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.