Tag: Writers Writuals

Written in the early hours of September 29th

Before the holiday languor sets in, it'd be best to put my thoughts down for the tag started by the ever indefatigable Ms. Elviza. First of, I feel privileged to be chosen, among the illuminated few, to complete this tag. Echoing Jacq's sentiment, intimidation looms large as I looked at the list of other taggees.

Their lilting prose - Elviza's included - captures my imagination and inspires me to write better. They say to write well, one has to be well-read. Far from discounting the power of insatiable reading, I would also like to stress that having a fiery passion for writing is just as important to produce a seminal manuscript. Without the requisite passion, every dream we plan to achieve would dissipate into an air of mediocrity or perish on the tombstone of What-ifs.

As an eager aspirant, I have many hurdles to jump, may lessons to learn and many, many books to read (Only God knows how many books I've accumulated over the years). Thus, I'm immensely grateful for any help that I could get from anyone or anything.

(1) Where are you?

By the soft glow of a bedside lamp, I'm scribbling this lying in bed with my two favourite people sound asleep beside me. It's close to 2 a.m. and a spark of writing ideas keeps me from falling into REM sleep.

(2) What are you writing with?

Let me see...Faber Castell True Gel in Black. Please don't cringe people. I'm not that finicky when it comes to my writing instrument - as long as it does not hinder my movement on paper, that would suit me just fine. Also, I'm currently using a Starbucks Notebook which I had procured at its joint in The Gardens' Borders for a very good deal indeed. For a RM30 worth of purchase, I'm a proud owner of a sleek black notebook. Its front sturdy cover is embossed with a soothing silhouette of leaves branching out purposely in a desultory manner and this pattern is repeated on every other page inside. I figure it's more motivational to write in something I strongly identify with (Starbucks!), rather than the nondescript, uninspiring notebook I found in Popular bookstore. Besides, I've decided that I am not yet prepared to smear the almost hallowed papers of Moleskine with my illegible drivel.

(3) What is the oddest object in front of you?

It's a toss-up between the rabbit-and-sheep baby mobile right above me and the oblong-shaped floor lamp at the foot of the bed. Both are from Ikea. Go figure.

(4) What are you listening to?

The calming ambient sound of the night - the whirring of the ceiling fan and the snoring of people who matter. I must write in a relatively quiet environment for the so-called juices to flow. Otherwise, my train of thoughts will be halted or divert to other fleeting interests.

(5) Is there anyone else in the room?

Yes and no. Two persons but they're fast asleep. Being a full-time mother, I have to slot in some uninterrupted hours to write. That happens either late at night when everyone else has gone to Slumberland or early in the morning after the husband leaves for work and my girl is still in bed.

(6) What time of the day is it?

It's close to 2:30 a.m. and I'd better get some shut-eye lest I'd be cranky and unable to function tomorrow! Ah, the folly of writing. Your moments of somnolence come second for the sake of the craft.

(7) What do you look at when you are looking for inspiration?

Any breathtaking scenery would do. Once, I was overcome with sheer contentment just by looking at the panorama of the well-preserved, tree-lined road of Jalan Ampang. This is the part of Jalan Ampang that runs from Public Bank Headquarters right to Renaissance Hotel. Stuck in a jam, various adjectives entered my head as I attempted to describe the scene in its most deserving tone and nuances. This is, at least for me, a great way to build and retain one's vocabulary. The object of my musing can be either inanimate or animate such as a ravishing person.

(8) What is guaranteed to remove your concentration?

That would be the onset of any physical ailments like a headache or a throbbing knee. But, with a degree of much certainty, I'd say it is none other than my darling 2-and-half year old daughter whose tantrums are getting impossible by the day.

It's 2.45 and I'm off to bed.

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Here's wishing my fellow readers, friends and relatives a very joyful Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri (or Eid Mubarak in other parts of the world). Maaf Zahir dan Batin for everything that I've done or said, or conversely, neglected to do or say.

This blog will resume its original programming in about a week's time.

Till then, have a safe and meaningful Raya with your loved ones and eat to your heart's content! However, like in other things that we do, always practice moderation :)))

Buying into the Frenzy

Being the undaunted mall rats that we are, Friday evening was allocated to lounging in KLCC shortly after digesting our victuals and performing Maghrib prayers. The journey there however proved to be longer than expected since the KLCC’s entrance via AKLEH (Ampang-KL Elevated Highway) was closed off for reasons unknown to self-proclaimed urbanites like us.

We only entered the Jalan Ramlee’s entrance close to 9 p.m. and were shocked to find the parking areas were full with automobiles at such late hours! Some people had even haphazardly parked at non-designated parking spaces – the way ingenuous Malaysian drivers always do – as long as their newly created spot gives others in the vicinity barely enough room to maneuver out of their legit spots. We scoured for an empty lot before settling into one which was considered off our beaten track. Sadia had napped (if you could call it as one) from the car so we were relieved to sit down in San Francisco Coffee for some quiet downtime.

As parents to a hyperactive toddler, moments like this do not come very often and must be savoured in its entirety. With the back of my neck resting comfortably against the soft texture of the ample booth and eyelids half-closed, I gazed at passersby whose number seemed unabated even nearing the closing time. What possessed them to still descend into KLCC at these odd hours? Have all of them, God forbid, become mall rat extraordinaire?

Turned out, the Isetan three-day special anniversary sale starting that day was the source of fixation for overzealous buyers. I had received the flier (Na, I sincerely hope it’s printed on recycled paper! ;) ) on the aforesaid sale but upon suspecting it would be just another sale, put it aside after skimming the pages. It didn’t occur to me that it’d be the mother of all sales that even convinced the KLCC management to close one of their main entrances.

From the looks of it, people were rushing like mad to grab on to any bargains that tickled their fancy. I must compliment Isetan and other customer-savvy establishments for their smart thinking and putting up a sale that caters to Muslims’ Raya preparation. The atmosphere, buzzing and frenetic, vividly recalls, of all things, the late night Christmas shopping in Den Hague (The Hague). In Holland, shops close as early as 5 p.m. during the weekday and save for the big cities, most are not open on Sundays in line with the recommended rest day. However, contrary to popular beliefs, the Dutch know how to have fun and relax the rules come the holiday seasons – be it winter or summer. Shops stay open as late as midnight – unheard of in this side of the continent – enabling customers to shop to their hearts’ content for SinterKlaas day and Christmas.

Back to the home ground, with the exception of the infamous and ever bustling Jalan TAR which is open for business right up to the morning takbeer of Raya, I haven’t come across any other which capitalises on this mammoth-size buying frenzy happening during Ramadan.

If the malls (or renown departmental stores) would provide a special day to help the average citizens in their inexhaustible search for the essential Raya kit – traditional (and modern) clothes for the adults (and children), kitchenware, furniture and fittings – they would be in for a very profitable treat. However, bearing in mind the religious significance of Ramadan, the proposed day can either take place a week prior to it or within the first week of the Holy month. The beauty of this arrangement is that people can drop by after their terawikh prayers and even enjoy their moreh at a nearby favourite café. How nifty is that – to be able to kill two birds with one stone?

As for the opponents under the banner of wastage, I ardently feel it is such a gratifying experience to spend a tangible something on loved ones on such a joyous, annual occasion like Eid. Rather than splurging unnecessarily for the rest of the year, Eid is the most opportune time to lavish them and reinforce the importance of family. By the by, our economy would also greatly benefit from this domestic spending. Don’t you just love all these spillover effects? See, that’s more like killing four birds with one pebble. Or, is that five birds worth? All this talk about birds sure does whet one’s appetite. Burung puyuh goreng* anyone?


*Deep-Fried Quail.

Ramadan on My Mind

We have already passed the halfway mark of Ramadan. Time flies really fast when you are, well, fasting. At least, in my tiny household, it feels that way. Unlike last year, I have made a mental note to brace myself from missing this Holy month once it draws to an end. When Syawal arrived in the previous year, I experienced a sense of loss borne mostly from not fully reaping the bounties available throughout Ramadan. This year, while my supererogatory (‘Terawikh or Tarawih’) prayers have not been up to par as they were during the bachelor days, I have noticed a marked improvement from last year which makes me one happy woman. After all, I received some great advice on the best way to appreciate and savour Ramadan – it lies not in the number of rak'ahs you perform, but in the sincerity of your heart.

Come two more weekends, we will be on our way home, God willing, to Kuching. As accustomed, we would be celebrating the last few days of Ramadan there and fly back to KL in the evening of first Syawal.

Then, it will be back to the maternal family tradition of Raya house-hopping on the second day with a convoy of cars making their way to relatives’ homes in the order predetermined almost two decades ago. And the last home on the block would be, more often than not, my parents’, serving non-Raya goodies for a change (read: fast food like Pizza, KFC or McD). Raya’s third is the culmination of our maternal family’s celebration of sorts, with a larga-scale Open House (‘Rumah Terbuka’) at my grandma’s place where all the maternal relatives – houses that we have visited in the first two days – and close family friends congregate to eat and socialize. And but of course, to exchange the customary Duit Raya – coveted Ringgit notes in rectangular (or square) packets, not unlike the Angpows doled out during Chinese New Year.

Somehow this Ramadan, I am reminded of the past, specifically when it comes to making and keeping friends. I came across something online that made me question what it means to stay friends with certain people and to sever ties with some others. In the middle of the spectrum are those who, for one reason or another, do not want anything to do with us.

Plainly speaking, they hate our guts as we somehow manage to, without much effort, rub them the wrong way. It is as easy as appearing in front of their face. Eyes start to roll and people begin to scamper. No matter how hard you try to suss it out, you cannot account for this critical level of disinterest in your person. “How come he/she doesn’t like me?” More to the point : “How come he/she doesn’t like me BUT likes X’s company?” “What makes X so special?”

(Granted, I already wrote in a post earlier this year that one could not really explain how some folks rub one the wrong way. It’s just beyond comprehension. Thus, I am merely relapsing into self-pity, so please bear with me. :P)

Like the shortsighted goon that I am, I hastily dug into the distant past when the issue of preference recently cropped up involving a familiar set of people. My mind flashed back to the time when I felt alienated just because I didn’t subscribe to the same cliquish mentality that was required back then to remain relevant. I distinctively remember how alone and lonely I was during these formative years.

Yet, as I calmed down and set my sight on the present, I believe, cliché as it may sound, there is a lesson behind this burgeoning albeit foolish desire to be accepted. Why would I want to lose a piece of my identity, sacrifice the idiosyncrasies that make me who I am today, merely out of the communal pressure to conform? In the words of my trusted confidante, “I don’t care if someone doesn’t like me. It’s not MY problem. It’s theirs.” How so very true.

In the spirit of maintaining the kinships – cyber or otherwise – that I have formed and cultivated over the years, I would like to apologise for all the unreplied comments on my previous blogposts. Save for an erratic and unreliable internet connection of late, I have no valid excuse for not responding to these comments (It seems like ‘Zero Internet Connect’ is this generation’s version for ‘The Dog Ate My Homework’). Alright, I blame it all on good old-fashioned procrastination, what with the political strife that has been plaguing the country. Half-Kidding.

With the prospect of further breakdown in online communication (plus, the exponential rise in my sluggishness), I’m taking this golden opportunity to also seek forgiveness for any wrongdoings that I have inadvertently inflicted on anybody. May your 1429H Eid be wonderful as ever and be filled with loved ones and delectable food.

Affairs of the Heart

What started out as a innocent conversation over tea turned into a surprising revelation of epic proportions. On a cool late afternoon after the forces of nature had died down, a person whom I have known for a long time intimated that she should have known the signs of her troubled marriage long before it spiraled out of control.

The trusted confidante, who has seen me through my lowest ebbs and highest peaks, confided that her marriage was a sham even during the early years. She found out too late that her husband was seeing another woman - an old flame, a high school crush - once a month for lunch. The news of the woman's untimely demise somehow unwittingly compelled the husband to speak the truth of their trysts.

He had mentioned this in a manner so matter-of-factly that it pierced her heart; as if it was his every right to do whatever he pleased without acknowledging or thinking the consequences on the people he was supposed to love and cherish for a lifetime. I could see that my friend was choked with emotions as she recalled this pivotal moment in her relationship. A relationship that had blossomed from many years of friendship that should in themselves provide her with a strong inkling of a person’s character. Or so she had grievously thought.

My friend believed that incident was the turning point in her marriage - she slowly yet surely closed herself out from the husband. No more would she share the tidbits of her daily lives when such a gesture was far from being appreciated, nor was it ever reciprocated. She – the picture of candour and honesty – too realised that her partner's continual lack of disclosure and openness in their relationship would be the cause of her undoing. Every lie, cry and heartache inflicted an irreparable damage on her psyche.

The lunch trysts, as it turned out, were the prelude to other wanton liaisons to come that would haunt her for the rest of her lives. Each unsavoury episode whittled away any desire to fight and save her marriage from falling apart.

If it were not for the children involved in this tragic union, she'd just leave in a heartbeat and start anew. Alas, she, who doesn't believe raising the kids in a broken home, has become the sacrificial lamb in the delicate matters of the heart. She'd rather grin and bear it than seeing her children suffer from the effects and stigma of a divorce. What she didn't count on by staying put was her children’s keen ability to soak in the troubled domestic scene and sense the emotional turmoil hampering her every happiness.

Ironically, they would be embittered still by the slew of deceits being played out daily by their father and grappling with the proverbial concept of trust that at times eludes them in their respective relationships.

Like a broken record, he had promised to turn a new leaf at some point of their marriage - at least that’s how it sounded in the throes of anguish and regret. But, like a leopard that can never change its spots, he hooked up with another woman with whom he could allegedly channel a more rugged and younger personality.

Like a straw that broke the camel’s back, my friend came unglued following this latest scandal and cast any remnant of her feelings to the howling wind. Inured by the endless pain, she reckons this is the best way to handle a situation that is fast becoming an incessant drag on the remainder of her lives.

I admire her for the innumerable strength that she has mustered in dealing with these real-life nightmares. Some may say that it is never too late to leave but let’s just say she has her reasons. A declining health and lack of proper educational background are some of them.

Thank you friend for shedding the light on the depths of your sorrow. Now I truly comprehend the extent and long duration of your suffering. I pray the best for you in this life and the Hereafter.

Mad over Macaroons

Give me a macaroon and I'll be at your beck and call; Shower me with a boxful and I'll be your trusted confidante for life.

When my dear husband came home from his exhausting Pan-Arab trip on August 26th, the only yet wonderful thing that he got me was a box of macaroon. Make that - a delectable, scrumptious, heavenly box.

At long last, my craving for macaroons was sated.

I was beyond excited when he texted me that he had found Paul at one of the megamalls in Dubai during his extended layover there. And that he promptly purchased two big chocolate-filled macaroons without a second thought.

Sure, there were other material things worth buying - in truth, nothing had really caught his fancy what with the seasonal autumnal colour being grey, grey and more grey - but only macaroons captured his heart and not to mention, epicurean senses.

Alas, when he thoughtfully presented me with the lovely macaroons that Tuesday, I resisted the urge to scarf them down in one sitting. In fact, it didn't take much effort not to eat them. My flu was in overdrive - I couldn't even smell the blessed thing, what more to savour every biteful.

So it was towards the weekend that I only managed to sink my teeth into these French confections. I'd better relieve myself from further gastronomic torture by putting to rest this protracted longing.

Notwithstanding the vestigial trace of my stubborn flu, I relished the thick, creamy filling and the crumbly, rich chocolate discs encasing it. Love was definitely in the air. I'm in patisserie heaven.

Months of deprivation, my palate instantaneously welcomes the bittersweet fudgey cocoa which complements the flakey, meringue texture of the macaroons nicely.

Word of advice to the curious foodie : macaroons are best eaten at room temperature and as such, please allow your refrigerated pack to first thaw the chilling effect. Having savoured this French delight at the Paul kiosk in Charles Du Gaulle, I must say freshly-assembled macaroons is the only way to go.

With Paul's unfortunate foiled plan to expand its wings in Malaysia and the short-lived franchise of Singapore's Bakerzin locally, I eagerly cast my eyes now on the Hong Kong-based Paul.

Yet, there is always Singapore to satiate my pining for other macaroon variants. I'm more than adamant to make that trip soon.

Until we cross paths again macaroon, I'll dream of you in my waking and sleeping hours.