Of Anamcara and Wedded Bliss

I haven't updated as much as I would want to. Nowadays, life revolves mostly on the kids and the big change in my life - we have finally moved house. I will write more on that when time permits. For now, I'm sneaking a post as it behooves me to at least record this momentous period in my life. For the sake of posterity.

Yesterday, a Hari Raya Haji, coincided with my five-year wedding anniversary. Yes, it is still in the ONE digit territory, but a significant moment nonetheless.

It is safe to say that we have learnt so much from one another in this short span than what we have had known from years before getting married and as close friends. At least, that's how I feel. As the saying goes, you only know your partner - sometimes a little too well - when you start living with him.

The five-year mark echoes this belief fervently and reinforces my philosophy that one needs to maintain an open line of communication in order to get the message across.

An endearing someone once told me that I should thank my lucky stars to marry my own best friend with whom I am able to talk about anything under the sun. Somebody that I could let my guard down and let go of false pretenses. While I am grateful to find an anamcara (soulmate) that completes the puzzle, I still have to learn to walk deftly and graciously along the fine (tight) line that separates respect to one's friend and that to one's spouse.

For instance, there are certain things which I might pour out messily and emotionally to a friend that I would not tell a spouse. However, since the line is blurred in my situation, I have no way of knowing whether I have made a right decision in telling my dear husband. So for us, it is a matter of trial and error, such it should be with other areas of a person's life. You learn from your mistakes and resolve to bring the damage under control whenever possible.

While life has currently been a mad rush from one place to another now that we have a house to fill and a cherubic baby boy by our side, I am glad that we have taken some quiet moments to reflect on what makes us tick and what makes us fall to pieces.

Thanks Ying for the wonderful, memorable, life-changing five years of conjugal bliss and I pray for our continuing happiness and longevity in this beautiful union alongside our equally beautiful children. Thank you dearest for loving your idealistic yet loutish wife who is prone to histrionics. :)

Here's a song that comes to mind (those fainthearted are strongly advised to skip this part lest they feel queasy to the stomach :D ) :



You're Still the One ~ Shania Twain

Looks like we made it
Look how far we've come my baby
We mighta took the long way
We knew we'd get there someday

Bridge:
They said, "I bet they'll never make it"
But just look at us holding on
We're still together still going strong

Chorus:
(You're still the one)
You're still the one I run to
The one that I belong to
You're the one I want for life
(You're still the one)
You're still the one that I love
The only one I dream of
You're still the one I kiss good night

Ain't nothin' better
We beat the odds together
I'm glad we didn't listen
Look at what we would be missin'

(Bridge)
(Chorus)
(Chorus)

I'm so glad we made it
Look how far we've come my baby

Real Life Part 1

We were in the neighborhood 7-Eleven the other day and in came this lady in her nurse uniform wearing a facemask that is ubiquitous in this H1N1 day and age.

It was the lady's turn at the counter and she was holding up the line chatting up the male cashier who seemed more than happy to entertain the woman. Must be a regular customer, we deduced. Well, chatting up is a rather mild term to use. Flirting immoderately is more apt.

"I sakit lah" "Tak tau lah kenapa" "Pening kepala lah!" "Tak larat lah!"* The body language, the tone of voice and the demeanor all suggested an inappropriate flirting session was on the agenda. I mean, people (and young children) are lining up to pay, for goodness sake!

Even after she had paid her items, she stood on the vacant side of the long counter and continued talking to the guy who instantly became distracted in the process. Hello! Does this look like a place to pick up guys? There are kids around, you know.

At some point during the unexpected queuing, a group of trannies waltzed in to make a purchase. So when it was their turn at the counter to pay and the lady nurse remained glued to their left side, the following took place :

"Kesian-nye dia sakit"# said one of them, sizing the nurse up and down. The lady nurse glanced at 'her' to acknowledge the sympathy, but looked displeased at the unwelcome interruption to her conversation.
"Agaknya H-1-N-1 lah"+ said another in mock concern.
"Bukan H-1-N-1 lah, G-E-D-1-K lah,"~ was the sweet clincher from the first person.

And in unison all the Maks laughed out loud at this delicious comeback. Their trademark shrill could be heard long after they sashayed out of 7-E together. The nurse must be in utter disbelief at this clever snide remark as she turned uncharacteristically quiet behind that medical mask. Even the prospective boytoy cum cashier couldn't help but to smile widely. Unfortunately, the nurse had a quick recovery time and returned as per normal to her hapless prey.

Sad but true, a Gedik will always remain a Gedik!

As for us, we thoroughly enjoyed the Maks' in action against that serial cougar flirt.


-----------------------
* "I feel ill" "Dunno what's wrong with me" "Oh, what a headache!" "I'm just not to it!"
# "Poor her, feeling sick"
+ "Maybe it's H-1-N-1"
~ "Don't think it's H-1-N-1, it's G-E-D-I-K!

Note : Gedik is a Malay word for an annoying and excessively form of flirt most prominently displayed by women.

Wanderlust

I shouldn’t take such a long time to update my blog. While I have been busy attending to the ‘babies’, it must not always be the default excuse to abandon this space. The truth is I have not been inspired to write.

Abroad, I was exposed to a motley assortment of experiences that would see me rushing to share it in my blog, particularly with my beloved folks back in the homeland. I love to experience new cultures and explore foreign places. How their way of lives differs from mine, and in turn, how I go about acclimatizing to this new environment without compromising my beliefs, identity and integrity. (In a previous entry, I mentioned fearing a change in geographical location arising mostly from this unavoidable issue of having to adapt and fit in. That aside, travel is my middle name!).

With my kindred spirit, Amy in New York City, June 2002

I love to travel, but I am not the loner sort of traveler. I need companionship to savour the moments with. And being married to someone who shares my passion for the wanderlust befits my thirst for adventures. That is not to say, I have the proverbial itchy feet, ready to take flight at the slightest temptation. On the other hand, I would not hesitate if I have the financial means and no other ‘baggage’ to fuss over.

Nowadays, I have a sense of obligations to my growing family. It is no longer the equation of two people in my tiny universe. There are FOUR of us now and I must take that into account before journeying into any unfamiliar territory.

Of course, it would simply be uplifting to relish those trips only with my other half, but I can’t bring myself to leave them behind at such a young age. I believe there is always a time for the two of us when we find ways for it in our daily lives. Besides, bringing the children in our travels makes the experience richer and more rewarding.

With my darling Sadia in Paree! July 2007

Going by my earlier premise that I look to traveling as my muse in writing, I would like to stress yet again that this keen sense of adventure naturally heightens the urge to regale others of my intoxicating discoveries, the kooky locales and the vibrant flavours in these countries.

Sure, I have traveled locally and met with a few interesting characters along the way, and even unearthed some hidden treasures and niches. But over time, its similarity and monotony leave little to the imagination, and much less to report, especially if you visit the same spots again and again.

Lest someone calls me an ungrateful lot, I must quickly add that it is always gratifying to have the means and privilege to enjoy the local wayfaring two (or three, if I’m lucky!) times a year. I am just saying nothing much surprises me anymore.

I want to see how other people across the globe live and prosper. How their life experiences, societal norms and cultural mindsets can enrich my own perspective. I love to visit the ruins of ancient civilizations and absorb the new, alien surroundings around me.

With 6-month old Sadia in Delft's Saturday market, September 2006

I am a rabid observer of the socio-cultural and geographical kind. Perhaps, it is never too late to dabble in a bit of anthropology. I wonder if Travel & Living Discovery Channel would consider sponsoring a 30-something mother totting two small children around the world. And I don't think my husband would mind at all if I were to fluff the resume up by mentioning that my other half was a geology major - one never knows how handy that will come 'on the (travelling) field'.

Change is Gonna be Good

Let’s face it. I am never that amenable to change. Sure, it’s the small changes that I can swallow; not those hard, hit-you-in-the-face kind of changes. If you recommend that I should change my hairstyle, I would be game for it as long as it doesn’t end up augmenting the roundness of my face. Or if you like me to try out this new food craze – in other words, change my culinary habits – I am more than happy to dive in. Like the next person, however, another proviso also applies in this gastronomic case: make sure it is always on the cooked side!

Ironically enough, even for some people my abovementioned changes are difficult to undertake and impossible to attain. They are either so entrenched in some lofty, structured ideas or set in their conservative ways that plunging into the unknown is an inconceivable proposal. In the end, I do believe that a change in itself is purely a subjective matter.

For me, changes that give me the heebie-jeebies run along the line of matrimonial ties, geographical location and new addition to the family. Even though I knew those changes were imminent, I was never able to fully comprehend the expectations behind and the consequences arising from them.

Recently, as most people may already know, I gave birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy. Everything was hunky-dory from the moment of delivery right up to the first day I was back at home. Well, hunky-dory might be pushing it – it felt more like I was in a daze from the time my water broke to the time I exited the hospital with an infant cradling in my arms. As I had predicted, I took a sudden turn to being lachrymose. Tears streamed down both cheeks without a prior notice. Some people might hastily attribute it to postpartum fatigue or something of its ilk. It was a combination of a number of factors. But uppermost on my mind at that time was how to divide my attention and affection on two children. I was grappling with the fact that I am now a mother of two and I need to adjust to this new, foreign concept.

I wondered if I was neglecting my firstborn by focusing my energy on the newborn. I was worried how she would react and cope with this new person in our lives. If she would feel abandoned and less loved.

Less loved? Can you even love a person less? Isn’t it a matter of absolutes – either you love or you hate?

Other than that, I was afraid that I would miss the routine that I had indulged with Sadia alone. Going to the playpark in the morning, watching the television together and reading her storybooks at night. And how I irrationally feared that I would gradually forget the familiar smell of her hair by concentrating fully on the baby.

Initially, we observed that Sadia was wary and surprised even, of the sudden appearance of this cherubic creature. She did know, in some toddler-like level of comprehension, that I was pregnant and there was a baby in the tummy. Perhaps it did not dawn on her that the day would finally come when the baby would come out. After all, I was sporting a watermelon-sized tummy for 6 months (yes, I was ‘showing’ very, very early, no thanks to lax stomach muscles (read: uncontrollable eating)) that in children’s world, must seem like forever.

The first two weeks saw her trying to emulate her little brother by wearing mittens and socks and insisting on being tucked in with a blankey, not unlike a swaddled infant. My heart went out to her. Is it her way of bonding with the baby and making sense of the baby’s presence? Sadia was also curious enough to observe, participate in and even mimic (thanks to the aid of her small baby doll) every mundane chore like diaper-changing, sponging and burping the baby.

I still remember the first night when we got back from the hospital, trying to figure out the sleeping arrangement for the four of us. Sadia was adamant that she must sleep next to me and burst out crying with the new house rule. She was trying to fathom what was about to take place and its ramifications on her position as the previously only child. With the two children flanking me on the right and the left and Yayah on Sadia’s left, we slept in perfect harmony (minus the night feeding) from thereon.

Naturally, Sadia would oftentimes show her jealous streak and attempted to squeeze in while I was nursing. Or she would insist that I stayed with her on the computer games when the baby cried his lungs out for a top-up. But at the end of the second week, I could sense her growing affection towards her brotheras she would sniff his hands whenever she got the chance and became upset when a visitor jokingly announced that he or she would be taking the baby home.

In retrospect, the three of us were coping and adjusting to Saeif, also known as either the milk guzzler or ‘Big Fella’. Now that he has turned two months old, the adapting continues. Sadia has slowly come to terms with the youngest addition to her family and, sadly I have to leave her to her own devices at times – playing computer games and watching television – as I run about finishing domestic tasks and breastfeeding Saeif. Her temper tantrums have worsened in some instances, but she remains loving of her brother. My husband and I also have to be on the constant lookout and remind her to be gentle with Saeif as she can be one rough and boisterous girl. The currently cooing Saeif, on the other hand, loves all of our ‘vocal’ attention and doesn’t seem to mind Sadia’s ‘manhandling’ at all.

As for my ambivalence in embracing the big change in my life, it had dissipated as soon as I took charge of my situation and acknowledged its reality and limitations. Besides, with poo of explosive nature, pee launched from a seemingly erratic projectile and smelly diapers mounting, I have no time to overanalyse these new sensations and instead enjoy them as God has intended it for me.

And most important of all, the distinctive smell of Sadia's hair still lingers in my nostrils alongside the new, welcome scent of Saeif's hair.

...And Baby makes Four *

(* shamelessly borrowing from hubby's FB status update)

Praise be to God, our son Saeif Tufail was born on 14th June at 0031 hours. He weighed in at 3.52 kilograms and 50 cm in length. My twin sister quipped that he's the heaviest so far among our parents' grandchildren. With Saeif, there are presently 10 grandchildren in the Mohammad Ali clan - five boys and five girls altogether.




Labour-wise, it was less stressful and a relatively fast procedure. I was more than glad hubby made it in time to hold my hand and offered the much-needed emotional support. Even though I had to spend some time alone due to the lack of domestic help, the ME-time had helped to calm me down and contemplate on some familial matters. Words of gratitude and thanks go to my loving mother, my Kak Long and her three girls in tow for entertaining Sadia in the ward room when I was in the throes of labour.




Now I am safely ensconced at home under the privileged care of one delicious confinement man and at the beck and call of one heavy milk drinker. It has been Day Four of Confinement and I am already hoping that my nose has shrunk to its normal size. The rest of me will take some time though. :)



Today saw me being pummelled and twisted by a traditional masseur ('tukang urut') who even provided some rempah for drinking and bathing. The one-and-half hour session rejuvenated my senses that I am the only one who has yet to take the afternoon nap. Coming dears!

Pregnancy Journal 3

I have planned to write the third installation of this pregnancy series today as I while away my weekend at home, but God in His Infinite Wisdom, has other plans.

Presently, I am writing from the Labour and Delivery Room (LDR) in the hospital as my water broke earlier this morning. At first, I had thought it was my bladder going awry since I never experienced a ruptured amniotic sac during the first pregnancy. When the water refused to let up, however, we decided it was time to head to the hospital.

After an extremely uncomfortable internal exam, I was told to walk around in order to let the labour progress faster. I did that for less than 10 minutes and the laptop beckoned.

So how has the third trimester been for me? Very, very exhausting to say the least.

The protruding tummy makes it hard to sleep, causing me some sleepless nights. And the extra heat from carrying a baby resulted in me breaking out in heat rashes on my stomach, upper arms, shoulders, neck and collar bone area. My linea nigra is, however, not as noticeable compared to the first pregnancy. On the other hand, my belly button has been pushed to its extreme limit that my ob-gyn even commented that it looks herniated!

As the baby grows bigger and turns into the head down position, I find myself walking slower as it becomes painful to move in that familiar hurried pace which I am used to. The loosening of the pelvic joints also contribute to the pain radiating from the nether regions.

Emotionally, I have been plagued with doubts over my ability to take care of a new baby and a toddler. I have been constantly tired and the prospect of having to fend for two children overwhelmed me. Do I have what it takes? I am afraid of becoming one of those angry parents who vent out on their kids when things go wrong in their lives.

I am also worried of the change in my relationship with my firstborn. But all these are to be expected. I know I should have covered all the bases when I first learned that I was pregnant. I am only human and tend to relapse when things get rough.

With my immediate and extended support system, I am reassured that things will fall into place, albeit one small piece at a time. There's no need to rush things. A lesson I have learnt well.

It is almost 20 minutes to 8 p.m. and the contractions have gotten stronger after a dose of pessarin tablets. I'd best concentrate on this pregnancy and recite some supplications. Oh Lord! Please give me the strength to go through this delivery smoothly and safely. Amin.

Birthday Dedication (Albeit Belatedly)

Dearest love,
Two days have passed since your birthday. It's a milestone in a way - It's probably the only time I am heavily pregnant during your big day.

Thank you for the wonderful dinner on your birthday, although we could well do without Sadia's unpredictable antics that night. Let's celebrate again this weekend, although work might get in the way again as you need to clear a lot of things before the OTHER big day.

Thank you for being the best friend a girl could ever have and for understanding the nuances of my emotions all these years together. It's my fervent desire to be as attuned to your needs and feelings as you have been with me. Thank you for being my life partner, soul mate and my MAIN cheerleader. You have tempered my angst through your patience and witticism. You're the voice of reason when I need a second opinion.

On this *ahem* birthday of yours, an evergreen upbeat song came to mind. Remember the car ad long time ago with this song on the background and how I was gushing over it? And that the song being featured in one of your favourite movies, Parent Trap (the Lindsay Lohan version)?

So before I go off tangent, here's one for you, Ying. I pray to God that we will celebrate more of our birthdays together. InsyaAllah.


L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore can

Love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it
Take my heart and please dont break it
Love was made for me and you

L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore can

Love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it
Take my heart and please dont break it
Love was made for me and you
Love was made for me and you
Love was made for me and you

Chicago, Chicago! - An Abridged Memoir

When the Facebook* community enticed me with a quiz which would 'analyse' and disclose one's so-called inner nationality, it came as a surprise when my result turned out to be American. I sniggered to myself at this particular irony. While I admire some American clothing brand names, I do not agree with a string of values which serves as the American way of life. As for the quiz's result, I conveniently chalk it up to either my child-like candour or my trademark bluntness. Or both.

Frivolous quiz aside, my first reaction upon seeing this result was : Time to go back to Chicago. Yes, a resounding yes, Chicago.

The crisp, Midwestern air caressing my exposed skin as I strolled the Navy Pier boardwalk fronting the iridescent waters of Lake Michigan. The breathtaking Magnificent Mile along which I sauntered during a beautiful Indian Summer day all the way down to the Water Tower area to slake my sweet tooth at the Ghirardelli ice-cream parlour. The delicious, piping hot churros sold by a street vendor somewhere on State Street in the dead of winter was always a welcome distraction from Chicago's notorious wind-chill factor. And the large expanse of an outdoor man-made ice-skating rink across the prestigious departmental store Marshall Field's (much to my surprise, it has now been renamed Macy's) has become a seasonal tradition that both cityfolks and out-of-towners immensely enjoy once the Midwest wintry weather turns bearable.

How I would love to go back! Back to revisit the youth of my past. Where self was discovered, principles perfected and feelings blossomed.

So how did an Indiana-based Malaysian student end up traipsing in the Windy City? Easy - when you were the only Malay Malaysian student in college freshman year, you would find ways and means to escape the humdrum and loneliness of campus life. What made it easier was the number of Malaysians living in Chicago at the time, studying or otherwise.

Like the late bloomer that I am, my love affair with Chicago started somewhat in a similar manner. In the beginning, I went to visit my good gal friends from the same batch studying in the University of Chicago and was introduced to a slew of Malaysian students staying in a nice neighbourhood on the South side. I forgot the exact whereabouts of the whitewashed house, but I remember it was a two-storey corner lot and had changed hands many times throughout the four years of college. These students were attending the University of Illinois at Chicago, DePaul University or Loyola University.

Being naturally friendly folks, they made me feel at home. That somehow I felt belonged. Most of them were older than me and it was nice being pampered as the 'adek' or younger sister. Unfortunately, troubles brewed in some hushed corridors that I found myself being sidelined from the mainstream. Perhaps some people found my adek 'sister act' a bit dragging and immature, but I would rather have dissatisfaction or complaints made about me being said straight to my face as opposed to the roundabout, gossipy way. At one point, I did lose faith in the general Malaysian community and decided to keep things at arm's (and superficial) length.

As dusts had settled above the fray, I was relieved to find out who my real friends were and suffice to say, they have remained my friends till this very day. In retrospect, I admit I do need those experiences in order to grow into a more matured individual and a less naive one at that.

On a non-political and geographical front, I grew more intimate with Chicago through these close friends who showed me good, clean fun whenever I came to town. Being adventurous foodies, we were always in search of great places to eat with the proviso that they were on the halal side. It was fairly difficult to find such a place back then in downtown Chicago, but we persevered and held on mostly to a seafood (read: tuna sandwich) and vegetable (read: spinach & cheese) diet. Alternatively, we would travel up to one of Chicago's suburbs, an ethnically-diverse neighbourhood called Devon Street to obtain one's prized halal meat and try the various halal eateries there.

Another reason that saw me frequently in Chicago was to meet with my officer-in-charge at the Malaysian Student Department (MSD) located in Evanston, Illinois. As recipient of the Public Service Department scholarship staying on campus, I was entitled to a measly monthly stipend as opposed to a full allowance given to those living off campus. The amount given was a mere pittance and through discussion with my MSD officer, I procured a monetary assistance by counting the number of days I were to get out of the dormitory during the respective Spring and Winter Breaks. Those days allowed me to gain back some money as provisioned to those students living off campus full time.

In order to get to Evanston, one has to take the Red Line all the way down to Howard station before changing to the Purple Line and stopped at Main station. And as fate would have it, my hubby - one of those aforementioned close friends - was attending the illustrious 'Wildcats' university in Evanston. Those Chicago trips therefore gleefully let me kill two birds with one stone. Or so went the official excuse. We got to meet up for lunch, movie, coffee or a bit of shopping. It was also him who introduced me to the other side of Chicago - The Field Museum, Shedd Aquarium, Adler Planetarium and my personal favourite, The Art Institute of Chicago. I also came to love Evanston - the epitome of a great college town, unlike the one I attended back in the sleepy town of South Bend. Our ritual of ending the tête-à-tête with a cuppa and the signature coffee cake at the quiet cafe in Borders, located across the Water Tower was something I looked forward to every single time.

The MSD reason, however, faded into obscurity towards the end of my studies as I grew more attached to my hubby cum friend and my MSD officer returned to our homeland and was replaced, much to my chagrin, by someone more detached and business-like.

With the passing years, I had become so accustomed to Chicago that I could walk down the streets alone well-knowing where things and places were. Or so I thought. One unpleasant incident during my junior college year shook my confidence and brought back with it a sense of wariness which taught me to be more diligently on my toes. One gloomy Fall day, I was on the bus en route for a transit to the Red Line, after leaving some Malaysian students' place on the South side. At first, I did not notice anything that would set off any alarm bell as my mind was preoccupied with a personal matter. Later when I entered the train, I saw the same two African-American men - one heavyset and the other SnoopDog spindly - who were with me from the bus. They looked glum as if something menacing was up in the air. And my gut feeling told me I was going to be their target. I panicked for a while as I was imagining the worst - knife point and all the gruesome details.

When a familiar station was coming up next, I decided to exit the train. On hindsight, I shouldn't have inched closely to the door as they would know where and when I was leaving. But I was visibly terrified for my life! In a matter of seconds when people were lining up to hop off the train, I found myself being sandwiched by the two men at the door - one blocking my way to exit and the other behind me - and quickly tried to pry myself out of a potentially dangerous situation. Luckily, there were other people there as possible witnesses. As soon as I was on the platform, I sprinted out of the subway and hid inside the crowded Marshall Field's, hoping I had lost their trail.

When the coast was clear, I tried to find my wallet as I wanted to get something to eat. Lo and behold, it was gone! I believe in the midst of the train struggle, one of them picked my knapsack and stole my wallet. They had probably checked where I had stashed away the wallet when they did their 'recon'. On the spot, I bawled my eyes out. Alone in a foreign land with no money, I felt hapless and helpless. After regaining my composure, I called from the phone booth the nearest Malaysian working couple who lived in an apartment downtown. Thank God I had some loose change with me and that I remembered their number. Walking quickly in the twilight hours towards their place, they offered some much-needed assistance and sanctuary from the cool, autumnal breeze.

Notwithstanding that black day (no pun intended) in my student life, I was (and am) still enamoured with all things Chicago. Like that haunting Madonna's tune, it used to be my playground. Twelve years on, fun memories in Chicago continue to flash now and then. The time is ripe for us to relive those memories with new members of our small family. Many things are bound to change in that time period, but I am determined not to be disheartened. After all, a new mall is opening at 108 North State Street (also known as the Block 37 site) with its 400,000 square-feet worth of retail space to explore. Enough said.


* This is where I spend a bulk of my free time, thus explains why I am out of blogosphere for such a long time. The addictive, mindless entertainment of Facebook has really gotten me hook, line and sinker.

Circa 1993-1994: At the Adler Planetarium with the panoramic Chicago skyline in the background.

Interlude: Things I Cannot Do

Before I get back fully on the bandwagon, here's a brief teaser :

For the life of me, I cannot :

(1) Use chopsticks. I'm not as ambidextrous as I would like to believe.

(2) Swim. After failing to convince myself to jump into the deep end of the pool as part of a girls-only swimming class, I am not so keen to take any more lessons anytime soon.

(3) Eat any type of fish roe. Cooked or raw. No thank you, caviar!

(4) Bungee-jump or parachute, even though I love the adrenaline rush of theme park rides - especially roller coasters! So let's stick to roller-coasters, shall we?

(5) Ice-skate, but would like to learn very much.

(6) Snap my fingers.

(7) Whistle. I can wholly empathise with Tigger.

(8) Do the Cartwheel. I used to be able to do a handstand, once upon a time.

(9) Do the Vulcan handsign. Now that Star Trek is in vogue again, I had hoped my fingers would be more limber with age. But as (1) demonstrates, it is only wishful thinking.

(10) Bring myself to abandon blogging for an indefinite period. Hence, that's why I'm back... :)


Image borrowed from here.

Rites of Passage

I do wonder if blogging has become passé for me. I can hear some gasping in the background as I utter that sentence. Is it even blasphemous to let such a thought cross my mind?

Should I go the psychobabble route and explain the inner conflict that I'm currently battling? Having the penchant to write long (or long-winded, if you may) posts, I won't be contented with my halfhearted effort of a short entry.

On the other hand, I must always remind myself that I'm writing for myself and my own satisfaction; not for a certain audience. But who am I kidding? Of course, there is an audience in mind when you blog. Unless you keep a private online journal where only you know the password or you disable the option for people to comment.

While I hardly call myself a seasoned blogger - what more, a well-known one - I do appreciate the comments and responses that arrive on my site. I just realise though that I have not been replying the comments ever since the turn of the new year and for that, I'm truly sorry. It's easy to blame it on fatigue and sheer procrastination, but going back to my original premise - has blogging turned into a lusterless enterprise after years of indulging in it?

Probably it's just me who is feeling this way. Most of the times, I'd rather become a silent spectator than leave my mark in several blogs just for the sake of stamping my presence.

Let's hope I get my groove back when the moment counts. What moment? Beats me.

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On the last weekend of March, we went to get a haircut for Sadia in GE Mall in conjunction with her entering a play- cum preschool. Actually, we didn't expect the haircut to transpire as the first trip late last year was not so successful with her whining about hair getting into her eyes. Back then, except for the occasional yelping, she didn't shed any tears.

But by the time we exited the play area of Kidzgym that lazy Sunday, she pointed to the adjacent kid-friendly hair salon and demanded her promised haircut. Oh she remembered! Since her dad just got a haircut the weekend prior, she wanted one herself. I think she's fascinated with the concept of a salon to cut hair when one of her parents usually go missing for a short diversion during those mall trips.

It's the only time when one of us could get a decent trim. Sometimes we are lucky; she'd be napping and one of us would while away at a cafe with a snoring Sadia whereas the other succumbs to the will of a ruthless hairstylist.

Like parents, like daughter. :)

So we doubled back into said salon and patiently waited for our turn. There was already one tearful girl on the hot seat and a bevy of salon staff fussing over her like there's no tomorrow. The hairstylist was the least amused by the girl's lack of cooperation, but he remained outwardly calm throughout.

I was afraid that Sadia might be affected by the girl's tantrum, but surprisingly she was raring to go. She took her place on the special 'toy car' seat, holding a toy bus in her hand and let the female hairstylist did her magic. The lady asked us if we would like a slanted bob for Sadia and we agreed. It's her shortest hair yet.

Save for the intrusive fringe cutting which she disliked, everything else went smoothly. By the time she finished, the other girl had yet to complete her hair transformation having changed the location of her cut several times inside the salon!

All of us were happy with the new hairstyle, notwithstanding the price that we had to pay!



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Her first day of playschool started on the first week of April. It's a once-a-week basis for one-and-half hour and located quite a distance from our place in Ampang. My husband and I like the small class setting - maximum of 10 kids per class - and the copacetic learning environment.

During the introductory class, Sadia was apprehensive of the new and unfamiliar setting and insisted that I stayed with her until the end of class. I assented as she was full of anxiety the night before her class started. She was throwing tantrums and trying to get a chance to cry. In turn, I was worried if she would be able to cope.

In spite of our mutual concerns, Sadia tremendously enjoyed the lessons and activities on offering that day. At storytime, she participated when the teacher asked her what's happening in the book's narrative. She followed instructions well and loved the scheduled playtime at the school's indoor play area.

My husband and I also find the teacher's natural enthusiasm and exuberance appealing to the children. She's larger than life, that lady. :)

Last week which was the second week of school, I decided that I must get out of the class as early as possible lest Sadia got accustomed to having me around all the time. One of the points of playschool was to instill some form of independence. I asked the teacher the best way to go about it and she went to Sadia's side and assured her that I'd be outside in the waiting room while she's in class. Sadia listened intently to what the teacher said all the while making faces that ranged from uncertainty to confidence before finally uttering one word that carried much significance : Alright (or in her case, Awwight).

I hastily took the cue and left the room in tears. Tears welled up in my eyes and refused to stop. It was the first time I ever let go of her and emotions (not to mention, pregger hormones) began to overwhelm me.

In a bid to regain my composure, I called my husband and even read the What to Expect book in the parents' waiting room cum reception area. At times, I snuck a peek at Sadia who was painting alongside her tiny classmates in the Painting room that connects to the waiting room. I have separation issue, so sue me! :D

When the children marched back into the waiting room to be reunited with their guardians at the appointed hour, Sadia looked both pleased and happy with the class. The teacher informed me that she didn't ask for me at all. Great! (I think).

We thereafter walked back to the car and I asked her how her class went. She told me what went down and immediately requested that I read the Ladybug storybook given to her inside the car. She couldn't wait any longer. Stomach rumbling from a delayed lunch, I willingly obliged. Anything for you dear.

(Grand)Father Figure

As the month of March draws to a close, I promise myself that I'd write a piece of a paternal nature. Alas, time is not on my side as I find myself feeling easily tired and travelling more extensively in March.

It is the significance of March upon which this post revolves. Or so I told myself. But it won't make it less meaningful had I written it down in another temporal dimension.

People always say to me that the kind of affection and love one gets from a grandfather is vastly different from that of a grandmother. They dote on you in a special way. I wouldn't know. I never had one.

Both my grandfathers - maternal and paternal - passed away by the time I knew what role a grandfather entails. If my memory serves me correctly, my paternal granddad died within the first three years of my life. As for the maternal one, his demise took place before my parents got married.

I am always intrigued by the notion of a grandfather. Am I missing something because I didn't have one? I like to observe the bond between any grandfather and his grandkid(s) and see how they get along. In a way, I live vicariously through their interactions.

Growing up without one means I have to make do with bits and pieces of information which I gathered from numerous sources. Due to the distance and lack of access to materials, I am not privy to any information about my paternal granddad. No one really talked about him, at least not in a dialect understood by me. Has he become a mirage of the past?

Conversely, information about my maternal grandfather abounds. Everyone seems to be talking about this great man. He is a force and authority to be reckoned with. Highly respected by friends and foes, he had garnered a loyal number of followers everywhere he went.

My maternal granddad ("Datuk") is a political man. His strong commitment to the profession translates to long trips away from home - Kg Baru - in order to serve his constituency. The area he represented was somewhere in the northern territory of Selangor - Kapar and thereabouts. Back then when the trunk roads were the only mode of travelling, these journeys could stretch to many days and weeks.

Whereas I don't even know how my paternal granddad looks like, photos of my maternal granddad are aplenty considering his works as a politician. *With a road and a boulevard named after him in Kampung Bahru and Klang respectively as well as a school in Kapar, I can't help but to feel proud to be related to such a formidable man. Full of integrity and charismatic, he has all the makings of a great statesman what with his host of selfless contributions to society. I believe our current crop of aspired politicians should follow his strong work ethics.

All good things must come to an end, unfortunately. In some cases, earlier than others. After coming back from a work trip in Taiwan, my granddad complained of chest pains and coughing fits. Only when things got worse that he sought medical attention. By that time, it was too late. He had contracted a severe case of bronchitis and passed away in the hospital. His infamous chain-smoking habit didn't help in making a turnaround either.

Everyone was devastated by his seemingly untimely passing. He was considerably young and at the prime of his life. Yet, Allah knows best. A thick pall hovered the Hamzah household that fateful March 1st, 1970 and continued for many months to come. And for some people, years went by before they snapped out of their funk.

My mother recounted experiencing a gamut of emotions ranging from anger, sadness and finally to acceptance. Angry because he had left her abruptly and later when the realisation set in, she shed some strong tears. She told me that everyone was particularly worried about her as she was close to the deceased. My mom was daddy's little girl. But surprisingly, she managed to muddle through just fine.

On the contrary, it was my grandma who became heavily distraught when she cried profusely for days on end and barely ate in turn. And everyone thought she was the strong one. She remained calm through the funeral proceedings and only let herself go after the dust had settled. I was informed my Nenek was in a mourning state for several years and how her health was subsequently affected.

Due to my grandma's condition, my mother had to be in charge of the household and even took over my Datuk's non-executive position in one company.

Other poignant memories following the death of my grandpa include the times when one of my uncles kept playing his flute ("seruling") while sitting by the side of the gates as if waiting for him to come back. Mama said he usually played the seruling waiting for my granddad to arrive home from work. My aunt, who was 10 years old at the time, remembers seeing the late Tun Abdul Razak Hussein dropping by to pay his respect during Datuk's funeral.

I may not know my Granddad, but I believe he was indeed a dignified man to be loved and fondly remembered long after his departure from this life. He has left an indelible mark, more so on those who have not met him in person.

So it was on Sunday, March 1st 2009 we - the Hamzah clan - congregated at my aunt's house for a potluck in memory of the late Datuk. Though he is no longer with us in the physical sense, his spirit was palpable in the room where we feasted on nasi lemak, roti bom and other local favourites.

Nowadays when I see my father in his role as a grandfather, I am blessed to have him around to make a difference in our (read: my siblings and I) kids' lives. The way he dotes on them through small treats, unexpected gestures and undivided attention encapsulates the unique figure that is a Datuk.

A grandpa I may not have; but reliving the stories through others' cherished accounts of him does strangely make up for lost time and opportunity. May he rest in peace till Kingdom come.


*note: Amendment made to Paragraph 9.

Singing in the rain

The blaring sound of the karaoke system pierced the night's solitude and entered the sanctuary of my cosy hotel room. This followed by my husband's text message declaring it was karaoke time by the beach.

His team-building commitment saw us spending last weekend on a seaside resort which, I might add, has seen better days. While I take my hat off to the refurbished works within the hotel room, the pygmy-sized bathtub left a lot to be desired, among others, making 'cleansing' a cumbersome task.

Alas, I am digressing. That night, the cacophony that was people's singing voices conjures memories of a distant past. My thoughts flew back to the time of my primary school in Kuala Terengganu when I was auditioning to be in the all-girls school choir along with other eager candidates. I remember when it was my turn to step on the platform and vocalise the "Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do". It should be a cinch, comforted this wide-eyed wonder of a girl inside me. As it turned out, I even managed to botch a simple feat as that. To make matters worse, my two sisters - the eldest and my twin - were chosen to be part of the choir! I was devastated and felt being left out of the fun. Bummer. Whereas they got to go to different schools to compete and even appeared on National TV (RTM), I remained glued to my seat and became a mere spectator.

They say childhood experiences shape and nurture how we turn out later in life. Thus, when it comes to singing, I always believe that I suck. This perception has been ingrained into me ever since that fateful day in 1984.

I'd become conscious of singing together with my sisters lest I'd sound off-key. Moreover, people's facial expressions - imagined or otherwise - when I 'performed' never lie and become a (faulty?) barometer to which I gauge my so-called singing prowess. Eventually, I came to accept that I could not sing.

Despite the vocal weakness, I still love music like the next person, particularly songs from various musicals. I would normally hum or sing them in my own company. "Singing in the rain" is a favourite solo number. With sheets of rain accompanying my solitary walk and no one else to judge, I feel strangely at ease and let go of any inhibition.

Being married to a naturally-gifted singer that is my husband should have further affected my singing confidence. On the contrary, my other half shares my passion for songs - musicals included - and we often break into familiar tunes together. (Side note: I guess that's another reason why I married him - I can be myself and be spared of all pretensions :D ). He doesn't belittle*; he offer tips to sing better. Sing in your natural voice, he'd say. That evidently worked, in most parts.

Life has a funny way of changing how you look at things. The arrival of our bundle of joy three years ago found me getting over my singing jitters once and for all. To soothe her to sleep, I'd make some lullabies up that brought her straight to Dreamland. It's probably the sound of my voice - her mother - which drew in the yawns. She sensed the security and warmth, knowing I was there. And yet, I felt wholly satisfied and contented that she enjoyed my singing. That's what matters most.

In that instance, my hang-up about singing in public completely dissolved. I have found the audience and adulation that I ever really want.

As for Karaoke-ing, I don't mind taking a stab at it, on the condition that I attempt it with my closest and dearest. With them having small baggage (read: small children) to haul around, it is a long time coming before that day arrives. :) For now though, I'd happily oblige warbling duties either at home or inside a moving vehicle.



* He can be a tad patronising in other matters, but that's a different story. ;)

The State of Inducement

We were having our customary quiet dinner - my husband and I - last January when he alerted me of a BBC article which caught his interest on the phone's RSS feed. He showed it to me and the memory of it came flashing back.

It is a news article about the rise of labour inductions in the UK to which the researcher could not "find a medical or other explanation for the procedure".

Reasons for induction included the standard medical reasons as well as social factors such as living a long way from the hospital. But 28% of cases remained unexplained.

The timely findings simply floored me. Here I was thinking that mine - and those sharing the same doctor with me - was an isolated case. Evidently, it does happen in other parts of the developed world.

After choosing Practitioner A ('PA') for my first baby, I had heard stories from reliable sources that he likes to induce labour. Since I was a first-timer when it came to giving birth, I didn't actually register what this induction actually entailed. I had prayed I wouldn't be in the same boat as the others who were supposedly induced. That mine would come naturally one night - the water breaks and with that comes the onset of labour. No such luck. I was induced.

Looking back, I might have done it differently. I would hold my ground and said "No, I'll wait it out". 'It' was referring to the possible mild contractions that I might be having for several days before the BIG day finally arrived. Alas, I was a scared woman who depended and trusted her obstetrician to do the best thing. However, little did I know that PA was doing what was best for HIM.

To tell you the truth, I felt cheated. That's rather harsh. Perhaps 'ill-informed' is a better word. We came in to see my doctor the day after I found a small trace of blood while in the toilet. He said my cervix had opened about 2 cm. When PA said I could be feeling the contractions for days on end, I was afraid. By coming in early, I had thought it would help in alleviating the anticipated pain. I was wrong. No pain was forthcoming despite the application of prostaglandin in the nether region.

After a night full of anxiety and sleeplessness, I woke up early in the morning without any signs of labour. They tried the procedure again but to no avail. By noon when PA came to visit me, he looked glum by the slow progress and informed me that he might have to perform a C-section if my cervix were not ripe enough.

I was crestfallen. A Caesarean is the last thing I wanted done. It was only after I was rolled into my room that the contractions started taking place. The frequency gradually picked up that I was rushed back to the delivery area of the hospital, before I could even enjoy the cozy room. Following an internal examination of said cervix, he artificially ruptured my membranes using a crochet-like hook called Amniohook. A lot of water came gushing out thereafter. It's almost like a waterfall.

It was so surreal that it felt like I was having one of those out-of-body experiences. A gush of water tinged with blood - that is new. After cleaning up in the bathroom, PA later suggested that this would be a great time to think of pain relief i.e., epidural since the contractions would be stronger now that my membranes had been ruptured. We assented to the procedure.

I remember the anesthesiologist burrowing into my spine to insert the epidural catheter tube (Post-labor, hubby said there was a considerable amount of blood involved, but he didn't want to alarm me). Everything was a blur from this point on. I was exhausted from lack of food and the series of events that I drifted off to sleep. I must have slept for a long time since it was already dark by the time I came to. Apparently, I was having a fever and shivering badly as a result of low blood sugar level that the midwives quickly opened my blanket and introduced something intravenously.

I fell asleep again and woke up in excruciating pain. The epidural effect had worn off and caused me to feel those major contractions. God only knows how bad they were. I yearned for some pain medication and fast! The same anesthesiologist arrived after what seemed like an eternity and topped up the dosage. As it took some time for it to take effect, I writhed and cringed in pain (Wow, it does seem that I have a low threshold of pain :) ).

By the time the numbness took over, my cervix has sufficiently dilated for a vaginal delivery. The bad news was I couldn't feel any sensation that was needed in order for me to push! With the aid of a midwife and encouragement from my hubby, I did push. In a manner of speaking. I couldn't feel I was pushing, but I 'acted' it out with all my might.

When I opened my eyes after several pushes, PA had plonked my baby in front of me. She was beautiful with big, beady eyes. While the doctor stitched me up, hubby began to intone the adzan.

Moments later when Sadia was already sent to the nursery room, I hurled to my heart's (stomach's?) content. That was obviously the after-effects of epidural. Luckily, it was mostly water-based since I hadn't eaten much.

As you can see, the protracted labour had wreaked havoc on my system - physically and emotionally. I checked in at 8 p.m. on Wednesday and Sadia had only come out of the womb shortly after midnight on Friday. To say the least, it was exhausting! I recall arriving home and started weeping. I was overwhelmed with the new role to be assumed and bushed from the laborious labour.

Thus, my contention is that I go for as natural as possible kind of birth this time around. I'm resolute. No more unnecessary long and stressful stay in the hospital. As Ms. Macdonald of the Royal College of Midwives asserted in the article, "it was important that women knew why induction was being done". In other words, the practitioner had better spelled the word out clearly so that the patient, especially first-time mother-to-be, knew what to expect.

"We are very interested in trying to support normal birth and ensuring an intervention is done only when it's absolutely necessary."

I can't agree more. Here's to natural childbirth!

Pregnancy Journal 2

Written last Friday between 8:30 a.m. and 9:50 a.m, before I went to see the ob-gyn.


It has been a while since I put a pen to paper. The previous two entries won't count as they are merely fleeting surveys into my psyche (although I did spend a lot of time on the first survey).

I am writing while lying supine on this comfortable, cool bed as Sadia's light breathing and the revolving fan accompany my scribble. And yes, the occasional kicking in the tummy also punctuates the tranquility, so to speak. Sleep continues to elude me these past few weeks. Coupled with lethargy, the erratic mood swings and worrying undoubtedly bring on the insomnia. Thus, the reason for this belated rambling.

My gestation period has now entered its 23-week. The baby is thriving and so is this protruding body. For one, I cannot believe how large my belly has become. Secondly, I am almost reaching the weight that I was when I gave birth to Sadia! With 17-odd weeks to go, I must cut down the snacking - not that I snack frequently as attested by my hubby - and keep to my regular daily meals. Well, that obviously includes teatime. :)

I put down all the healthy weight to the fact that I am carrying a boy. Alhamdulillah. They say pregnant ladies tend to put on more weight when it's a boy. I take comfort in these words, despite its scant scientific backing. (Note: My doctor later informed that since I had conceived the baby at a higher weight vis-à-vis the first pregnancy, it's futile to make a comparison. :) )

I have to agree with another point - joining 'the pudding club' with a toddler in tow has its set of challenges. Particularly when you are a stay-at-home mother with no access to domestic assistance. There were times when I just want to nap my fatigue off, but my clingy tot insisted on playing with her. Sadia is the type who needs people to be around when she indulges on her toys. Save for those rare moments, she no longer naps in the afternoon which consequently takes a toll on my aching body. On the other hand, we have mulled the idea of pre-schooling to which Sadia is enthusiastic about. However, this fussy (not to mention, protective) mummy has yet to find one to her liking.

Once I had sat down with Sadia for a trial session in a preschool and witnessed the teacher roughly handled a four-year old. I recoiled at the thought of the same happening to my kid. The stern-looking teacher wanted the girl to form the shape of the letter B with her arm. When the girl became stiff and grew inattentive, the teacher got frustrated and, in an angry tone, swiftly flexed the girl's arm into action. Predictably, the girl cried much to the teacher's (feigned?) surprise, and she in turn tried her best to console the hapless girl. Probably her harsh demeanour brought me back to my former schooling experience, but the truth of the matter is I find her teaching method unpalatable.

Else, it is just my maternal instinct kicking which refuses to let my girl go after being under my care for so long. Let's just see how the other schools fare in my strict estimation.

As for me, the physical ailments such as nausea, dizziness and knee pain linger. The nausea, I notice, is usually triggered when I take my food late. The worst part of it is my flaring temper which seems to resurface every time I am tired. Naturally, I would feel awful afterwards when the storm has been unleashed. This pregnancy has so far taught me many unforgettable lessons on patience and controlling of emotions.

Lying sideways to the left, my eyelids have now become heavy. My little angel is still fast asleep. It's time to heed the body's call to recharge. Any spectre of worry that comes my way must wait. While it's true time waits for no man, life is what happens to you when you stop worrying.


p.s. It seems like this journal will be on a trimester-basis. For the first one, please go here : Pregnancy Journal 1.

Firstborn Tag

(First published in FB's Notes on Wednesday)

I was tagged by the lovely Ms. Suri whom I had met via blogging. :)

1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED? No, I wanted a baby right away due to the age factor.

2. WHAT was your 2nd choice name or your opposite gender name: We were only mulling over possible names after we found out we're having a girl. Her name evolved from thereon. Only towards the end that one name stuck in our heads and we both agreed to it.

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS? Excited and humbled!

4. HOW OLD WERE YOU? 30 going on 31.

5. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT? Interesting that you'd asked. There is actually a long story to this, so please bear with me :) . I'd been anxious about getting pregnant ever since tying the knot. After six months of nuptials and still no baby, I tried not to be so hard up for the stork's arrival. In late June, I experienced what akin to a stomach flu and was prescribed some medicine. I had thought I was 'late' because of the antibiotics given to me then.

Again, when 'it' didn't come for what seemed the longest time and the home kit was negative, I went to see two doctors - first, one near to work and later on, one near home. The tests taken in both clinics still turned out negative. The second doctor even told me that some women could mimic pregnancy symptoms when they are so desperate to get pregnant. She suggested I took some pineapple juice to stimulate menstruation. I was crestfallen.

I had contemplated taking the juice when I realised that I slowly grew aversive to coffee. I couldn't bring myself to drink them. Something must be VERY wrong! I LOVE coffee!

Purely out of instinct, I called hubby and asked him to meet me at Twin Towers Medical Centre after work (I had a business meeting in town that day) for another test. We were ushered to the big waiting area until the result was out. The curt male doctor suddenly appeared in front of us and said 'Ah, positive. Come!' No smiling face. Just a matter-of-fact, serious expression. We were first dumbfounded by his contradicting sullen declaration. Then, the word finally sank in. POSITIVE? Alhamdulillah! That was a long, harrowing one-month journey to discovery.

6. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST? I sent a mass sms (text messages) to my parents, siblings and close friends.

7. DID YOU WANT TO FIND OUT THE SEX? Definitely.

8. DUE DATE? Early-to-mid March.

9. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS? Unlike this second pregnancy, no. But my husband did experience a bout of morning sickness in the first trimester by way of Couvade Syndrome.

10. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE? A lot of cheese. Kraft cheddar cheese. The block type which I carried around in my handbag!

11. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST? The smell of coffee, or even the mere mention of it, makes me nauseous.

12. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD'S SEX? Female.

13. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX ? No. I love to dress up a girl. All those (floral) dresses, skirts galore. :)

14. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN THROUGHOUT THE PREGNANCY? In Malaysia, we use the metric system, so it was 20-23 kg.

15. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER? Not a normal tradition or custom here.

16. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW? Hence, not applicable.

17. DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY? Since I couldn't ascertain my last cycle as a result of #5, my obgyn had to guesstimate my due date. As such, my triple blood test showed a higher risk of Down Syndrome. No words could describe how devastated I had become. My ever aloof obgyn recommended an amniocentesis procedure to confirm for sure the presence of Down Syndrome risk. In spite of the exorbitant price, we decided to go ahead with it primarily for our peace of mind. I was a nervous, emotional wreck for days before and after the procedure. Praise be to Him, everything turned out well. And the upside was that we got to know our baby's sex quite early.

18. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH? Gleneagles, KL.

19. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR? Since it was 'unplanned' induced birth, I was in the hospital since 8 pm on Wednesday and the baby only came out at 00:04 on Friday. Sheer exhaustion and stress!

20. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? - My other half.

21. WHO WATCHED YOU GIVE BIRTH? - My other half and a midwife on duty who taught me how to push.

22. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION? Natural, with assisted vacuum extraction.

23. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN? Epidural, twice top up.

24. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH? 2.98 kg.

25. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN ? 12:04 am Friday, 24th February 2006.

26. WHAT DID YOU NAME HIM/HER? Sadia Firjani.

27. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY? She's due for her 3rd birthday! *hint, hint*

28. WOULD YOU DO IT AGAIN? I'm currently 22-week pregnant with my second child. :)

Firmly snugged in my arms, seven hours after delivery

25 Random Things.....

As published on FB's notes last night.

I have been tagged. Without further ado, here are mine.

Rules:
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.
(To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)



(1) Believe it or not, I am one of the three siblings born in the same year. No, we are not triplets. My eldest sis was born in January whereas my twin and I were born in December. So, three in a year. However, so as to avoid having to explain at length, my mom at times said we're triplets.

(2) Yes, I am one half of a twin. We are supposedly identical twins, but our friends can vouch otherwise. Our personalities are as distinct as the moon and the sun. Probably, we should do a DNA test to check if we're in fact fraternal twins.

(3) I like to eat chicken. I can have it every day. All parts of the chicken are fine, except for liver and gizzard. Given the choice between white and red meat, I'd select the former. Though lately I've been craving a lot of red meat...

(4) I love cats and anything that, according to my warped mind, remotely resembles cats, such as otters, meerkats and ferrets. But never catfish.

(5) I'm not really feminine even though I prefer skirts to pants. Nor am I that masculine in spite of my tough talk and 'sitting' manners.

(6) Sometimes people would remark that I am athletic, which is furthest from the truth. I haven't done any sports for the longest time since the end of high/secondary school. Of course, there were the occasional badminton and other outdoor games, but I am never into sports. I attribute this misconception to my broad shoulders and tall stature.

(7) Due to the lack of interest in sports, I don't find the need to watch any sporting events. The last time I had religiously followed a sporting event was in 2002 and it's the World Cup co-sponsored by Japan and South Korea (I had to look this one up :P ). Marriage life further reinforced this blase attitude towards sports as my spouse also shares the same sentiment.

(8) Speaking of spouse, I'm proudly and happily married to a Sarawakian who is pretty much a metrosexual (Please feel free to google this term). I could have married a typical male chauvinist, but that would insult my intelligence and destroy any shred of self-respect I might have left. Then again, I believe all men are male chauvinists in one form or another, whether they are straight or not. :)

(9) If you don't already know or notice, I am a fairly blunt person. I don't mince my words. Some people find it hard to swallow my tendency of putting a foot in the mouth. I have since learned to brush up on my diplomatic skills.

(10) My favourite colour is anything in the shade of purple. A colour analyst says people who love purple have a lot of pent-up desire. Hmmm.....

(11) I love anything of the floral print. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a leopard print or anything of its ilk. It's still better off on the animals, methinks.

(12) When I was a little girl, I drew a variety of cartoon-like figures in many interesting outfits. Secretly, I wanted to become a fashion designer. However, my lack of control of brushstrokes and poor school marks in drawing worked against me. So, I live vicariously through my love of everything clothes. No handbags or shoes to make me go gaga. Just clothes in all their glory.

(13) After an awkward adolescent period, I only warmed up to the idea of wearing a skirt toward the second half of college years. Sure, I had to don baju kurung during schooltime, but I never felt comfortable in them. Now, I can't see myself without skirts.

(14) When I was in Form 2 (that would be 9th Grade), my parents hatched a plan to get us out of school early so we would be able to catch the David Copperfield Magic show held in KL. They told the Penyelia Petang (The Afternoon session supervisor) that there's a family emergency in Kampung Bahru. It was exhilarating to see David Copperfield in the flesh.

(15) In Form 3, two friends and I trickled a few drops of 'Minyak Atar' ( or pungent Arabic scented oil) onto the seats of our classmates during the recess. The classroom was percolated with strong, cloying perfume. It's part of our April's Fool prank. To my former unsuspecting peers, please forgive our transgression.

(16) My forehead bears two scars from my childhood - a playground incident and a car accident.

(17) Although my drawing and painting skills are not up to par, I love arts and art history. Among my favourite painters are Monet, Cezanne, Van Gogh and Seurat.

(18) I can't stand anyone who's immoderately vain - the type who cannot be in contact with any shiny or mirror surface lest she or he would check herself or himself for what seems like hours.

(19) Thanks to my mom's side, I am endowed with wavy locks. Once, while waiting for the lift at an old workplace, a middle-aged lady working in HR asked if I recently had a perm job. When I replied matter-of-factly it's all natural, she gave me a blank stare as if I was pulling her leg.

(20) My ancestral line can be traced to Bugis and Jawa on the maternal side and Siam on the paternal side.

(21) I tend to be a 'crankitch' (cranky b***h) if I don't get enough shuteye. Other than that, I'm a pretty pleasant human-being.

(22) I am a coffee junkie. After last year's knee problems though, I am trying to cut down my daily intake. I'm getting old. Crackling bones and all.....

(23) I'd love to travel all over the world if I have the wherewithal. The places I visit must however have potable water and edible food.

(24) While professing an avid interest in writing, I have not done much reading in my adult life. I put it down to my short attention span and sheer procrastination. I have to buck up in order to be half as good as my favourite writers.

(25) I've been described many things by different people. Some say I'm snobby, others say I'm weird, a few funny ones say I'm 'happening'. There are some 'I'm timid', 'I'm brash' and even, 'I'm trying too hard'. What I know is I can be quiet and shy among the extroverts and loquacious, and I can be talkative when I'm nervous or trying to defuse an awkward silence. Most of all, I can be myself among friends and kindred spirits.

Interlude: Wait a While

They say the higher progesterone level running through the system wreaks emotional havoc on some hapless pregnant women. Some become easily antsy, annoyingly needier or discover that their tear ducts have a life of their own. In my case, I'm presently relegated to the third group (although there were prolonged relapses into the other two categories).

Recently, I found my eyes leaking after watching Petronas' latest Festive commercial for Chinese New Year. While reading Cecilia Ahern's book, PS. I Love You, I got all choked up. Any reading materials - blogs included - were not spared from my weepy bouts.

Lately, songs begin to get to me too. A heart-wrenching movie soundtrack, even a slow number called "It's Time to Wake up' from Johnny & The Sprites fell victim to this new lachrymose habit.

A fortnight ago, a particular song entered the recesses of my mind and refused to leave. Whenever I croon parts of the song that I know, I would cry. It reminds me of the times whenever the other half leaves for an overseas assignment. Sappy me.

One of my favourite P. Ramlee's songs, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember the movie from which I heard it. Yesterday, I managed to find out it was from one of my least favourite P. Ramlee's movie, Sarjan Hassan, a patriotic vehicle starring P.Ramlee, Saadiah and Jins Samsudin. Without further ado, here's the lyric* and video for your viewing and listening pleasure.



Tunggu Sekejap
-----------

Tunggu sekejap wahai kasih
Kerana hujan masih renyai

Tunggu sekejap
Dalam pelukan asmaraku

Jangan bimbang
Walaupun siang akan menjelma

Malam ini
Belum puas ku
Bercumbu dengan dinda/kanda

Tunggu sekejap wahai kasih
Tunggulah sampai hujan teduh

Mariku dendang
Jangan mengenang orang jauh

Jangan pula
Jangan tinggalkan daku seorang

Tunggu sekejap
Tunggu






Let's hope I will be a little less lachrymose in the next trimester.


*the lyric differs from Rafeah Buang's rendition. Some lines are rather provocative for that time, I must say.

A Labour of Love

What are your criteria for marrying a person? Or does it boil down to one overriding criterion?

Is it something material like wealth, money and connection? The more Datuks and Dato' Seris in that family, the better.

Is it something spiritual like a religious outlook, Islamic values and an emphasis on the Hereafter? The more time spent in the masjeed or musolla, the better.

Or is it something fleeting like beauty and other coveted physical attributes?

Or is the other person's cerebral enough for one's cultured taste and able to sate one's natural curiousity?

Or is it the generosity of his heart, the tender loving care and the promise of a lifetime of unconditional affection?

So what does make one a strong prospective partner? The permutations are endless, as is the complexity of a person's mind.

I have come upon a case where a besotted lass faced the biggest humiliation of her life when the entourage of her fiancé-to-be failed to show up on the appointed date of engagement. The reason given, at least implicitly, was due to her brothers' excessive gambling reputation. In a small Kampung setting, connection that would defile the lineage of a proud family is more important than the feelings of two people involved.

How about the story of a Malay lad who has to marry the girl of his family's choice back in the village? Sounds very Bollywood-like, but in this day and age - or ten years back when it took place - arranged marriages still endure. This was despite him having fallen for another girl whom he had met while working in KL. Family obligation and being the firstborn come first. The poor girl's heart, needless to say, was crushed.

Speaking of Bollywood, some Mamak (Indian Muslim of Tamil descent) clans continue to practice arranged marriages among close families, where childhood betrothal is the norm. As expected, this helps in preserving the Mamak bloodline from being diluted from interracial marriages. A Mamak guy of my peer, married his betrothed, even after seriously entertaining the thoughts of having a Malay girlfriend.

The silly, idealistic girl in me has always thought love would conquer all. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Family objection, preservation of lineage, reputation and old money, and numerous other narrow perceptions eschew all possibility for love to rise to the occasion.

Now I understand the meaning of my mom's words when she imparted the following : Not everyone gets to marry their first love.

And yet, in the greater scheme of things, one finds the faith and courage to accept that some things are not meant to be. Naturally, you feel rejected, even angry at this callous treatment. Later, as reality sets in, you bawl your eyes out until you are reduced to painful convulsions.

In spite of all the heartaches, you somehow manage to crawl out of the abyss and stumble upon someone who is worthy of your affection and love. You hold the faith to carry on.

It matters not if you marry your first love. It matters when the person has the will and strength to hold on during the peaks and troughs of your life together. That should be the litmus test of your love. Your prospective partner.

On that note, I want to wish my only brother the best of luck following his engagement to the girl of his dream, Awin, last January 17th. After some unsuccessful hitches, he has finally found someone who accepts his medical condition - renal dialysis - and a supportive family to boot. I only got to meet her that day and already I'm getting good vibes.

Please take care of one another. Be steadfast in your commitment and always nurture an open and honest relationship in your union. InsyaAllah, everything will fall into place as God has intended.

My Springy Sprog

It's only fitting to start the new year on a positive note. Hence, this post on a loved one. And what is more apt than showcasing the little girl who has been the center of our universe for close to three years now.

With Sadia's birthday around the corner in about a month's time, I am more inclined to share some milestones, developments and her other idiosyncrasies.

She is full of vocabulary. Apart from uttering polysyllabic words like 'migration', 'decoration' and 'invitation', there have been a series of unexpected phrases such as "Let's build it together", "You want to have tea party with me?", "I don't like this kind", "Everyone, buckle up" and our favourite, "What's the big idea?". We chalk this affinity for English words up to her 24/7 exposure to the PlayhouseDisney channel. She does speak Malay, albeit mixed up with English. For instance, she still doesn't know how to count in Malay, but she can easily count in English up to Number 15.

She's more clingy than ever, for obvious reasons. Ever since she experienced recurring episodes of toothache late last year, she had technically been weaned off. Her two front teeth, which have disappeared from sight many moons ago, developed an infection and had caused us several sleepless nights with her incessant crying out of excruciating pain. She had even implored, in between sobs, for us to buy her new teeth. Poor little Sadia. With the absence of usual physical comfort, she has become easily weepy and wanted me to be as close to her as possible. It makes cooking next to impossible! I know she is in a hard place now, having to abruptly come to terms that my mammaries are off limits. Somehow, I too miss our 'bonding' sessions. While I'm grateful the weaning came about, it's the manner in which it transpired that left me wanting. In time, we both will adjust.

She is inherently bossy. It's probably hard for a mother to admit this about her kid, but I have no qualms whatsoever. Sadia is indeed one bossy kid. We have countlessly humoured her commands and orders to play Ring-Around-The-Rosy, London Bridge, Hide-and-Seek, and so forth. She couldn't care less if we are doggone tired. And every single time the Little Einsteins' theme song is on, we have to stand, sing and clap along with her. The same goes for Mickey Mouse Clubhouse anthem and closing song. Time to get her into playschool, methinks!

She has the knack of getting her legs in a twist. I don't know if it has anything to do with her tendency to stand on her tippytoe, but Sadia would always get her legs tangled up, be it standing up or sitting down. The wires that connect the television to the CD player and the sliding mechanism underneath the passenger seat of our car are the usual suspects. We would put away items or get them out of the way lest they might attract the jerking movement of her legs. I do wonder if she's following the footsteps of her klutzy Mama.

She has a keen interest in arts and music. With respect to the former, I am not sure if it is a fleeting interest. Knowing how artistically-inclined her father is (and was in school), I am nonetheless more than eager to encourage this hobby. She even asked for a water colour paint box and a paintbrush in order to mimic Noddy's painting attempt in one episode. On Monday, she picked out magic markers from IKEA for another colouring project. I believe she's more interested in experimenting with the various drawing materials and their ensuing results. As for music, she can differentiate among many musical instruments thanks to Little Einsteins. I mean, she didn't hesitate to correct me if I had mixed trombone up from trumpet!




On the domestic front, we bought her a toddler bed back in mid-December in preparation for both the new baby and planned weaning. However, she has yet to sleep on the bed, uninterrupted. Whenever I put her on it at night, she would roll back into our bed which conveniently adjoins hers. With the weaning off, I am hopeful she would get used to it soon. She has a few months to practice anyway.


As for my expecting, Sadia still refers to the growing fetus as 'Mama's baby'. She has yet to grasp the concept of her being a sister. A big sister. Kakak. It's a slow process, but we will get there together. In the meantime, I am busy entertaining the whims and fancies of one demanding and clingy tot. My precious flower*.



*Sadia means Flower.