyes
Knowledge in our hearts

Dreams piling up like cushions
Tumble into reality
Becoming memories

Oct- December 2006

Teepee roofs and open sky
A beach too far in heels
A lazy Saturday

Cool breeze sliding into
Windows without grilles
Drying skin slick with sweat

Empty rooms waiting
To be filled softly, gently
With laughter and memories

Of icky hipsters
And confident bodies
Fun eye candy!

An air guitar strummed
Lyrics plucked from the air
Expressing the unsaid

A simple request
A complex offering
Inevitable choices

A moon fell in my lap
Gratitude and fear
In equal measure

Different windows
Show differing views
Of the same reality

Wind and rain skim faces
Astride speed and power
Sight, smells and sound

15 January 2007

Shall the Real Me Stand Up?

2007-01-15T05:54:00.000-08:00

I’d like to answer a question I once posed: To what extent does one know oneself? Finally, I can answer, with a measure of confidence – that I know myself quite well. I look back to the past year as one of discovery and wonder for the year 2006 was when the real me came out of the closet that had been my home for almost half my life. It took patience, understanding and great commitment on the part of those who love me to help me make this journey of self-discovery, belated for sure but better late than never..

As I step out into the light and adjust my eyes to see the world, I shrug aside the self-consciousness and self-doubt that had been a part of me for so long, like hands clutching at me, keeping me back to where I felt safe. I was so afraid that I will not be acceptable to the world I live in, that I would adjust myself and adapt to suit people, circumstances and expectations. I thought so poorly of those who love me that I believed I had to make myself worthy of their love and respect by living up to expectations I assumed they had. I behaved the way I thought they wanted to gain their approval and love ; never giving credence to what I wanted or needed – believing that their needs and mine were one and the same. The real me was subsumed within a ‘self’ that was more palatable to those around me. Even then, I rebelled and now and then the real me would slip out and spoil everything or so I believed.

What was in my closet that I stayed in it for so long? A mess actually - stuffed haphazardly with painful memories of betrayal and pain; past joys and memories that held meaning only for me; incidents of crippling self-doubt and last but not least a bevy of examples of how the real me was the root cause of all my problems. Luckily, there were always voices calling out to me insistently, convincing me of their belief in me. The only problem was that I did not believe in myself enough to not just open the door, but to step out of the closet, then to actually turn around and clear the mess, before moving on.

It wasn’t as if I didn‘t want to or recognize the need to change. It was more that I did not believe that I could be recognized as worthy of love, commitment and acceptance - until a series of events which some may describe as ‘unfortunate’ but I see now as fortuitous. HE arranged it in such a way that I had to step out and slowly but surely reach out to the helping hands and voices who always believed in me and patiently cleared my closet even though I kept turning back to add to the mess. One voice in particular and a steadying hand gave me strength and I know now that prayers are indeed answered – unexpectedly, whimsically even, but answered nonetheless.

I know now that I am worthy of being loved as I truly am – no need to cater to assumed expectations. Those I love are made of sterner stuff than I thought. Everyone makes adjustments and adapt but they also recognize their own self-worth and strive to fulfill their needs. I no longer equate the needs of my children with mine for we are all different and they are individuals in their own right. I’m able to step back and look at those I love and myself objectively and act accordingly. By doing so, all of us benefit for I am a better mother, daughter and friend, at least in my eyes..! I still slip up and shoot myself in the foot but I also recover faster..

My family and my friends are precious to me but I’m subservient only to HIM. My work is just that - work – fulfillment comes from within – from feeling close to HIM… And while I forgive, it will be a long time before I can forget. I recognize my limits but I give myself leeway to feel forgotten emotions, to savour and discover new experiences, concepts, ideas and knowledge. I try not to assume – I find out first-hand if it’s possible. At the same time I try to look beyond the literal and triangulate before I conclude.

Now I stand tall and look forward to the light that bathes my world, soothes my spirit and feeds my passion to live my life for HIM for in doing so I am fulfilled. I do realise that like climbing a staircase, I may slip and fall a few steps but as long as I keep heading upwards and stop looking backwards, with HIS Grace and Blessing, I will make it.

KS, u helped me find my voice and myself… words of gratitude will always be inadequate..

15 January 2007

Hope

2006-11-02T08:00:00.000-08:00

We search, we look, we try going out on a limb.. we strike out - once, twice yet a third time.. what makes us try again - hope that perches in the soul..regardless of storms, it preseveres. The reward - a bone deep comfort of old friends who have just met. Thoughts tossed out - lobbed back precisely. Stories shared - entered and retrieved. Dreams slumbering brought to life gently, insistently..sharing the mundane and everyday by virtue of being shared becomes special...the same OS..within oh so obvious external differences..an unexpected connection

Even if we see the ending, the journey is worth taking.No hurt only pain in exchange for comfort and joy never before experienced.. to be cherished and polished - precious beyond words.

Remnants

2006-11-02T07:56:00.000-08:00

Matching smiles exchanged
Transmit love from heart to heart
Shining on faces

Softly rain falls
Soundless only seen by marks
It leaves on arid ground

The bird swoops so swiftly
In front of the speeding car
A thrill for a life

Anticipation
warm honey trickling down
an awaiting tongue

The moon falls into a lap
‘Go away
You are too heavy’

Words tempt, cajole, sooth
Feathers ruffled stiff with hurt
words shred, hope dithers

Absolute zero

2006-11-02T07:51:00.000-08:00

Absolute zero
Is so remote and distant
Uncertainty rules

Eloquent silence
Impasse due to stubbornness,
Pride and fear of pain

Hollowness resounds
Within the vacuum briefly
Filled by temptation

Yearning for warmth
Emotions questioned
Fulfillment and closure

Choices

2006-11-02T07:31:00.000-08:00

Under a lamp post
complex yet simple
Fire and water underlying

Sand between toes
Romeo power unleashed
Soft hair between fingers

warmth seeps in to comfort
Eyes looking into souls
No fans no air-con

Heart filling up
Fueling passion and hope
Clearing away mists of doubt

Let go the bar but
Reach for the life jacket
Choices made no regrets

9&10

Against A Brick Wall

2006-11-02T07:28:00.000-08:00

To have faith, to continue to believe
In the good of man and woman
In the sincerity of actions and words
In smiles given and kindness received

Amid growing evidence
Of bad faith
Disharmony
Good intentions masking
Malice
Soothing words hiding complicity

Where do we stand
What do we do

Our problems seem small
We are not in Guantanamo
Or Baghdad
No Taliban ogres
Or insane Marines

We are in sunny Malaysia
Where the corrupt and avaricious
Lurk behind the façade
Of good intentions
Progress-driven decisions for
World class policies
For human capital

Motivated by the trivial pursuit
Of promotions, greater status,
More power, more say
Lured by promises
Trapped by greed
Our principles hide
Our values whimper
Our actions a gamble

The Law of the Few
Can we make a stand
Will it make a difference
Should we roll over
Should we stand aside

The truth of what is rotten
Cannot be denied

6 July 2006

31 August – A Day To Remember

2006-11-02T07:24:00.000-08:00

A Malaysian flag billowing in the wind of a deserted courtyard of a mission school in a sleepy town. Other smaller flags on cars, flutter like the small flags strung on a string around the school. Another stretches in the middle of a government buildingo , too small to go all the way across. On television, a Malay drama attempts unsuccessfully to examine the life of a family through the eyes of a young boy – the New Malay after 49 years of independence. A series of articles in the media and advertisements strive to remind us to look beyond the flags, to the people who fought for our independence, to look at what we have accomplished and value our country. All this, a week before the 31st of August, Malaysia’s day of independence.

Sixty years ago, a 15 year old boy joined group of young men gathered at a field in the sleepy town on the East Coast to protest the Malayan Union. Years later, the same young man would be among those who joined Tunku Abdul Rahman to cry “Merdeka”. As the editor of “Suara Merdeka”, UMNO’s voice in the early years, he played an important role in the formative years of our young country in unifying the Malays during an era where the pen was indeed mighty. All his life he fought to make our lot in life better than his, and our country better than what it was when he was growing up.He was my father and it is his spirit that I remember most when 31st August dawns.

It is a unique country we live in, so rich in many ways, so much to offer those lucky enough to live within its borders and beyond it as well. For those who felt that our shortcomings were enough to drive them from our shores, I know that they will return - sooner or later for this will always be their home. A country where nasi lemak, roti canai and kuey teow goreng (among others) reign supreme signifying strangely the point where all races meet – food! After 49 years of independence, racial stereotypes and polarisation still exist but where food is concerned, there are no boundaries of colour or creed.

The Malaysian tongue is Malay and English a strong second, sometimes first among the upper middle-class and either a second or foreign language among the rest of society. Where food unites us, language divides us – not that we don’t understand English or Malay when spoken or written but the inability to use either language well becomes a sore point and often wielded as example of how patriotic or unpatriotic a Malaysian is. It is sad that a lack of basic Chinese and Tamil is acceptable and normal in a multiracial society like Malaysia. In countries like the USA (I know this wouldn’t be a popular example, but there are some things they do right), learning Spanish is considered important in order to communicate with Hispanics which make up a sizable number in certain states. We should use each other’s language interchangeably in order to feel more Malaysian perhaps even to become more Malaysian. When a foreigner learns the Malay language, we feel gratified. Imagine the goodwill we build when we learn the language our neighbours and friends speak. In that way too, we learn to be more tolerant of the struggle many go through to learn English when they regard it as a foreign language.

Religion is very much a part of being Malaysian and we have a age-old tradition for religious tolerance as exemplified by Unity Street in Melaka and festivals that we celebrate together. Nowadays though, religion is a touchy subject what with Article 11 being lobbed back and forth like a tennis ball by groups decrying its shortcomings or using it as a platform. The freedom to practise one’s religion is in our country is both a right and a privilege that is not common in every country of the world. The government walks a fine line between preserving the rights of Muslims and non-Muslims alike to practise what they believe in while ensuring that the integrity of the official religion of the country is not impugned in any way, whether by those with deviant beliefs or those who preach to Muslims. The strange thing about this issue is that for those who give fiery speeches about how fellow Muslims should treat apostates, do they ask themselves why do people leave Islam? How effective is our system whether at community, district, state or federal level in teaching born Muslims what Islam is all about? Do Muslim communities have a support system that extends outside the family that is able to help fellow Muslims whether they are lost or found, born Muslim , born again Muslims or new Muslims?
As Muslims, we are told to examine ourselves all the time (muhasabah) in order to learn and improve ourselves. In dealing with a potentially explosive and extremely thorny issue, have Muslims examined themselves especially how they treat those who are different or those who have strayed? How have they contributed to the well-being of others be it Muslim or non-Muslim?

Let us not even begin to look into the policies, the heavily theoretical religious education curriculum and the money spent on preaching to the converted. The persistent discriminatory slant against women in terms of policies and an over-emphasis on the ritualistic aspect of Islam over the spiritual understanding of its wisdom by certain parties have alienated many. Apostasy is a symptom, not the disease. Any doctor worth his or her salt will treat the patient’s disease as indicated by the symptom. As Malaysians, we should not allow anyone to politicise this potentially explosive issue to divide us. Instead we should draw upon our tradition of tolerance and learn from other Muslim communities all over the world how best to deal with individuals who have left the religion. That after all is what we do best, look at what others have done, study the research (in this case the Quran, Hadith and Sunnah) thoroughly and come up with our own approach.

We Malaysians whether we would like to admit it or nor share common universal and typically Asian values; filial piety, respect and deference to elders, close community and familial ties, integrity and compassion among others. When these values are eroded, our society weakens. Our youth lose direction and ambition, their parents forget to lead, our leaders espouse the obvious yet contribute by their inaction to the rot that is seeping through this country. It’s a malaise that saps our spirit and momentum to strive ahead. Short-term gains are preferred to long-term constructive policies that require thought and effort. Wisdom is in short supply.

Malaysians of vision, I salute you for having the strength and stamina to realise your dreams; whether it is a vision of a better life - financial independence, freedom to travel, a dream house ( the typical multi-level marketing dreams) for we live in a country that is peaceful and bountiful and dreams when backed by determination and sweat, more often than not, can come true. There are the sounds of either birds chirping or the ‘suratkhabar lama’ call to greet us when we wake up, depending upon whether you are an early bird or laze in bed type. Not the sound of gunfire and mortar or army boots outside your door, like what others have to live with. Our children grow up replete, fed on a diet of KFC, nasi lemak , entertained by their CN and sighing over endless tuition classes they dutifully go to. Classrooms without walls, queuing up for food and clean water amid the dust and drabness of a refugee camp, seeing friends and family shot and killed in front of their eyes is not their lot in life.

Adversity builds strength of character – so a cliché goes. Are we then to deprive our children or ourselves in order to build character? Malaysians have it easy, so easy that we forget to be polite and considerate to our nearest and dearest even much less strangers. We have to be reminded to be clean and hygienic, to take our children across the road ourselves, to be safe drivers, to be honest and not fleece unsuspecting tourists, to smile – We have to be reminded of the obvious through endless, expensive campaigns for we have forgotten how to be true Malaysians.

Who are they, this disappearing breed of True Malaysians?

The Malaysian women who 49 years ago thought nothing of giving away jewellery off their wrists to finance the trip to London to negotiate our independence.

The Chinese policeman who put his life on the line and more often than not paid for it with his life by working Special Branch during the Emergency

The Malay civil servants who struggled to build establish current national institutions and systems with very little resources, thought, wisdom and a whole lot of heart

The armed forces who ‘masuk hutan’ to keep our borders safe, risking and losing life and limb - unsung heroes who gave us the peace we enjoy today

The early leaders of all races, whether at national or grassroots level who fought to unite us through endless rallies, meetings, compromising ego and spending their own money to make people believe that Malaysia can exist, survive and flourish, even if we did not have the resources to produce a simple needle

The people who looked beyond race to save lives of neighbours, friends and strangers during that dark period of our nation’s history – 13 May 1969

The teachers who served in all circumstances whether small kampungs without running water and electricity, or estates with students of all ages in one class to educate the leaders of today

The list of true Malaysians is endless if we take from the past and present. If we are not careful, there may not be any left for the future for it seems they are an endangered species...

Let us take a good hard look at ourselves, our children, our family and friends. In this life that we lead courtesy of the Almighty, we ask ourselves what can we do to be a better person, a better Malaysian who can help move this country we love out of a turbulent yet indulgent adolescence into a responsible, nurturing adulthood (in country years). Selflessness, tolerance, integrity, strength and wisdom are components of the true Malaysian’s character. Let us build upon our strengths, rectify our flaws and stop being self-indulgent. We should remember our heroes past and present and nurture the minds, hearts and spirits of our youth for they will receive our legacy. Only when we have the clarity of vision and courage to make hard decisions, carry through and maintain the momentum of change, will we be able to be in the same league economically and socially with other countries within ASEAN borders and beyond. Let us not be remembered as a country that ‘could have been great if only…’

To Thine Ownself Be True

2006-08-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

Easier said than done. What is oneself? To what extent does one know oneself? I ask myself that question everyday. The choices I make in my life are ruled by what I feel is right for me, what I am comfortable doing and saying. Going out of my comfort zone, going out on a limb, doing something out of character – to what extent is that being true to myself. I guess it depends on whether the self I’ve shown to the world all this while is my true self- do I do what I do because I have to or because I want to. Is there another side of me that I suppress, hide and deny its existence even to myself… the side that would love to dance and sing and laugh out loud, crack silly jokes, call up someone and ask them out, pack a bag and go serve in Aceh or somewhere in Africa, in other words follow the murmurings of one’s heart or stay and carry out one’s responsibilities responsibly.

Problem is, I can’t remember punchlines to save my life, can carry a tune but can’t quite dance and am not exactly immune to rejection… I have children who need me, who need to look up to me, need to see me stable and predictable and Africa is so far away,…

So what is within me – that need to love and be loved - has to be fulfilled by what is within my boundaries, within the zone that is permissible..within my own conscience. Only then will I be true to myself? I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror, I need to be able to face God and those I love.

As long as the choices I make are what I want and not dictated by what others want out of me, as long as I don’t allow myself to be used or manipulated by those around me, not change what is good in myself for the sake of others or sell myself short – I will remain true to myself.

Terry, thank u for sharing ur wisdom with me.

Fathers and Daughters

2006-08-11T09:03:00.000-07:00

Fathers and Daughters

I adored my father and he loved me unconditionally. His approval and
encouragement gave me confidence to speak my mind, to believe in
myself and and my abilities. I thought he would love me enough to
accept the man I chose for a husband and he did against his better
judgement. My husband was good to me and my family throughout the
marriage when my father was alive. When my father passed away (I was
married for 14 years then), problems emerged consistently that ended in
breakup of our 23 yr marriage.

I have a 19 year old daughter who saw what I went through trying to
keep the marriage going for as long as I did. As the only daughter,
she adored her father and refused to believe at first that her father
was capable of hurting me and the family the way he did - she was so
young then just 10. Once she grew up and saw him for what he was doing
to me and the family, she became my strength and supported me
throughout the separation and divorce. She didn't become disillusioned
with men, instead fell in love three years ago and is still in love
with a nice boy who is the opposite of her father. She did well in
school and is doing well in college.

I sometimes wonder what I did right in my life to deserve a daughter
like her. She treats her father with civility and equanimity so that
he will continue to take responsibility for her siblings and her. She
treats me with love and respect and is as protective of me as I am of
her. For one so young, she has managed to find that balance between
love and need for approval in the relationship she has with her father
- she loves him but does not need his approval for her own
self-belief.

We live and learn from each other…

A Comedy of Errors

2006-07-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

She walked in nervously into the brightly lit restaurant. “ I can’t see him” It coudn’t be the wrong place, not at this time of night. No familiar face, just curiousity written on the faces of those who glanced at her. They’re probably wondering what she was doing there alone at one o’clock in the morning, looking more anxious than hungry. She turned to her left and saw with relief the man in blue, signaling at her from the brightest section of the restaurant.

He looked familiar yet different, the suit exchanged for a casual blue shirt. He looked tired yet his eyes were alert and assessing behind the rimless specs. They exchanged greetings cautiously and she sat down opposite him, totally unsure of herself and what she was doing there. Ordering a cup of plain tea, she settled herself to study the man she knew in an official capacity . He was also the man whom she had flirted intensely with over the mobile and the net over the past two weeks. The last chat was steamy and intimate to the point of him propositioning her and she rejecting it. Being conditioned to please frustrated men, she wrote an email explaining her reasons and describing her feelings. Never coy, her honesty must have struck a chord in him. She followed it up with an sms accepting his proposition to meet and received a reply of “ I’m flattered but..” and here they are, meeting for the first time since then at his request or was it at her behest? Based on four sms requests from 10 pm to 12.30 a.m ( he fell asleep in between) and even after she assured him a raincheck was fine, the meeting seemed to be at his request.

“So tell me about Malay weddings” he asked nonchalantly, tucking into his supper of rice and fish curry. She looked at him quizzically, took the question at face value and launched into a exposition of how expensive Malay weddings are and that her children will have to earn their way and pay for their own wedding. At least, they didn’t have to talk about why she was really there. And so it went, official personas firmly in place, they conversed about work, comfort food (his was bak kut teh, hers was banana leaf rice), his poor eating habits and that after a rice meal, it should be two hours before a man can sleep. The last being a gigantic hint that he’d better stay awake for another two hours!

They walked out of the restaurant at the same time yet not together, the Malay woman in a headscarf some steps behind and the Chinese man on his own, looking back almost as an afterthought at the woman who had come to see him. ‘To know each other ‘ in the Biblical sense wasn’t possible without knowing each other in the semantic sense, at least that was her argument. Did he really want to know her in either sense of the word – that was the predominant train of thought running through both their minds.

There was seemingly no place for them to be together for a quiet chat so she suggested a ride in his car – a Honda City or Jazz, she could never tell them apart, on the pretext he can show her the road back so she won’t get lost again. In the car, he tells her he has a girlfriend who left two weeks ago for work. It clicks in her mind that would fit the first time they smsed in a non-official capacity. “I thought you believed in serial monogamy, one woman at a time”, she protested. “ He quipped, “one woman today, another one tomorrow”. She punched his arm playfully but at the same time she asked ,” What am I to you then?” He didn’t answer and she started to unravel.

The magnificent voice of the tenor and beauty of the music instead of soothing her, seemed only to emphasise the gap between them. “I listen to alternative and sentimental hits – either my children’s or my uncles’ tastes – what do I like?” she wondered, irrelevantly. “ We are so different, he has a girlfriend, what am I doing?!”

He parked his car in the middle of the road next to her small compact. She should have just said goodnight and go home and maybe the flirtation could have continued or maybe it would have turned into friendship or less. More didn’t seem to be on the cards. Instead, she made the very mistake women’s magazines invariably warn against: “she wanted to talk about the relationship” before any even existed. Plus the man was sleepy and exhausted – not the best combination for the dreaded talk. Obtusely, she plunged ahead.

“You’re new at this, aren’t you?” he said, gently.
“ Yes, which is why I would like you to teach me” she entreated.
“I’m not the one to do it. What with my schedule, it won’t work” he explained
“Why not? I understand demanding work schedules” conveniently forgetting that she had been agonising over the fact he had not contacted her for the grand total of three days.
“I’m sorry you had to drive so far but you did say you wanted to see me” he said, referring to the last email she wrote.
“ I thought it was you who wanted to see me”, she said, referring to the four smses he sent. “ I just need to know whether you meant any of the things you said over the net” – That was a big mistake. She realised it as the words left her mouth and he was looking distinctly uncomfortable. All her fears and memories of being fooled and manipulated by her former spouse came to the fore, the panicky feeling obliterating any sense left in her supposedly intelligent head. “Was it all just a game?” She just had to say it, not realising that it was always a game. The problem was just that she didn’t know the rules and that was so obvious to him, but not yet to her. He didn’t answer that question either.

“You write beautiful letters”, he said suddenly referring to her heartfelt missive, smiling gently at her. At his look, she touched his cheek and asked him again, “ Then why not continue?” “ It won’t work, You don’t need someone like me. I’m sorry”, he said firmly.

Why did he have to look at her that way? All gentle and indulgent with that half-smile, was it of pity? All she wanted was to get out of his car and go home.She had gambled with her emotions, yet again and lost, yet again. “The door is locked”. He reached behind her to open the lock. She was looking down into her hands clutching her bag, trying to control her mortification. It didn’t register in her jumbled mind until later that the car had central locking mechanism and that he didn’t have to unlock it manually and that if she had looked up, things might have taken a different turn.

She got into her car and drove off in the opposite direction to what he had shown her earlier. All she could think about was she messed up again and missed the opportunity to get to know a man who could stimulate her intellectually and physically without even laying a finger on her. But to be played for a fool again was something she could not risk, even for a man like him.

He shook his head, noting that she took the wrong direction but knew she would not get lost. “Such a little car, one bump on the highway and it’ll just roll over” he mused. As he drove back to his apartment he could not help feeling relieved. They were different on so many levels, it cannot work. Plus there was still the girlfriend. He had to admit to just a hint of regret though. “Sepet 2* was not to be”, he smiled wryly to himself.

Myroz
June 2006

* “Sepet’ - Malaysian film about interracial love story

The Rose

2006-07-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed

Some say love, it is a hunger
An endless, aching need
I say love, it is a flower
And you, it's only seed

It's the heart, afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance
It's the dream, afraid of waking
That never takes the chance

It's the one who wont be taken
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dyin'
That never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong

Just remember, in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love
In the spring, becomes the rose

By Bette Midler

I'm Yours by Jason Mraz

2006-06-25T05:14:00.000-07:00

Well, you done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but you’re so hot that i melted
I fell right through the cracks, and i'm tryin to get back
before the cool done run out i'll be givin it my bestest
and nothin's gonna stop me but divine intervention
I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some

I won't hesitate no more,
no more, it cannot wait i'm yours

Well open up your mind and see like me
open up your plans and damn you're free
look into your heart and you'll find love love love
listen to the music at the moment maybe sing with me
Ah, la peaceful melody
It's your god forsaken right to be loved loved loved loved Loved

So, i won't hesitate no more,
no more, it cannot wait i'm sure
there's no need to complicate our time is short
this is our fate, i'm yours

*scat*

I've been spendin' way too long checkin' my tongue in the mirror
and bendin' over backwards just to try to see it clearer
my breath fogged up the glass
and so I drew a new face and laughed
I guess what I'm a sayin'is there ain't no better reason
to rid yourself of vanity and just go with the seasons
it's what we aim to do
our name is our virtue

I won't hesitate no more, no more
it cannot wait, i'm sure
(there's no need to complicate
our time is short
it cannot wait (this is our fate), i'm yours 2x

no please don't complicate, our time is short
this is our fate, im yours.
no please don't hesitate no more, no more
it cannot wait, the sky is yours!)

well open up your mind and see like me
open up your plans and damn you're free
look into your heart and you'll find love love love love
listen to the music of the moment come and dance with me
ah, la one big family
it's your god forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved, loved
open up your mind and see like me
open up your plans and damn you're free
look into your heart and you'll find love love love love
listen to the music of the moment come and dance with me
ah, la happy family
it's our god forsaken right to be loved loved loved loved
listen to the music of the moment come and dance with me
ah, la peaceful melodies
it's your god forsaken right to be loved loved loved loved...

Life is Wonderful by Jason Mraz

2006-06-25T05:12:00.000-07:00

it takes a crane to build a crane
it takes two floors to make a story
it takes an egg to make a hen
it takes a hen to make an egg
there is no end to what i'm saying

it takes a thought to make a word
and it takes some words to make an action
it takes some work to make it work
it takes some good to make it hurt
it takes some bad for satisfaction

la la la la la la la life is wonderful
ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
al la la la la

it takes a night to make it dawn
and it takes a day to make you yawn brother
it takes some old to make you young
it takes some cold to know the sun
it takes the one to have the other

and it takes no time to fall in love
but it takes you years to know what love is
and it takes some fears to make you trust
it takes those tears to make it rust
it takes the dust to have it polished (Yeah)

ha la la la la la la life is wonderful
ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
ah la la la la la la life is our love
ah la la la la la

it takes some silence to make sound
it takes a loss before you found it
and it takes a road to go nowhere
it takes a toll to make you care
it takes a hole to make a mountain

ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
ah la la la la la la life is meaningful
ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
ah la la la la la
it is so wonderful
it is so meaningful
it is so wonderful
it is meaningful
it is wonderful
it is meaningful
it goes full circle

Family Ties 2

2006-06-25T04:39:00.000-07:00

Sunday dawned and the first order of business was the tent. Two yellow tents had been put up on Saturday prompting fears that the white theme had been replaced by yellow. The ice kacang vendor who was supposed to provide dessert for the wedding feast that would stretch from noon to dusk, could not confirm their presence. No one had spoke to the caterer since the initial negotiations just to make sure that they actually
remember our order. Plus, we had to add tables to make sure everyone had seats even though the plan was that guests would arrive in stages and manageable groups.

The flowers for bridal chamber still had to be arranged and the programme, script and speech had yet to be finalised. The stairs must be decorated at the last minute to avoid sticky little fingers from pulling out the organza and flowers. The table was laid with the dinner set and cutlery bought especially by my late grandmother to serve royalty. Aunts went through the house, tying up loose ends and clearing eyesores. The event was designed to be simple, intimate yet elegant. A wedding lunch cooked especially by the oldest and most experienced aunt, flower petals lining the path of the newlyweds, a simple speech by Brother No. 1 and prayer for all to hear using the local sound system and technicians imported from KL (grandsons and son-in-law), were all part of the grand design. Parking was organized and signage procured also with the help of imported free labour.

At the same time, we were experiencing mechanical glitches – a burst pipe, a faulty telephone, insufficient fans for the tent and as the day wound down to evening, the tent had yet to be decorated satisfactorily. What was worse, the tablecloths were purple but the chairs were red. Somehow, the supplier thought that we would not mind replacing white with purple. By evening, we managed to get white cloth that was used to cover the tables as two separate pieces stapled down the middle. My mother threw up her hands in despair until I suggested that we put white or cream tablespreads from SSZ and SSNun, Aunts’ home supplies; the same source for fans and even furniture and decoration for the bridal chamber The tables could only be settled tomorrow morning and the bride’s entourage would be arriving at 12 noon. But we were confident we could make it. A good omen was the arrival of Major domo's best friends who drove through the night to make it to the wedding. Even the platoon of tabligh (religious group)duly announced by walkie talkie - in their hearing - stopped by amid the preparations to wish us well.

The bridal chamber was almost done but a sacrifice had to be made. We needed runners of the same colour-white and gold for the both chairs but there was only one long runner belonging to my aunt Zaiton. The only solution was to cut the beautifully embroidered runner, imported from Syria into two. With one snip, the problem was solved amid promises that we will get a better replacement. All right, we were still in control. We tumbled into bed past midnight, exhausted yet still confident we could make the deadline, prayers on all our lips that everything will go smoothly tomorrow.

That night it rained. A storm with thunder and lightning that broke the hot spell we had been experiencing the past week. The sound system and television were outside covered by a plastic sheet. The chairs, tables and fans under the tents. Major Domo and hubby dashed out of bed and rescued the sound system and television from the rain as the plastic sheet had been blown away by the rain. As lightning flashed and thunder cracked, my brother-in-law managed to pull at least thirty chairs into the centre of the tents, before he finally heeded his wife’s shrieks of fear that he may be struck by lightning.

The casualty list tallied the next morning came to one stand fan, 20 soaked banquet chairs, one loose scallop and tablecloths that were muddied by the rain. Under my mother’s directive and direction, we tucked in our caftan sleeves, took out our scissors and cut the muddied hems of the tablecloths. The men carried the wet chairs and fan out into the sunshine to dry off. As the morning wore on inexorably to the noon deadline, aunts and cousins arrived steadily with the lace tablecloths to prettify the tables, flowers to scatter in front of the bride and groom. Sound tests were conducted, chairs dried out and slowly but surely the pieces came together. By eleven o’clock , tables were laid, food for the bride and groom’s lunch was ready to be served. However, there was one problem; the caterer was missing. Frantic phone calls established that they were on their way but the massive jam due to school holiday visitors were slowing them down. The bride’s entourage was scheduled to arrive at noon and our guests at one p.m. We had to have more time. The groom called his new family and requested an additional half an hour. 30 minutes later, the caterers arrived and a hugh sigh of relief reverberated through the family. Okay, we are go!

Once the bride and entourage arrived, everything went on smoothly and everyone knew their cue. Flower girls, usherers and guests. Even the ice kacang van finally arrived albeit at the same time as the bride's family! Once the guests were seated, food served, prayer read and speech given, all the problems we had faced seemed to melt away. Guests kept arriving and the food was plentiful. The bridal chamber was beautiful and the stairs, painstakingly decorated with organza and baby’s breath by Irina, Farisa and assistants, remained intact. I was designated to wait on the guests of honour and did fairly well even though I did miss the cue for the closing pantuns until reminded by my uncle!

There were other minor glitches but the family rallied together and presented a united front to ensure that everything go smoothly. With God’s Grace, everything did. Still, there were those whose presence we will continue to miss greatly, my late father and grandmother especially. Through it all, although tears were shed, voices raised, tempers flared, we still laughed, worked and even sang together in a hilarious late night karaoke session at the end of the day.

The moments that made this wedding unforgettable were not always the happiest ones. But the tears made the joy more intense, the glitches and mishaps made the success all the sweeter. Family ties strengthened not just through the union of two individuals and families but within our family as well.

A Special Dedication To:
Razin and Zie, congratulations and thank you for providing an occasion where we strengthened our bonds of love and tolerance. To our aunts and uncles, thank you for the unstinting support in every shape and form, To our cousins, we appreciate the time and effort taken to help us all in the greatest and smallest of ways. A special vote of thanks to Ozzy for the wonderful images of almost every member of this family. To my children, I love you all for your patience and willingness to work cheerfully. You made me look good! To my siblings and their better halves, you are all incredible and I count myself lucky and privileged to be a part of ths family. To my mother, you are the glue that binds this family together and the brains behind it all!

Family Ties 1

2006-06-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

It was a throwback to two generations ago – our grandparents were second cousins and now my youngest brother was marrying his second cousin who is also the youngest in her family. Two families already bonded by blood now bound by the marriage of the youngest son to the youngest daughter, both sharing the same profession. It wasn’t an arranged marriage. It had been a tempestuous courtship and now it was looking to be the family wedding of the year.

My mother supervised all preparations for the house, reception, guest gifts, bridal chamber, made major decisions regarding wedding arrangements and personally sent out 300 invitation cards (can’t trust the postal service). Sister No 3 a.k.a Major Domo took charge of decoration for the nine trays of gifts or hantaran for the bride and the design and look of the bridal chamber, invitation cards and envelopes. Brother No 2 liased with the workmen for the house renovation, and assisted with the preparations for the wedding feast and handed out 50 invitation cards. Sister no 1 and Brother No 1 took charge of clearing the house, preparing the bridal chamber and helped both the Major Domo and the CEO (my mother) with the overall preparations. Sister no 2 (that’s me) was in charge of the cake to be given as a hantaran and handled its transportation by road from KL to KB ( we drove back with the cake). I tried not to feel too guilty as I had sent my sons earlier as cheap labour to help with the painting, fetching and carrying, three weeks earlier. My contribution later was mainly tying up any loose ends that I could spot. It was a good thing my mum and other siblings plus numerous aunts, uncles and cousins were so efficient as they left very few for me to find.

The wedding would stretch over four days – Day 1- the akad nikah (solemnisation of the marriage), Day 2 - Family reception on Bride’s side, Day 3 - Reception for friends also on the Bride’s side and Day 4 - Reception on the Groom’s side (our event). The groom’s side basically had to make sure the gifts were ready for Day 1 and the house was ready for Day 4. In between all we had to do (seemingly) was make ourselves and the gifts, look pretty! The wedding photographer was appointed through nepotism - a cousin-in-law who has been a part of the family for a mere 10 months. Discreet and perceptive, he captured images of family members and events; candid, touching and thoroughly professional.

The day of the akad nikah ceremony arrived faster than expected and we rushed to get ready only to discover the groom struggling with his sampin, surrounded by five of his siblings. After organising the trays of gifts in order of importance and the women of the family to carry the trays (only those in yellow), we were finally ready to go once the groom’s sampin was satisfactorily tied. The bride’s home was 10 minutes away but we were still late by eight minutes which is early by normal wedding standards. However, the imam was already in attendance when we arrived.

The ceremony was held on the sprawling grounds of the bride’s home where the bridal dais , a small guesthouse and white, canopied tents for guests were part of a garden party theme wedding. The trays of gifts were handed over by the ladies in yellow to the men in blue from the bride’s family and arranged on the beautifully decorated bridal dais.

The groom sat down surrounded by the menfolk from both sides and the ceremony began immediately without the normal rehearsal with the imam. The already flustered groom paused a little too long to the dissatisfaction of one witness and had to repeat the akad statement or vow. With the completion of the sermon and the prayer, the akad nikah was over and my youngest brother was a married man. The bride was sequestered in the guesthouse and her signature duly sought by the imam for the marriage certificate. After shaking hands with his new father-in-law and uncles, the groom turned to the most important woman in his life; his mother for her blessing.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of photographs with members of the family on both sides. My eldest son who was suddenly designated as best man, became a third wheel and managed to squeeze into some photographs. As it meant being around his new aunt who was looking radiant, duty became a pleasure indeed.

Time to get out the lace dresses in shades of pink for the bersanding ceremony or the family reception on the bride’s side! The glittering bridal dais and the grounds transformed by the fairylights, impressed guests who came from near and far. The merenjis ceremony where guests of honour sprinkle the newlyweds with rosewater and bunga rampai to signify their blessing for the union was followed by the cake cutting event. The groom struggled to saw through the heavily iced cake only to sigh with relief when the photographer signaled for him to feed the bride with whatever crumbs he managed to pinch through the icing.

We came in force, whole families to celebrate the union; parents and children of all ages for everyone knew that this was the youngest daughter and nothing would be spared to make this a very special event. Plus everyone knew that the bride’s mother would definitely serve the scrumptious fruit tarts that guests would sneak into napkins as extra dessert. Ladies in pink lace of all shades and men in maroon or
shades of red

As the formal festivities ended and the bride and groom left the dais to say goodbye to the guests, our family took the opportunity to take family photographs. There were so many of us, it had to be taken by category , gender and age restrictions! Siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews posed boisterously until someone remembered the newlyweds should actually be in the photos. A son-in-law was despatched to fetch them and they smilingly posed with a myriad number of relatives until it became too late to continue. We left in high spirits, laughing at those who smuggled out the fruit tarts and at ourselves for taking over the grounds and bridal dais that night.

In fact, upon arrival at home, family photographs continued to be taken to capture everyone dressed in their best. Lipstick and makeup assiduously reapplied, we took family photos well into the night. We still had one more day befor D-Day.

Good days and Bad Days

2006-05-30T02:47:00.000-07:00

Is life meant to be lived moment by moment? I have learnt to savour positive moments in my life as it unfolds and take little snapshots of an expression on my children's faces, as they argue or joke with each other, a look on a friend's face engrossed in conversation, a hug freely given and received... a sunset over the water, a hermit crab scuttling on the sand, the sight of the sarawak river winding gracefully amid abackground of clouds and mountain..moments that cleanse the soul of past moments - both bitter and painful

An sms conversation that banishes loneliness, a brief encounter that's filled with promise and uncertainty..more questions than answers. a friend's comfort and laughter. moments that seem to contain hope.. Amid the hope and uncertainty, reality intervenes..images of tragedy and destruction.. the pain and suffering of those who have lost loved ones under tragic circumstances.. what do we do? how can it affect them? we just do what we can - through prayer and money and self? that's a choice we make. But the good moments , the good days carries us through the bad days.. As long as hope continues to perch in the soul.. we can treasure our good moments - our blessings - simplistic but necessary when the immediate future seems hazy, filled with challenges and promise.

Marriage (one woman's opinion)

2006-05-30T02:14:00.000-07:00

Marriage
Is the difficulty of giving up what you'd like to do
and feeling less yourself
and a woman
often becomes less herself
in order to become more a woman

To a woman marriage
is a protection
for her who cannot afford the high price
and the high risk
of living with her own identity

Zurinah Hassan

This poem appeals to me as amid all the hooha about failed marriages and misyar marriages, sometimes we tend to forget that marriage comes at a price especially for Malay women. While this is still only one woman's opinion, it may be shared by others though men sometimes feel that this is a negative view of marriage. I feel it all depends on the relationship - if it'sone that encourages and support mutual growth, nurturing and loving, then ok, this view of marriage doesnt apply. But many Malay marriages I know, the wife sacrifices so much and manages her household[ juggling career needs and children all to make sure husband is fed, house is orderly, children organised and man of the house's needs are met. I don't see the same sort of focus on the spouse's happiness or comfort or family given by Malay men. Their focus seem to be more inward, their satisfaction and needs supercede that of the spouse. A generalization perhaps - but there is a lot of truth in it. People talk abt ' wanita melayu terakhir' or the 'last Malay woman..' . I wonder whether there is a true Malay man out there would prove this hypothesis untrue. I have met exceptions and they are truly exceptional men, very comfortable in their skin, devoted to their wives and family. Not perfect but true to the tenets of why marriage is enjoined in Islam as a completion of each other, ' to wear each other' and family is all important. 'Marriage' espouses one hypothesis i wish would be proven untrue..

Lessons

2006-05-06T04:18:00.000-07:00

Where there once was trust - the sting of betrayal takes its place
Where there was hope - disillusion abound
Where there should be courage - now only fear exist

Then came a ray of light,
bringing warmth and hope
to a shrivelled heart

Open the door
Let the light in
Hope and courage
come on over

but fear stays the hand
feeds the doubts
the memories of the betrayal
clouds judgement
and shuts the door

it's dark again
the expanding heart
shrinks again
despairing
of continually repeating
the pattern
allowing fear , doubt and pain
to rule

no way back
the light is gone
but a spark is lit
from the depths of the heart
from the hope that lingers
from the memories
of the warmth
and brightness of the light

Have faith
Heed the lesson
Stay the hand
Feed the hope
The heart shall receive

6 May 2006
SJ