Sojourns, jaunts, and favourite haunts

A Year Older

2010-12-21T01:03:00.002+08:00

I turn 36 today.
Well, I might as well come out with it, now that I have passed the 35th mark.
In light of a frenetic lifestyle (and FB distraction), I haven't been writing for a long while and though I sorely miss this outlet, I am not comfortable jotting my thoughts in a jumble-up manner.
I will try to make this as short and cohesive as possible since my penchant for wordiness tends to get the best of me.

It's been a fantastic year; thank you God for all Your blessings.
While there had been some bumps and troughs in the year, I'd managed to confront or overcome them with the help of loved ones. Although they can offer a word of advice (or more) like a broken record, it was up to me to follow through with an action plan and move along with my life.

It was a year that I found the meaning of blissful solitude. I began to love my own company. I'm not much of a loner, as I feel engulfed with a sense of panic when left alone with my own thoughts. I blame it on all the years abroad being on my own and having to fend for myself. Paradoxically, even though I love being around people, I become overwhelmed when group dynamics don't work out in the way I would imagine it to be. The idealist in me conjures up easy and fast friendships without the other person's personal entanglements getting in the way of fun. How selfish, foolish and naive I can be at 35.

It dawned on me on one of my solitary jaunts that I think better and clearly when I'm alone. The rudimentary truths behind my funk seem to sink in and voluntarily dissipate through a favourite medium : coffee. I always feel much better after a cuppa, but combined with a newfound sense of tranquility I am over the top!

On the home front, I am discovering my domestic kitchen goddess as I whip up recipes which have previously been out of reach in terms of culinary persuasion. In other words, I am too lazy to dabble in the art of food preparation. Nowadays, I won't think twice of cutting and blitzing those onions if I find the urge to eat something I want. Before, I would settle for second rate substitutes. I might try a hand at making oven-bound desserts from scratch next. I don't think my present cekodok pisang and bubur kacang count.

As far as my relationships with the closest and dearest go, there were inevitable ups and downs that I must let go off and learn to forgive. Myself mostly. Only then can I rebuild the bridges and take away a lesson from the experience.

With Sadia entering the domain of school life, I also went through the initial uneasy transition that came with her absence. At first, I felt guilty for enjoying the freedom to be had from the time she stayed in school. Thereafter, it had turned into a routine which I looked forward to. It provides me with ample time to spruce up the house and attend to other household duties. Try as I might to spend more time with her off-school, the demands of a tot unfortunately trump those of a preschooler. I do long for a one-on-one quality time with my daughter without that harried and hurried feeling of multi-tasking. One that does not necessarily confine to the bedroom when the lights are dim for reading time.

In the anamcara department, I grappled with the other half's increasing and tiresome workload after we moved to Dubai as a family. Yet, our long-drawn tradition of mall haunting continued apace in this mall nation of UAE. Suffice to say, six years of marriage have mellowed our expectations and accurately predicted the mood swings involved.

Impatience and temper are two negative traits which took centrestage the previous year, what with the nomadic life which I led following the other half's abrupt placement to Dubai. Obviously, I am not proud nor pleased with my slow improvements on this prickly issue of character detoxing. Thus, it is definitely an achievement worth reaching for in my old age where hereditary high blood pressure reigns supreme.

Irreversible grey hairs notwithstanding, here's to 36 and a lifetime of adventures that it will bring.

Settling down

2010-11-27T11:23:00.001+08:00

(Originally written on Facebook on September 22nd, 2010)

Don't get me wrong. I love Malaysia. But I was more than relieved to leave after the frenetic two-week Eid vacation there.

I have come to that age where familiarity and routine are the order of the day. Probably having two small kids has shifted my perspective on the need for wanderlust.

But the truth is Dubai has become a home that I love. Finally I feel settled.

Ever since the rumours had hovered last December on my husband's imminent post for the Iraqi project, I was beleaguered by a sense of displacement in our new Denai Alam home. We could not really spruce up the place now that we came to know this big piece of news. And we just moved into this new house the previous month of November! What a drag!

Then in January, it was confirmed that he'd be posted overseas. Our refurbishment and furniture plans had to be shelved. Although, at times, we ignored the call for practicality and installed some fixtures to make our Denai place more live-in.

March quickly came and he was off to Dubai to set up the company's office there. At first, it would be for a week. Thereon, it stretched to two weeks. At last, he was requested to stay for a month!

That was when I felt that our lives were in limbo. I had to stay at my parents' in Kota Damansara the whole duration of his absence, due to safety and baby reasons.

I was more stressed here, even with the help of my mom and occasional help from my eldest sister during the weekend. I felt that I was living out of my suitcase. I missed the idea of a home. The kids, especially Sadia, missed it too, but she was more than pleased to be close to her cousins during the weekends.

Hubby then came back after a month and had to leave again in ten days' time for a fortnight worth of work in Dubai.

Back to the roller-coaster feeling of living nomadic again after he left. Granted, I was grateful for all the help I got. I don't know how I'd cope without this support system.

At first, I was sad to leave behind the support system that I'd grown so accustomed to in that one-and-half months' time. Later, as I acclimatized to the new place and established a routine, I was more at ease with life in a foreign land. My family is here.

Finally, after six months of ambiguity, I feel at home. A place where I belong. A sanctuary; my inner sanctum.

So it's good to be home after spending the last few days of Ramadan and subsequently Eid in Malaysia. The kids quickly ran to their favourite toys and I switched on my favourite toy - the Apple :)

Familiarity indeed breeds contentment.

Birth : (Hi(s)tory)

2010-07-07T11:47:00.000+08:00

Caution: Due to some graphical content, readers' discretion is advised.

It started with a name.

Like most things conceptualized, a sketch on a piece of paper, a rough draft, we first came out with a name.

It was in late 2005 that the name 'came up', when we had yet to know the gender of our firstborn. Like the name of the female name we had chosen, we loved it straightaway. When we got a girl, the name was momentarily forgotten, tucked somewhere in the deep recesses of our mind and ready to be plucked out at a moment's notice.

And the notice arrived. Towards the end of 2008, I found out that I was expecting again. It was a news most welcome. I had longed for and wanted a second child so that Sadia would have a sibling to play with. Expectedly, I was thankful to God that my prayers were answered.

And quite unexpectedly, the second pregnancy was more tiresome compared to the first one as I had to tend to a demanding and clingy toddler, upkeep an apartment as well as bear with the hormonal swings that accompanied it. In addition, my other half's constant travels and heavy workload wreaked further havoc on my out-of-whack system.

Those issues aside, we were more than elated when the good doctor confirmed and informed us of the baby's gender. As he put it, the conspicuous image on the ultrasound was unmistakable. It's a boy! In the back of my head, I had illogically thought we would get another girl going by the pattern wherein my twin sister had conceived two boys. However, Allah knows best and I feel blessed by His bounties.

So the chosen male name resurfaced like a beautiful spring day; ready to immerse in its radiance and splendour. Yet, despite our exuberance, I admit we did hit a snag in committing to the name. We discovered the name had already been used for the son of someone whom we would rather not be associated with. Well, that's a tad dramatic. Let's just say, the person is plain annoying.

We even went the length of finding another name, rifling through pages and pages of Name Books just for the sake of not wanting to be accused of purportedly copying the name of this person's kid. Yes, we were that determined. Later on - towards the end of my third trimester - we decided that enough is enough and we would stay with the name no matter what the consequences. On hindsight, it was foolish to belabour this fateful coincidence and to solely base our name decision on a person whom we didn't know much or care about. In fact, the person only lives at the periphery of our world and by that definition itself, is of no consequence to us at all! Moreover, I believe our reservation also lies in the fact that we stubbornly want the name to be an original, at least in our 'Malaysian' circle. Well, at least that's what I felt.

Before details of the important event fade from my memory, let me do the honours of sharing them with my few readers. I still remember the few days leading to the BIG BANG. It was my husband's birthday on the 10th and he was swamped at work in the past few weeks that he would come back home tired and pensive (well, he's usually pensive near to his birthday, but that's another story).

We took a taxi to join him in KLCC for his birthday celebration, but our festive mood turned sour with Sadia being uncooperative and misbehaving throughout the rest of the evening. In retrospect, Sadia's uncharacteristic behaviour seemed to portend of things to come. The dampener therefore cut our plan short with hubby wanting to shelf the birthday treat until the weekend. Little did he know what the weekend had in offering for him! For all of us!

The next day, Thursday, hubby attended and headed some important work presentations for which Sadia and I only managed to see him later at night. On Friday, my twin sister wanted to see me for tea after work since she needed a picker-upper and promised to treat me for it. This was once in a blue moon offer I couldn't refuse! We met on the now defunct Dome cafe on the first floor of KLCC. I remember what I had ordered - my all-time favourite Honeycomb Goldrush Ice-Blended - the only caffeine kick availed to me for the day. Luckily, Sadia's mood had improved and hubby came out from work early as he would be working on the weekend to wrap up a deadline. Or so he thought.

We dropped by to get dinner somewhere in Ampang Point area, and had an interesting, Seinfeld-like conversation revolving on 'ayam katik' (spring chicken) for some strange, inexplicable reason. We didn't know what an 'ayam katik' alludes to, and I fondly recall that, in order to sate my curiosity, I even texted my mother to ask for her definition late that night!

As a normal occurrence late in the third trimester, my late night toilet trips were exceptionally frequent - to say the least. I woke up that very night - ayam katik conundrum still reeling in my head - and headed towards the throne. When I got back to the bedroom in my groggy state, I was surprised to feel that water trickling down both sides of my inner thigh. Although I was perplexed to see the water coming down - pure or otherwise - sleep trumped the concern and I dozed back in that permanent awkward position.

Around 6:30 or so, I woke up again as I was alarmed by my relatively wet condition in bed. Bed-wetting did I? My biggest fear was confirmed as I tried to ascertain if it was indeed amniotic fluid (and not urine) that pooled the bedsheet. I hastily stirred my husband from his much-needed sleep and told him what had taken place during the course of the night.

Since we weren't wholly certain whether it was my water that had broken or something else altogether, we decided to go to the hospital. Our doubt arose from the fact that my amniotic sac was artificially ruptured in my first pregnancy. However, in the back of our mind, we were sure that this was IT. So sure we were that my hubby wanted to drop by the office that same Saturday morning before going to the hospital as he had to delegate some important work to others on an important project deadline.

Before we drove there though, I called my mother asking for her opinion on my 'wet' situation and she implored me to go to the hospital ASAP. So she and my siblings were so alarmed that I was still puttering about KLCC in the wee hours of Saturday morning, waiting for my other half who must made sure everything ran smoothly in his absence from work!

And when the fluid that ran the side of my legs seemed to increase over time while Sadia and I sat in La Cucur, I had to call him to hurry up. I felt uncomfortable sitting down and panicked that the baby's health would be in jeopardy withe each ensuing trickle.

We arrived in the hospital and went straight to the labour ward on the 3rd floor. I gave the nurses on duty my Pre-Registration Labour Card and they took my weight. Ironically enough, the same nurse that assisted in Sadia's birth was on duty and she recalled who we were! I then changed into the sterile hospital gown before the nurse wired me to an EFM (Electronic Fetal Monitor).

Little Sadia became alarmed looking at my bulging stomach being strapped to a series of elastic belts and was almost reduced to tears that my husband decided that it would be best for all of us that he distracted her someplace else. At first he brought her downstairs to roam about, but as the wait grew longer, they went to the nearby GE Mall. Later on, hubby brought her home for a bath and even put her down for one of her rare naps.

We were dreadfully worried about Sadia when the time would come for hubby to be with me during the crucial stage of labour. Towards the end of my third trimester, we went over the possible alternatives for Sadia when the final stage of labour would commence. Staying at my parents' under the care of my mother and eldest sister whose two small daughters are close with Sadia was one option. Or praying hard that my delivery date would coincide with my in-laws' expected arrival in town. As the second option failed to materialize, we were nonetheless concerned with the first option back then as Sadia was not close to both adults with whom we planned to leave her.

Predictably, like a homing beacon, she could detect Yayah's plan of leave and would cling to his side at all times when they finally made the move to deposit her at my parents' place later that evening. She even refused to engage in the foolproof scheme of baking cookies with her two cousins, my sister and my mother.

As the other half had to entertain and take care of Sadia for most parts of the day, I was left to my own devices in the labour ward. At first, it felt strange being alone with my morbid thoughts and anxieties, as opposed to venting them out to my husband by my bedside. Thankfully, I brought along the laptop which kept me occupied throughout the long, arduous wait to that first set of contractions.

My mother also came to accompany me for a bit while my husband ran his little errands with Sadia. To my great amusement, my mom fell fast asleep on the plush sofa whereas I could not keep still in that confined space of a room. Poor Ma, she must be tired after yesterday's dialysis session. Much to my delight, my twin sister also dropped by with her kids and maid to see how I was faring.

On the medical front, my ob-gyn came to inspect me mid-morning after I was left alone with the EFM whirring soothingly in the background. Following the first check-up, he instructed the ward nurse on duty to give me the enema to expedite the progress of my labour. As I had fervently expressed the desire for a childbirth as natural as possible in a previous ob-gyn appointment, my good doctor had respectfully worked around that parameter.

If people were to ask me what was the most painful and unbearable part of my second delivery, I would have to say the 'invasive', physical examination - something that I'd leave to the readers' imagination. I dreaded, cringed and writhed in pain every time the doctor or the midwife came to check the opening.

When my labour progress left much to be desired, the ob-gyn advised me on introducing oxytocin intravenously to help things move along. As I was getting exhausted with the long wait, I duly and unequivocally agreed. I still remember the first prick to find my vein was unsuccessful and left some bruising. The nurse on duty was relatively new, and another senior nurse assisted her instead.

The strong contractions started to kick in from thereon, causing me to consider the option of taking epidural before the pain became worse. I even consulted with my hubby over the phone who was getting ready to leave for my parents' at the time. After less than half an hour mulling over the slight chance of improvement in my pain threshold this time around, like a desperate woman, I hastily asked for the anaesthetist on duty to administer the God-sent pain reliever.

Since I was alone throughout most of the 'latent' labour period, I relied on the nurses on duty for moral support when the anaesthetist punctured a hole at the back of my spine. I remember gripping tightly the scrawny hand of one young Chinese nurse as the procedure took place, while the more senior Malay nurse reassured me that everything was alright. With the epidural and its top-up mechansim nestled comfortably behind me, I began to feel very tired. It had been a grueling day and the ordeal was far from over.

I also recall trying to arrange for Sadia's sleeping arrangement in the hospital (read: extra bed) upon learning that she would not, in a million years, stay at my parents on her own accord. Thatexperience, on hindsight, would be too traumatic for her.

That night, all of us (my mother included) decided she would stay with us in the recovery cum maternity ward. The only snag was that a room would be available at a much later time as it was apparently a peak time for giving birth and therefore a high rate of room occupancy.

Since my husband would have to leave Sadia to be by my side, my mom, my eldest sister and her four children (except the eldest boy) all came down from Kota Damansara with him and Sadia. They would be in charge of keeping Sadia distracted and entertained.

Even after they arrived at the hospital, the room was not yet at our disposal much to my disappointment. Later, at my appeal for the nurse's intervention, they managed to secure a room at the eleventh hour for Sadia and the others to rest and play in. I was worried she would look for her dad, but they succeeded in diverting her attention through games and activities as well as plied her with favourite snacks.

By midnight, I strongly felt the urge to 'relieve' the weight that I had been carrying for the last nine months. Just in the nick of time, my husband came to be by my side and hold firmly my right hand. The ob-gyn entered the room in that familiar yellow galoshes, looking very somber and comical at the same time, while my 'Muhibbah' group of nurses prepped the place to aid me in parturition. I remember all of them encouraging me to push when the strong contractions came as indicated by the EFM. Or put it another way, when the compulsion to 'bear down' was intense.

Three to four pushes later, our baby boy emerged from the veritable birth canal and was immediately handed to me. We cooed at him and briefly exchanged our greetings. He then cried for a while when the nurses rushed to clean and examine him for the Apgar scoring. All bundled up, he returned to me with a blank stare as if trying to make sense of his new surrounding. Welcome to the world my son, we love you very much.

My husband gently intoned the azan into Saeif's tiny ears, while the doctor commenced on the third stage of labour and finally stitched me up which, for some strange reason, I was able to feel a slight twinge or two. The epidural must be slowly wearing off from my system, I reckon. And true to form, I developed a terrible itch all over my body as soon as I was drained out of epidural.

Thankfully, Saeif had already been ferried out to the nursery at this time. The itch persisted even after the nurses rubbed my whole body down with several heated hospital-strength wet wipes and gave me a couple of pills to relieve the allergic symptoms.

The scratching urge continued right into the maternity ward where I met my Sadia again since this morning. Funnily, she was wide-eyed to see my 'deflated' tummy. Before I got the chance to tell her what went down (pun intended), the baby was ushered into the room for his inaugural feeding. So Sadia was hit with another surprise - a newcomer to the family - and she gingerly touched the infant to make sure that he was real. As if all these were too surreal for her. I could tell she was not sure how to respond, but a tinge of jealousy overcame her when I cuddled and nursed the baby. She wanted to snuggle next to me as well and cried in protest when she was taken away.

Undoubtedly, Saeif was an addition that all of us needed to get used to. Now that he is one year old, he has grown leaps and bounds - physically, emotionally and behaviorally. His signature sheepish smile always boosts your mood and that shy, boyish act makes you instantly forget his naughty antics (especially when he flashes that smile along with it).

The gradual adjustment period played a pivotal role in understanding his developing personality, and embracing him into the familial equation. He has become the linchpin that glues our family closer. Saeif, you melt my heart every time you crack that cheeky, knowing smile, and I feel blessed by your continuing presence in our lives.

Reminiscence

2010-06-11T21:00:00.004+08:00

June 1997

The night's stillness is my steady companion,

As I lay awake to pen this whimsical thought,

For an occasion so special I shall never forget.

That sincere smile etched in my wretched mind,

Not a trace of veneer in this transit place,

A 'Sunny' California where I felt desolate.

A connection was easy from the first time we spoke,

With him around I could bring my guard down,

Along with my idiotic thoughts and childish sounds.

Friends cheered us on for an expected union,

An adolescent rush yet reined in my emotions,

With a heart at stake I proceeded with caution.

The college years whizzed by like the wind,

Our special bond had evolved and matured,

Is the next logical step in store for sure?

Alas, maturity and a string of sticky issues,

Came to the fore when the L-word prevailed,

Could a thing so good take the wind out of our sails?

When it is yours, it will come back to you,

A wise adage that manifested in the end,

Obstacles aside, we gave us a second chance.

Beautiful wedding and five years on,

How inspiring it is to grow old with you,

To learn from mistakes and ask forgiveness too.

Have a Happy Birthday to my soulmate,

My other half and my partner in crime ;) ,

Here's to more celebrations in our lifetime.

May 2010

Accident Happens

2010-06-08T11:27:00.000+08:00

That's what my sister said when I told her about the incident. Ironically, that's what also Sadia said a few minutes into the accident. My heart swelled by her feeble attempt at convincing both of us. I wish I was allayed by that assertion, but I still felt contrite. A string of 'Should-Have's entered my then frazzled mind.

That's why it is called an accident. Because it was not premeditated, nor was it an freakish act of natural disaster. Nonetheless, unlike the latter, it still has an element of control which I could have adroitly applied.

Before I heap more ambiguity into the story, I'd better cut to the chase and say it - an iron fell onto Sadia's head.

The accident took place last Tuesday, June 1st mid-morning after I had finished bathing the two kids. Done with dressing them up, I was about to spritz Sadia's long hair with a detangler spray when Saeif approached the iron's electrical cord and began tugging at it. I said "No, don't do it Saeif", and quickly positioned the iron further in towards the wall on the ironing board so it wouldn't wobble any longer after Saeif's first attempt.

My mind was preoccupied with something else when I went back to tackling the hair of Sadia who was sitting on the floor in the bedroom. There I was combing her hair nicely, and when I was about to quietly congratulate myself on a job well done, whoosh came down the ironing board with a flying iron. In split second, Saeif lay down on the floor with the board on top of him. Frantically, I made sure whether the board was heavy (no, it was somewhat lightweight) and he was safe (yes, he was).

In that same instant, Sadia, whose tears streamed down her cheeks, told me she was 'ouchie' (hurt). When I saw blood spewing out from the top of her head, I panicked and cried. I immediately took her bath towel lying nearby from their earlier bath together and put pressure on the bloody spot. As the towel turned crimson red with each application, I began to feel frightened for Sadia.

I hastily called Minan and in a barely comprehensible voice, told him what just happened. Amid our cries together - Saeif was the loudest as he was in shock of the situation and wailed uncontrollably.

He wanted me to hold him and soothe his fear, but I had to attend to Sadia's injury with a towel in one hand and Sadia in the other. Poor Saeif was thrashing on the carpet while I watched helplessly. At one point I tried holding him in one free hand, but he pushed it aside and continued sobbing inconsolably. Sadia thankfully had calmed down after I distracted her with a series of questions. Still, she was afraid ("Ma, I'm afraid") of her injury and the sight of blood that came in contact with my lips must have shook her further ("Ma, what's that on your lips?").

Minan arrived home 10-15 minutes later and knocked wildly on the door as he had forgotten to bring his keys home. Thank God his office is near to our home. Carrying an inconsolable baby and holding firmly onto the hand of an injured and scared toddler, I opened the door.

Daddy's little girl, Sadia began crying again when her dad was at the doorway. Minan took Sadia in his arms while I handled Saeif who was still in his crying fits. I proceeded to the bedroom to calm him down and nurse him. Exhausted and coupled with the fact that it was his nap time, Saeif fell easily into deep sleep.

Sadia had also calmed down with her dad in the living room. Upon Minan's examination of the wound, he said the gash was rather deep and still oozing a bit. That moment, I'm thankful that my husband was an active PBSM member in secondary school. I'd not be able to ascertain the extent of the injury on my own.

After preparing Saeif's 'bottled' lunch in a jiffy and settling a niggling problem with a cable tv provider over the phone (several bothersome phone exchanges with them were in effect), we left the apartment and took a taxi to the panel clinic. It was about 20-25 minutes' drive there and Sadia was singing a song she usually make up in the taxi to kill the time. In other words, she is being her normal self again. The driver even turned the volume of his Indian radio station to drown Sadia's voice. Or perhaps giving her an alternative to the same ditty she sang in the car.

At the clinic, the doctor examined Sadia's injury and gave my husband an earful for not being careful around the house. I didn't go with them as I was feeding Saeif his lunch at the spacious waiting area. Moreover, we wanted to avoid another crying scene should Sadia's gash need to be stitched up. And the presence of a curious Saeif might deter Sadia from cooperating and complying.

The doctor also informed Minan that the cut was not a blunt and swollen one which might otherwise indicate an internal bleeding. Thank God! However, she cautioned if there were any signs of lightheadedness or vomiting thereafter, we are to bring her back immediately.

After the nurse cleaned the wound area and patched it with three slivers of plasters, we got the green light to go home.

Alhamdulillah, she is doing well and playing like before. She is, however, still wary of her brother coming near the ironing board. Nowadays the iron goes straight to a 'safe shelf' after Minan finishes using it.

I am very much thankful to Him that Sadia is fine. On hindsight, it could be worse. Little Saeif could be the one getting hurt. Or the impact of the hit could be more forceful. God forbid.

Divine intervention is the most powerful thing one can always rely and pray on.

Yes, accident does happen. We just have to be extra vigilant and less distracted next time.

Greetings from Dubai!

2010-05-27T01:45:00.003+08:00

Dear friends and family,

I am happy to report that my family and I have safely settled into our new quaint home in Dubai. Located in the heart of town near to The Dubai Mall (TDM), it makes life easier to adjust when you have the requisite amenities, facilities and escapades right at your fingertips. Notwithstanding the notorious summer heat that is slowly building up, the new living arrangement sure beats having to drive around and find groceries with two small children adapting to an alien environment along with you. Or the sheer feat of crossing the big road in this dry heat with two kids just to get to the other side where the mall operates.

Thus, I have a lot to be thankful for. In a word, Alhamdulillah.

So what if it only boasts a one bedroom? It is big enough for me and my family and provides us with a much welcome security. I just love the view of the Dubai Fountain with its spectacular and theatrical water shows everyday and the twinkling lights from the tallest building in the world, Burj Khalifa (Burj means Tower) in the background.

My life has been one helter-skelter in the run-up to the departure date to DBX. With the bad flu hitting the whole family, packing for the move had been slow and taken a back seat to tending to the kids. Health-wise, I wasn't up for clearing the things up as well. But everything came through in the end as we learned to prioritize what was needed to be done and settled first. The rest will be settled once my husband goes back again to Malaysia for meetings.

By the end of first week in 'Arabland' - as Sadia calls it - I had gradually gotten used to what was expected of me here. Save for conditioning our skins to the scorching sun, things are now slowly in place. Physically and metaphorically. Predictably, we had to cover some major expenses going into the new home. Mind you, a lot of things are needed in an unfurnished house.

Home amenities already available include a kitchen stove, microwave and conventional ovens, a refrigerator, a dishwasher and a washing cum dryer machine. Oh yeah, there is also a jacuzzi nestled at a corner of the patio. Hubby had already purchased a sofa bed, coffee and dining tables, two dining chairs and a king-size bed before he left for Malaysia to pick us up. We were more than relieved when we finally got a television for the apartment last Thursday, installed it on Saturday and set the cable tv (called 'Du') up last Monday.

15 boxes and two carpets also arrived during the first week on Wednesday, after a delay of four days when problems arose with respect to the missing documents from the Malaysian shipping counterpart. All the boxes have been unpacked, except for the playpen and a toddler car seat.

On hindsight, I should have brought more diapers, baby toiletries and babywipes as they are expensive here and more food stuff like my favourite Nescafe Tarik 3-in-1 mix. Hopefully hubby can bag those along when he goes back next time for a meeting or two.

As far as my first impression of Dubai goes, I have to agree with my other half that it is very much like KL, but with a variety of abaya style, Arab headgear and 'Kandura' (long white cloak) worn by Arab nationals (see here for further explanation on a typical UAE wardrobe choice). Moreover, there is a varying degree of conservatism opted by Arab women with respect to the covering of their face (Burqa-like) encompassing the closure of the face, save for a slit for the eyes, or a total coverage of the face area with a piece of black diaphanous cloth called Gishwa. Other Arab ladies do wear the headscarf like some Malaysian ladies, covering up to their shoulders and wearing appropriate Western-style clothes. In short, a whole gamut of fashionwear - from the elaborate designs of the Abayas to the decolletage-revealing summer dresses) can be found under one roof in a Dubai mall! (Like my twin used to say, those 'kemban' type of maxi dresses that caused an uproar in KLCC are de rigueur at least in TDM area.)

Yes, Dubai is a cosmopolitan with a twist. Indian nationals drive the cabs here and most of them reside in an area called Karama, which I have yet to venture into. Expats galore crawl the city centre, and more are coming back after the financial crisis that hit UAE early this year. In fact, the city's population consists more of expats and other nationals as opposed to Arabs. Beside Indians, a noticeable demographic are Filipinos who work in the service and F&B industries. They are practically everywhere and usually reside an hour's drive away in UAE's third largest emirate called Sharjah. They are hired mainly due to their proficiency in English, as compared to those from other 'able-and willing' developing countries.

Since we came here, Filipinos have always mistaken us as one of them and proceeded to converse with us in Tagalog. Hubby once quipped that we might as well learn Tagalog because it beats explaining to them that we are not Filipinos!

Another thing needs getting used to is the high cost of living that often accompany when one choose to stay in an Expat Central like Dubai. Food and Beverage are a tad expensive and so is the grocery spending. Probably it is because we have yet to try and shop in a hypermarket like HyperPanda and Carrefour.

But I love the fact that many types of food are on offering here, ranging from Taco Bell, Krispy Creme, Garrett's caramel PECAN popcorn, Chicago's Deepdish pizza, to my favourite chocolate macaron at Paul cafe (see here for an extensive list of Paul branches in UAE).

And Tania, don't worry, there's a Laduree opening up soon in TDM. Let's go there for a tete-a-tete when you are in town. As for Amy, an upstanding network of Caribou Coffee from Minneapolis assures me that you won't miss home when you come and visit us here. Casual ambience, hubby likens it to San Francisco coffee back in Malaysia, from which he gets his staple of Americano some mornings.

Naim would also like the fact that Au Bon Pain exists here in this grandiose desert, awash with memories of our past excursions in downtown Chicago area. However, I must warn her - widely known for her pet peeve of inefficient service - that the service is 'Pain'fully slow and leaves a lot to be desired. But nonetheless I still enjoy my Mocha Blast. Ina dear, the keen observer and book enthusiast would love whiling the time away at a favourite chocoholic hangout (Godiva, maybe?) and Kinokuniya, both in TDM respectively. My longtime friend Rizby is more of a shutterbug and would probably spend the time snapping photos of interesting attractions and nooks in TDM (The Gold Souk (Market), the larger-than-life Aquarium, the indoor Waterfall, and THE Dubai Fountain).

And my dear twin sister, Nina must love all the designer bags that line up the Fashion Court of TDM and run amok at the Monsoon boutique! Younger sister Dikya can relive her 'Felicity' days by heightening her sensation at Dean & DeLuca cafe, and spend an inordinate amount of time looking at toiletries at a Boots pharmacy. My eldest, Kak Long on the other hand would rather be looking at furniture and other interior designs at either PotteryBarn or Crate & Barrel.

There you have it guys. The interesting and fun scope of my life in the next three years. Malls, connoisseurship and people watching. And God willing, there would be travels in it as well, be it in the Arab peninsula and farther outside the region. Budget, kids and old age permitting, of course.

A New Year Has Dawned

2010-01-10T02:23:00.002+08:00

The sound of a rapid succession of fireworks echoing through the air fills me with a sense of nostalgia. Remembering the bygone years when a new year means a list of resolutions in earnest and a long-winding phone call to my beloved. Fast forward six years later, I'm keeping vigil in the bedroom with minimal lighting whilst my babies are fast asleep and my husband is burrowing his head inside a favourite book. A great many things have changed and, as can be expected, with them come sacrifices and casualties of a former lifestyle.

When Sadia entered into the picture a few years back, I had trouble grappling with the fact that there were now three of us in the household. I remember how I became engulfed with new responsibilities and duties and wondered whether I was cut out for motherhood. I was overwhelmed with the changes that seemed to hit me in the face like a tight slap. I had naively thought that somehow having a baby would adapt to my way of life, instead of the other way around. I remember not being prepared, mentally, emotionally and physically. And yet, despite and because of the misgivings and hiccups, I love Sadia with all my heart. Her doe-eyed expression, her cheeky laugh and adorable babbling are the highlights of my day.

Now that she's a toddler, I have to admit she does have a way (or many) of grating my nerves. I find myself sniggering and nodding in agreement to an observation which I stumbled upon at Babycentre where it describes a mother usually longs for her child's baby years as they seem relatively easier in comparison to the challenging, stressful and headache-prone toddler years. Without a doubt, Sadia's tantrums have predictably gotten worse in concurrence with the arrival of her cherubic baby brother.

Remember I wrote that I was afraid that I might forget the smell of Sadia's hair and lose out having to devote more time on the new baby? Well, it is funny how things you wish wouldn't happen, happen anyway. A self-fulfilling prophecy, if you may. I was so caught up in taking care of Saeif - bonding with him and getting so attached - that I had neglected Sadia in the process. Poor Sadia. It was my dear husband who pointed this out to me, and I'm forever grateful to him for opening my eyes to the painful truth. How Sadia was trying to vie for my attention and getting me involved in her activities, but I kept using Saeif, on a subconscious level, as an excuse to get away from my other responsibilities. How I cried buckets when the realization seeped into my conscience.

From that moment on, I resolved to spend more time with Sadia and avoid neglecting her when she wanted me to engage in plays, readings and other recreations. I have two kids now and accordingly, the adjustment to my life begins yet again. And how their unique and differing personalities endear them to me more.

As for Saeif, he is a cheerful and friendly infant who loves the company of people. Unlike his big sister, he readily smiles and warms up easily to others. There are both a pro and a con to this, however; Pro - I can leave him to willing and helpful individuals while I attend to other matters. Con - He wants me around him or gives him a ride on Mama's taxi if there is no other people attending to him. This translates to a difficult time to go over domestic chores. Therein lies my stress factor, and coupled with a clingy toddler, my hands (and time) are always full.

Indeed, my life is full of irony. I always tell myself I love adventures and new things. However, when it comes to changes - unavoidable and expected - around me, I tend to slacken and languish in my assumed roles. In a way, I do hate changes since they impose a new set of rules that I'm not familiar with from which I must learn quickly in order to adapt or suffer the consequences.

Another big change came late last year - Sunday, November 22nd to be exact - when my family and I finally moved from our seemingly small yet cosy apartment to a two-storey house on the other far side of town. As unrelenting as I could possibly be, I predictably discovered avenues to complain about the new living arrangement. Mosquitoes galore, slow water pressure on the second floor of the house, and noisy renovation works from adjacent houses were among the gripes that left me annoyed and wretched.

Luckily it was the school holidays and my dear eldest sister was around to assist me in getting used to the new place - unpacking clothes and kitchenwares and bringing her kids to play with mine - particularly when my other half was seconded to a major project at work which required him to work late for a long period at the office. She and her children were heavensent! They made the transition period much more easier to handle.

Last but certainly not least, a big hearty thank-you goes to my other half who, despite a busy schedule and a demanding project deadline, managed to slot in time to pack for the new house, assembled the beds and other furniture on arrival and even cooked Laksa Sarawak for a small housewarming cum doa selamat gathering a week after.

Over all, 2009 has been a tumultuous year with the first half year saw me waddling along with my watermelon-size tummy and stressing over the arrival of the stork and how I will cope, and the second half had me getting used to the concept of 'four' at home, stressing over a brother's looming wedding and moving to our new house.

Many lessons learned came and went as I turned 35 at the end of the year, among which were (1) Mirroring Obama's buzzword, life is all about CHANGE. One has better go with the flow, or risk being drowned by strong undercurrents. (2) Something's gotta give. Don't expect everything will be status quo after you embark on a change. For instance, after getting married, do behave like you're married. After having a kid or more, do act like you have kids. The same has to be said about writing too. (3) Be at your own peril once you decide to swim against the indomitable current of change. Massive disappointment, heartaches and/or bitterness will ensue. (4) Be less selfish, less self-absorbed and more focused. (5) Those obdurate in embracing change must not be meddled with, as experience has shown, it is best to leave them to their own devices. It is for the sake of your sanity and blood pressure to let them be. They're an incorrigible lot, after all. Sigh. (6) When you thought you have people figured out, the fixed formulas that you made up in your head about them turned out to be grossly wrong. You stand corrected. (7) Pigeonholing people might save you the trouble of digging below the surface, but people deserve to be heard no matter what their station in life. (8) Friendship is still possible to be forged at this age!

With the new year only ten days old, I muse over what is in store for me and pray to Allah for a more peaceful, happier and healthier time for me and my whole family. A healthy dose of patience, retrospection and good deeds are in the cards, God willing. Here's to a wonderful decade for everyone!

Of Anamcara and Wedded Bliss

2009-11-28T03:11:00.001+08:00

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

2009-10-30T17:45:00.000+08:00

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

2009-08-29T08:25:00.001+08:00

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

2009-08-16T01:43:00.003+08:00

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 *

2009-06-17T15:39:00.001+08:00

(* 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

2009-06-13T19:45:00.002+08:00

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)

2009-06-12T15:48:00.003+08:00

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

2009-06-07T23:05:00.009+08:00

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 dissatisfactions 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 after leaving some Malaysian students' place on the South side en route for a transit to the Red Line. At first, I did not notice anything that would set off my alarm bells 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 a downtown apartment. 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

2009-05-25T09:09:00.002+08:00

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

2009-04-14T09:44:00.000+08:00

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.

------------------------------------------------------------------

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!

--------------------------------------------------------------------
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

2009-04-04T01:00:00.004+08:00

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

2009-03-17T17:47:00.001+08:00

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

2009-03-06T13:23:00.001+08:00

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

2009-03-03T17:43:00.001+08:00

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

2009-02-20T11:40:00.001+08:00

(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.....

2009-02-04T15:15:00.001+08:00

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

2009-01-31T12:25:00.003+08:00

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

2009-01-28T22:38:00.001+08:00

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

2009-01-21T01:47:00.000+08:00

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.

Lessons of 2008

2008-12-31T23:55:00.005+08:00

In about one hour's time, the curtain will come down on 2008. As the new year looms very close, I am inadvertently reminded that I will be adding another year to my age.

With it will come out sprouting more strands of silver hair and cracking more fine lines under my eyes. My husband and I often wonder from where we had summoned the energy to walk all over the places in the sweltering heat of KL in our '20s. I chalk it up mainly to our higher metabolism and wide-eyed enthusiasm. I don't even think I sweat in those days; nowadays I sweat buckets!

Lack of personal transport, we often relied on the Kommuter, taxis and the LRT to bring us to places of interest, usually mall-oriented. Now, we can't imagine how we would survive without a car. Especially with a restless toddler in tow.

So what has happened in a year?

There were several events that had caused me to reflect and reassess some long-term goals. And there were the vacations that soothed the nerves and salved the soul. Oh yeah, how can I forget - the news of me expecting again was the icing on the cake of a very interesting year.

Most of all, there were the lessons that had come to pass. Here they are:

(1) After reaching a certain age, some people are so entrenched in their thinking, attitude and beliefs that it defies any sort of reasoning to change them.

(2) Never ever take for granted the kindness of others. What goes around comes around.

(3) People surprise you when you least expect it. They can turn out to be nicer than you have otherwise preconceived.

(4) Friendships come in the unexpected forms and shapes. They're your picker-upper in life.

(5) Sometimes friends disappoint you when you expect a bigger mileage than they could be able to muster, but you learn to let go and cut them some slack.

(6) No matter how rough things get with your siblings, you learn to forgive them. Blood is indeed thicker than water.

(7) Never boast or swagger your so-called talent, physical attributes, mental dexterity and so on. It can be taken away from you, in ways unimaginable.

(8) Try developing a keen foresight to differentiate those who genuinely want to befriend you and those who are eager to discover your Achilles Heel.

(9) Sometimes it's better to shut your mouth than to start another round of petty argument.

(10) A hug from loved ones - toddler included - does a world of wonders.

It's almost midnight, so I bid you a beautiful 2009 ahead and may the year's lessons bring with us more courage, wisdom and happiness. Grey hair, wrinkles and all.

Village Memoir

2008-12-29T21:42:00.003+08:00

Pseudo-Kelantanese. If you look under my profile description, you will see the abovementioned word which I had selected to address my father. Some might even wonder as to why I had used the word pseudo.

Well, the reason can be traced back to this snippet of history. My dad's family had settled in the topmost part of Terengganu that borders the state of Kelantan. Kuala Besut is the proud name. It is inextricably linked to another small town called Jerteh.

Growing up, I was baffled by my dad's native tongue of Kelantanese whereas he is a fellow Terengganuan by birth. I have forgotten who had narrated me the story, but the person essentially concluded that Kuala Besut was once under the rule of a Kelantanese sultanate. However, as part of a war concession, the Besut area was handed over to the Terengganu ruler at the time.

As a gullible kid, I was wholly convinced this was the gospel truth as it conveniently explained why my father's family speak Kelantanese. For all I know, it could be due solely to its close proximity to Kelantan which naturally led to intermarriages among these folks as a result of extensive trade and travel. Whatever the truth is, I have labelled my dad as such, as exemplified by their unique bilingual existence in Kuala Terengganu.

As expected in those 'prosperous' days, my father lived with nine other siblings and his parents within the confines of a small wooden house. There were each five boys and girls. Dad was number seven. The lucky seven who was the first in the family to enroll into the elite boy school at Kuala Kangsar.

In the '40s and '50s, life was hard for the Kampung folks in the backwater of Terengganu and Kelantan. My father recounted many times how they ate rice mixed with coarse salt which had been fried on the open fire. Sometimes, they even had to do without rice and survived on tapioca as a daily staple.

This agrarian, hand-to-mouth kind of living compelled my dad to strive harder for a better life for him and his family. After coming into money, he initiated a renovation plan for his childhood home and even extended the length of the house. The refurbishment included running water in the house as opposed to constantly relying on the well for cooking, washing and bathing. At one point, he even put the Astro cable channel in the house which unfortunately attracted some unwanted freeloaders into the domain.

My memory of the idyllic Kampung remains sketchy at best, in the form of grainy snapshots of my annual, if not biannual, visits to the East Coast. One visit that forever stands out in my head is the school holiday during which all of Tok's (Tok is my paternal grandmother) children (save for the youngest one studying in the UK) congregated with their families back home and we spent the next few days getting in each other's hair, so to speak. The reunion cum vacation culminated in a road trip to the nearest beach - about an hour's drive in those days - for a picnic and fun in the sun. No older than nine years old, I remember being so happy, surrounded by and played with many cousins from near and far.

Other unforgettable moments include the times when leeches clung to my legs, tiptoeing to the toilet area in the middle of the night lest I would bump into something slithery, adjusting to the cold yet refreshing water of the well, taking turns with my sisters cycling the neighbour's becha (trishaw) and the seemingly endless supply of pulut lepa, nasi dagang and laksam for breakfast.

Save for his youngest sister, my father was not particularly close to his string of siblings, due either to the age gap or diverging interests and priorities in life. By the time he went to the residential school, most of his older siblings were already married and having kids. The time spent in a boarding school and later to New Zealand for his tertiary studies only further drifted him apart from his siblings.

Except for the occasional stays by some cousins at our home during the school holidays, I am afraid I have not formed a lasting bond with any of them. The simple pleasures of our childhood were replaced with adolescent pangs and academic pursuits. Later on, some misunderstanding and mistreatment had persuaded me to evaluate the durability of some paternal relations. In a way, our weak friendships inevitably follow the same path as my dad's.

Coupled with the fact that people generally understand Bahasa Malaysia (the medium of language used in schools) and the infrequent visits up north, I am not able to converse in Kelantanese as well as one would hope for. I never have the motivation, nor the proper agenda to proceed with. My mother knows a smattering of Kelantanese after countless exposures to the family, especially during my dad's brief RTM attachment in Kota Bharu in the late '70s. I do recall the time when my elderly aunt - one of dad's sisters - and her daughter were joshing with my mother about the foreign quality of her Kelantanese. In other words, people can tell she is an outsider. Still, everyone admires her for the brave attempt and effort to learn. At least, that was the impression I had gotten.

After my grandmother's untimely demise in 1997, I had only gone back to Kampung twice - one for a Kenduri (Feast) in conjunction with Korban (the rites of slaughtering animals) during Eidul-Adha celebration and the other due to the sudden death of my aunt in Pasir Puteh. During this time, we also had to accompany our mom for a dialysis session in Besut Hospital. The absence of Tok, the pivotal figure and the 'glue' to whom everybody gravitates to, left a huge chasm in the already shaky familial bond. There were no more plans of a grand reunion now that she had passed away.

On a macabre note, eleven years after her passing, five of her children have joined her with the most recent one being her second oldest son - Ayah Ngah - during Raya this year. Now there remain only four of them, including my dad (the eldest son had passed away before Tok).

Eight years have gone since I last stepped foot on Jerteh soil. When my late uncle was around, he was the 'unofficial' caretaker of my Tok's house. I don't know what has since happened to the abode, or whether it is still standing at the same spot. Whatever fate that has befallen the place, my recollections of Kampung, however hazy, linger and would last me a lifetime.

A Day in the Life of a Twin

2008-12-22T10:10:00.000+08:00

Na, Sadia and me in Borders' Starbucks, The Gardens, in late January this year

I will try to keep this one short and spare readers of a blow-by-blow account of my life. :) That's what happened when you're writing on the computer, instead of the paper, and in a rush to finish.

As wont, like an annual tradition, I would write a post with respect to my birthday and this year is no different. (However, this year I am a day late)

People always ask me about the special, almost magical properties of being part of a twin. "Are you guys telepathic?" is one of the frequently asked questions.

As much as I would like to believe that is the eerie case, I would have to say No. At least some of the time. On the other hand, there have been instances in which similar incidences happen to us. Once, when we were in Standard Five (that would be 11 years old to the uninitiated), the tiny eraser on the back of a mechanical pencil stuck inside one of my twin's nostrils. Luckily, my mother managed to fish the thing out of her crevice. Less than a week later, it was my turn to get the eraser into my nostril by accident and I had to be rushed to the clinic as the eraser had stubbornly lodged inside the hole!

Some skeptics might attribute this incident as our ploy to get our mom's attention, but believe me, shoving a teeny ball of eraser into one's nostril was not worth the risk. We were just a curious (and naughty) lot, my twin and I. We even let the kid from our nextdoor neighbour cut our hair once because we were playing barber. My mother went ballistic with the badly-shorn haircut and was more angry at the neighbour for letting her daughter clip our curly locks.

Numerous other cases point to this weird, double-trouble phenomenon such as our two forehead injuries and subsequent scars, the loss of handbags and other material goods, car accidents and so forth. Coincidence? I doubly hope so.

As for the persistently (if not downright grating) obvious question as to how it feels to be a twin, honestly speaking, I do not know how to answer that one. Having lived XX years of my life as a twin, I lack the experience that goes with the territory of being a 'single unit'. People tend to compare us on every imaginable level - I guess it is part of human nature to respond accordingly when they find something remotely identical. I liken it to a game of 'Spot the difference' between two deceivingly similar pictures.

Initially, I confess that I have resented the comparisons being made either in an outward fashion or inwardly in their head. Therein lies the fervent wish to become a so-called 'individual'. However, forgetting that every aspect of our lives is up for comparison - siblings, friends, colleagues, material possessions, etc - I changed my mind.

I decided, let them compare. I am my own person. Love me or hate me, purely based on this alone. You don't owe me anything just because you know my twin sister. And vice-versa. Yet, common decency dictates that some civility shall prevail, whether or not you like the other half.

I once gave a rare, unexpected answer to the inevitable question, "It must be nice to have a twin, right?" I intoned "Yes, especially if you don't like the person, you can pretend to be the other twin." That shut his trap for good. You wouldn't expect that kind of answer from my twin though - I'd say she's more diplomatic dealing with people in general. At least, those outside the family. Haha.

As for me, I had to brush up on my people skills. Fortunately, aging and marriage have taught me a thing or two about tact and niceties.

Admittedly, being competitive by nature (there I have said it!) has relegated making comparison with my twin sister a second nature. It can be done outrightly or subconsciously, but the sad truth is it would not take me anywhere. This line of thinking will only weigh me down.

I am glad that I have since taken the high road and cast the insecurities away. Cliche as it may sound, I have realised that I must be happy with who I am and stop benchmarking myself to others. Sure, I might relapse some time, but as long as I don't dwell in the abyss, I will be mighty fine.

Back to the eerie front, both my twin and I were sick on our birthday yesterday - alright, you can blame it on the cold season - and unbeknownst to us, wanted to eat at Victoria Station for our special day. Never underestimate the telepathic twin powers! *Cue Twilight Zone music*

Break Away!

2008-12-18T12:22:00.004+08:00

(Written on Wednesday, here and there)

A line of leafy trees and a secondary line of coconut trees obscure the view from my hotel's expansive window, enveloping me in safety against the prying eyes of stragglers or field workers below. It is, however, a different scenario altogether during the night and I must draw the heavy curtains together in order to preserve the sanctity of my cocoon, not to mention sparing passersby of an unflattering silhouette!

I have dwelled in this old (classic, if you may) hotel with an extensive golf course for the past four days and it is a welcome respite from the familiarity of home as I am the sort of person who loves a change in scenery once in a while. Though the comforts of a house are uppermost in mind, I am not exclusively a homebody and the wanderlust in me is always ready for an adventure. So when hubby told me of his corporate workshop, I jumped at the opportunity to leave the house. Sadia was also excited at the prospect of staying at a hotel and swimming in the pool. But, I could tell she was not prepared to have her dad away in the bargain.

Time had seemed to pass by quickly on Monday as I ran errands with my mother and Sadia. First, it was the pick-up at the hospital for which I was late since Sadia and I were frolicking in the pool when the incessant buzzing of the phone alerted me to a string of missed calls. She had completed her dialysis earlier than expected and I was nowhere prepared to rush to the hospital when Sadia had yet to be bathed and fed some food. I had only managed to arrive at SJMC at 2 pm, two hours after her session ended. I told my mom to let me know much earlier her estimated completion time lest a similar thing happened again (usually she finishes around 1 pm).

En route to Kota Damansara home, we dropped by the McD drive-thru (again? Bleargh!) on the NKVE highway for my quick bite. As predicted, the previously sleepy-eyed Sadia was wide awake upon seeing her cousins (my two sisters send their kids and maids to my mom's place during the weekday and my eldest sister's family was also there for the school holidays). So you can imagine the pandemonium that ensued in a house full of children.

Around 6 pm, I left the house with my mom and Sadia for Ikano Power Centre to buy some groceries and other essentials for the hotel stay. As Sadia fell asleep on the way there, we took the opportunity to indulge in some 'Rojak Buah' and dinner at Dome. After Sadia woke up from her kip, she demanded that we bought her an ice-cream cone before going home. With the legendary traffic on Persiaran Surian, we only entered the driveway at 9 pm - three hours after we left the house!

By the time I got to the hotel, it was already 9:30 pm and boy, was I knackered! Sadia wanted to see her PlayhouseDisney channel so badly that she asked me to open the website and we briefly played some games before Sadia got agitated with the slow Internet connection. I heaved a huge sigh of relief when hubby came back one hour after we came to the room.

My Monday was also aggravated by a wiggly tooth which moved back and forth whenever my tongue came into contact with it. The tooth - well, a remnant of a tooth, the last remaining wall of a molar on my left side - came loose sometime after we finished swimming. It was such a nuisance that I would find food to be unpalatable once it hit the tooth. When we fell asleep at night, I kept waking up from the tooth pain and decided to wriggle it bit by bit. After twice being awakened from my slumber, the tooth finally came off. Thankfully with only little blood. But a piece is still stuck at the base of the molar and I am contemplating if I should get it pull out. I had called the gynae earlier today for consultation, but he was on leave. Only tomorrow I would know if it is safe to extract.

Tuesday saw me lounging primarily at the hotel and enjoying the amenities (read: room service, bed and internet) to the max. Sadia refused to go swimming after she scraped one side of her leg on my parents' gravel driveway on Monday. We spent the time watching cartoon VCDs on her portable multi-player tv and looking at PlayhouseDisney website. Oh yeah, both Sadia and I were not feeling well on Tuesday, with Sadia being antsy and weepy towards the afternoon. I got some reprieve when she napped earlier AND longer than usual.

Apart from the sniffles, I think she misses her routine back home, having her favourite shows on at all hours and lounging with her OTHER customary toys. On the other hand, I immensely enjoy taking our stroll together after breakfast around the hotel's lush compound, alternately walking hand in hand and carrying her. Sadia became surprisingly quiet and well-behaved during these walks, unlike the rambunctious and hyper kid that she usually is. This was reminiscent of the Holland/Paris days when I lugged her around in the baby carrier while hubby attended classes. Those simpler, uncomplicated days.

I only drove out with Sadia later in the evening to check out what Ara Damansara has to offer and got lost as a result. Luckily, I succeeded in retracing my way back and arrive in the hotel to pick hubby up for a quiet dinner in Subang. We even went grocery shopping again. Since hubby had another session beginning at 9 pm, we were back in the room 15 minutes before. However, as it turned out, everyone else in the group was still busy eating and whiling the time away!

With check-out time at 2 pm on Wednesday, hubby helped put the baggage and other loose items in the car, and Sadia and I whizzed away to Kota Damansara to play (that's Sadia) and rest (that's me) before picking him up at the hotel in the evening. With the exhausted Sadia throwing one of her tantrums again shortly before leaving to get hubby, I had to rely on mini M&Ms to pacify her during the ride. Sadia slept shortly after hubby took rein of the wheel and we stopped at a KFC drive-thru on the highway since hubby had not had lunch. We later got our dinner - my sambal ikan kembung! - at a 'warung' in Bandar Baru Ampang before heading to the apartment.

At long last, we entered the house around 7 pm and were glad to see the familiar sights. Refreshed from her nap, Sadia rushed to the tv with PlayhouseDisney channel on default setting and parked herself there for most of the night. Ahhh, back to your normal programming.

------------------------------------------

For a lark, here's my result for the Celebrity Look-Alike, inspired after Kak Teh's own. Please note that it is Roseanne Barr AFTER her multiply surgeries and not BEFORE. Haha. And how come do I get all these obscure Asian personalities, unlike some other people with Hollywood lookalikes? Do I look more Oriental than the average Malaysians? The mind boggles.

Please go here to get yours.

Pregnancy Journal 1

2008-12-11T12:55:00.000+08:00

According to the gynae and if the calculation is correct, I should be in my 12 weeks this week. My stomach has ballooned to a noticeable bump and caused most of my current pair of pants to stay on the racks. I am lucky to have sisters - three of them - , who have accumulated an array of maternity wardrobe between them, to borrow from.

I have seen my gynae twice ever since I got the referral letter from the neighbourhood clinic. Both encounters have so far been pleasant aside from the very long wait (two hours!) to go into his office. You see, my ever popular gynae, takes emergency cases first and this pushes forward other patients who are civilised (or clueless?) enough to sign on the appointment list. The first time where I couldn't get an appointment due to the long waiting list and had to wait for a free slot - two hours plus - was forgivable, but the second time - on an appointment - was something I had to get used to. It was exasperating to say the least. I didn't have to go through such a long haul with the first gynae.

I changed gynae from the previous one because I find my personality conflicted with that of the latter. Although I have to wait for this new gynae - hopefully subsequent visits would get better, time-wise but I wouldn't bet on it - I am glad this gynae is more patient and jovial than the other one. Each to his own, I believe.

My bouts of nausea - without vomitting - have so far tapered off with a lingering fatigue usually in either late afternoon or evening. Headaches are the order of the day as I have trouble falling asleep every so often due to frequent trips to the toilet late in the night. I am also extra klutzy nowadays and have become more forgetful. Recently, I lost my house keys as I could not at all recall the last time I saw them.

As far as cravings go, my recurring favourite, for some strange reason, is sambal ikan kembung (mackerel). I must have it every day if I could. Alas, it narrows down to once a week. Ironically, my first culinary love, chicken has reverted to a puppy-love state as I halfheartedly eat my way through most poultry dishes. I cannot even stomach the good old-fashioned, greasy fried chicken that I am so crazy about! My husband quipped that I am fowl-averse for this pregnancy as opposed to being coffee-averse (I couldn't even smell the blasted thing) during the first time.

Already ticked off my craving list are DELIcious creamy carrot cake, baked potatoes, Chillis Nachos and Triple Play and bubur kacang (mung bean dessert). I have yet to get my hot piping banana fritters (pisang goreng). You know the traditional crispy ones dipped in a mixture of air kapur (limewater) and flour batter.

The euphoria of having a child the second time around might not match the experience one gets the first time, but I still become teary-eyed whenever I see the lil one and his or her corresponding heartbeat on the nifty ultrasound. I feel truly blessed with His munificence.

Sadia, a few hours old

The worrywart that I am, I am concerned about the dynamic of my relationship with Sadia once another baby enters the picture. She now knows there is a baby in mommy's tummy and at one point screamed at my stomach "Hello, anybody in there?!" I also notice she has grown more attached to her 'baby doll' named Caroline (or Caroleen in French since we got it as a Christmas present from the French hotel we stayed in during hubby's two-week course) and always insists on bringing it everywhere. Sometimes she feeds her the toy bottle and even talks to her. Is it her way of getting used to a sibling, I wonder?

With Caroleen in Kampung Bahru during the recent Raya Haji

That aside, my husband and I agree that time flies so fast this time around. After December, it will be six more months until the stork comes for a visit. God willing. Until then, we will be making some changes on the domestic front - physically and emotionally.

(From onwards, this journal will be posted on as-and-when basis)

Ulangtahun *

2008-11-27T08:15:00.000+08:00

He waited for her arrival with a styrofoam cup of McDonalds coffee in his gloved right hand. The gentle, morning wind still sent a shiver up his spine despite having bundled up ever so painstakingly. Although it was officially the tail end of winter, the unpredictable Mid-west weather was something he had got used to. A beautiful, crisp day today, a blustery one tomorrow.

Her train would pull into the station anytime soon, he thought while glancing at his trusty Swatch watch.

He always looked forward to her trip up from her college. Traveling downtown from his suburban college and a McDonald breakfast while waiting became a ritual that he had grown accustomed to. They would have a fun time catching up with one another over a movie, lunch and coffee, although not necessarily in that order.

In fact, they had been so close that it was a wonder they were not seeing each other exclusively. Although the thought had crossed his mind, he would never want to jeopardize the friendship for something more. He liked the way things were. Besides, he wasn't sure if both of them were ready for the transition.

He loved that they were on the same wavelength (well, most of the times), interested in the same recreational pursuits, and shared an adventurous streak.

Admittedly, no one had come even close to being so attentive and sincere in their acquaintanceship with him. She can be so guileless and uncouth at times, but strangely he found these qualities a part of her charm.

He is fond of her, he inwardly confessed. Let's hope she would be patient and wait for him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

She looked out of the Commuter Train passing through the rundown section of Chicago's South side. Her mind was fully occupied by the phone conversation she had with him the night before. They were talking about the movie they planned to watch and other attractions in downtown when she broached the subject.

Well, she didn't actually broach it per se. It was more like alluding to the obvious fact - taking their friendship to the next level.

However, he seemed to be either dense or uninterested to pursue the matter. Pursue was the operative word here.

She sighed out loud and inadvertently let out a steam of air onto the glass window. Deep in thoughts, she only came to realize that the temperature had dropped since she boarded the morning service. Luckily, she didn't miss the train like she had previously a couple of times before due to a delayed taxi ride.

In a bid to gather her thoughts, she quickly buttoned up her pea coat and put back her journal in the knapsack.

She knew he's a private person. It was hard to read what he was thinking most of the times. Although she confessed, it was part of the mystery that attracted her to him in the first place. She liked to hang around him as he was the least judgmental person she had ever known. She could just be herself, up to a point that is. Sometimes, she needed to watch herself lest she spurted some blunt remarks.

The train had come to a full stop. Time to face the music. Whatever that was in store for them, she would wait with bated breath. She cared too deeply for him to run away from the unfolding scene. There was no denying the strong bond they had formed. "I've grown accustomed to his face" played in her ears as she descended down the steps to see a familiar, Godsent figure.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

* Anniversary.

Facebook Fiend

2008-11-24T10:35:00.003+08:00

Hi. My name is Theta. I'm a Facebook addict.

I have wanted to write about this newfangled fixation for the longest time, but you guess it, the time spent on Facebook (FB) has somehow derailed me from penning my thoughts down. That, and other regular interminable distractions (read: Sadia).

When my dear twin sister invited me to join the crazy bandwagon (as it has been quoted by someone in my husband's FB circle) back in December last year, I declined on the basis of rejecting the 'mainstream' movement. (I could just imagine Nina rolling her eyes at my attempt to be 'different' :) ) Besides, I told myself, the long-ish form - at least that's how it appeared to me in the older FB version - one has to fill to enter this 'cult' just put me off.

Hah! The snobbery of it all. As this incident goes to show, you should never ever say never. Because once you tread into the beautiful unknown, there is no turning back. At least, that's how it applies in my sorry case.

Ahhh, the sheer embarrassment of it all.

In February this year, I finally decided to give FB a try after reading to no end about it on various blogs that I follow - how they are hooked to it, the different, interesting applications involved and meeting friends - old and new - online. In my weak defense, curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to check out what the hullabaloo is all about.

Little did I know I would be sucked into a powerful vortex that seems to turn on its own axis. Once I finished with the form-filling part and had my first view inside the sacred portal, I literally ran all over the place - finding people I might know, adding new funky applications and accepting new gifts in return. For some inexplicable reason, I was completely entranced.

Nine months have passed since that fateful, hyperventilated day. I can safely say by the end of October, my euphoria has somewhat died down.

In fact, the end of Ramadan saw with it my usual interests taking a backseat to more pressing matters, like attending to Sadia and spending quality time with my loved ones (Unbeknownst to me then, my gradual lack of enthusiasm and acute fatigue were attributed to having conceived a baby).

Digression aside, I must reiterate that FB still figures largely in my life, and there is not a day where I will not take a peek at it (except of course, when I'm in rustic country). This almost morbid fascination with FB even boggles me. Surely I could just run away from such frivolous electronic affair. Then, how come the mind tells me no?

Sometime in early September - also the Ramadan month - I chanced upon a delightful exposition on this successful FB phenomenon. All of a sudden, everything that I'd ever mused about FB clicks together. The said article talks about the concept of 'ambient awareness' to explain the feverish rise in online form of contact.

It is, they say, very much like being physically near someone and picking up on his mood through the little things he does — body language, sighs, stray comments — out of the corner of your eye.

As a matter of fact, the current News Feed page on FB - the default Home page on everyone's FB account - is essential to this site's popularity. When News Feed was first introduced two years back however, people in general were initially mortified by the constant updates flashing across the page. Who broke up with whom, whose less than flattering photos were tagged and so forth had caused a thunderous uproar. Fortunately, the clamor died down within days after people got accustomed to this new feature. Many people were happy to receive tidbits about some of their friends which they would not normally know in real life.

Now that it is socially acceptable to showcase a snippet of your life in a blip-like manner on FB, the internet has seen a surge of 'microblogging' tools like Twitter in the past one year.

The phenomenon is quite different from what we normally think of as blogging, because a blog post is usually a written piece, sometimes quite long: a statement of opinion, a story, an analysis. But these new updates are something different. They’re far shorter, far more frequent and less carefully considered.

This brings me to another facet of FB - Status Update - which, like Twitter, has a limited number of characters to play with. Truth be told, it is the one I most utilize and look forward to each day. When I began using it, I even surprised myself that I didn't have any reservation towards it. Not even a teeny bit shy. I love skimming through Friends' status as well and, like the article elucidates this long-drawn exercise gives me a sense of the rhythms of their lives. When followed for an extended period, I get a feel of their ups-and-downs, personality streaks and other boring yet strangely meaningful information that make up a bigger picture.

This is the paradox of ambient awareness. Each little update — each individual bit of social information — is insignificant on its own, even supremely mundane. But taken together, over time, the little snippets coalesce into a surprisingly sophisticated portrait of your friends’ and family members’ lives, like thousands of dots making a pointillist painting.

An 'extrasensory perception' gained from such unending virtual contact might be superficial at best, but the fact remains people do find the time to compose their thoughts on Status Updates in order to attract cursory or loyal readers.

While the author discussed the dangers of dabbling too much in ambient awareness activities - spreading oneself too thin for real-life emotional relationships, the 'parasocial' phenomenon of developing a misleading deep connection with someone whom you hardly know, and the dilemma of wanting to extricate yourself from your own noseyed 'small village' of FB (privacy, ex-lover issues, tagging of your old horrible pics, for instance) or staying put just to see what others are talking about you - , I am more inclined to agree on this point - creating a more self-aware, reflective individual.

The act of stopping several times a day to observe what you’re feeling or thinking can become, after weeks and weeks, a sort of philosophical act. It’s like the Greek dictum to “know thyself,” or the therapeutic concept of mindfulness.

As the Status Updates demonstrate, you cannot help but to wonder what had possessed you to rant about certain problems and therefore make a conscious decision to tackle them better. You in turn become more objective. That's the best side-effect for emotional-laden persons such as me. Though the pull of FB inevitably remains, I'm increasingly 'aware' where my priorities lie and that face-to-face interactions are more precious and rewarding than the FB versions I might engage in any given day.

Oh, by the way, my FB Dunbar Number currently stands at 123. That's propitious enough, don't you think? :)

First image taken from here.

Second image stolen from here.

Last image filched from here.

Tagged : The Magnificent Seven

2008-11-12T02:18:00.002+08:00

In the ever competitive world of blogging - who has the most hits per day, which old-(blog)timers have the largest fanbase, who has read the most books in the bookblog circle, and who has the most outrageous scoop in the so-po blog circle - , it's nice to retreat in your quiet little corner to soliloquize about the 7 wonders of your world. Or plainly speaking, as this tag by Aezack dictates, 7 random facts about me :

I like to eat Chicken. Period.

Any chicken dishes suit my fancy. As long as it doesn't involve any foreign parts of the chicken like gizzard or liver. The good old-fashioned greasy fried chicken is my favourite, bar none. I believe this strong affinity to the fowl started from my childhood where my mother always fed us the poultry for lunch and dinner. The domestic favourite is of course fried chicken. However, I should also qualify that I dislike the drumstick part of the chicken, whereas the most vaunted part is the wing! The more, the merrier.

I clean my plate. And any other perishables, consumables and supplies for that matter.

If you give me a plate of rice with the usual trimmings, I'd, more often than not, finish the spread. Naturally, the food must be palatable and considering my rather indiscriminate culinary taste, the probability of me scarfing down the whole grub is high. In the case of finger-lickin' chicken, I will eat the pieces until the bones are exposed for all to see. Even my MIL is impressed by my ostensibly 'Waste Not' motto when it comes to eating, but I shrug it off to the glutton in me. Also, I will use any consumer product to its last drop or squeeze. Toothpaste, chilli sauce, shower gel refill, shampoo and many others have fallen under this meticulous practice.

I am not a groupie. Nor do I subscribe to cliquish mentality.

Partly borne out of growing up in a family where two of my siblings are of the same age and partly due to a self-imposed reclusiveness, I rarely felt the need to venture out of my comfort domestic zone as a kid. I also abhor the politics involved in making friends back in school, most prominently amongst the feral-like females. It didn't help that I was an awkward and confused teenager, unlike others who throve on their adolescent hormones. Yes, I didn't mix much and can be socially inept when it comes to mingling with others. Outside of school and into college, this perception stayed and was reinforced by the presence of cliques in the Malay community. I find the 'automatic' solidarity existed among people coming from certain states of Malaysia stuffy and limiting. While it's nice to connect with your fellow countrymen when studying abroad, we must not do so at the expense of experiencing the (good) culture and meeting new people where you live. If one feels the pressure to behave in a certain way to please a group which in itself goes against one's principles, I'd be the first one to get out of the door.

Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.

I am stickler when it comes to being punctual for a meeting. Well, at least when it comes to meeting my friends for coffee or a movie. I'd lose my cool when he or she shows up late without any good explanation. Like leaving late for our tete-a-tete. However, when I'm the one being late, I'd expect them to understand. Heh heh - how unfair, right? Also, when I have set my mind on something, I'd want to get it done and over with as soon as possible. Like Now. I'd be restless and impatient until it's out of my To-do lists.

Like Aezack, I used to have a crush on Richard Dean Andersen during the formative tween years.

Other honorable mentions of crush are Simon MacCorkindale (of the Manimal fame), Richard Chamberlain (from the forbidden love of The Thorn Birds), and Jan-Michael Vincent of, what else, Airwolf. Perennial favourite actors are John Malkovich, Gary Oldman and Brad Pitt of course. :)

I have two stitches on my forehead resulting from two separate incidents : (a) a major car accident on Federal Highway and (b) an attempt to fly off to a gate located on a steep decline.

I vaguely remember the first, but I was told that we're hit by another car where most of the passengers unfortunately died in the accident. If I'm not mistaken, I was between the age of five and seven at the time. I do remember 'waking up' shortly after the collision and looking at others - my family members (except for brother, Shol) and an aunt - whom I thought were 'sleeping'. I then touched my wet forehead and saw crimson colour on my teeny fingers. Thereafter, I lost consciousness again. I can also recall indistinctly going in and out of consciousness at the hospital and the operating theater.

The second one involves a former neighbour's gate in our old Shah Alam abode where I literally flew - flapped wings ala superhero - down the narrow slope and hit the galvanized steel gate so hard that it left a deep gash on one side of my forehead. Needless to say, I was hurried to the hospital for a stitch-up. The two incidents happened within a short period of one another and luckily the scars have long gone since that memorable time of my early childhood.

Despite feeling jaded about some things in my life, I am a firm believer of soul mates. Some people might pooh-pooh it either as hogwash or an enduring byproduct of Tinseltown. I do believe there is someone out there who understands and accepts us completely and unconditionally. That someone thinks the world of you and would even risk his/her life for you. It might not be someone whom we end up marrying - it can be a friend, an elderly person, a mentor or even someone in the family. It's a tall order this soul mate business, but I reckon it's far from impossible. I'm grateful that I got to marry mine. :)

There you go, my Magnificent Seven facts. By the by, The Magnificent Seven is one of my favourite movies from the '60s. The dashing Yul Brynner cut a fine figure in his Cowboy outfit and macho swagger. Another great actor - this one is a legend.

I won't be tagging anyone this time around as this meme tag has been around for a while. However, please give it a try if you like and let me know so I can pop over to your place and take a gander.

And baby makes...

2008-11-02T22:57:00.002+08:00

Lest the news be stale by the time I decide to write it, let me do the honour of putting the record straight. We are having a baby.

The rambling nature of my previous post, coupled with the insomniac episode and bottomless stomach, should have been an indication, if any. And all the talk about having another baby to make the panic attacks easier has ironically enough come to fruition, in a manner of speaking.

Also, there were the persistent dizzy spells and feeling of nausea which had rendered me horizontal for some days. I was feeling more fatigued than usual that I decided to break my sunnah fast in the middle of an afternoon after becoming exceptionally woozy.

I had my suspicions about being pregnant but I didn't want to put my hopes high. As such, I attributed the constant headaches to one of my PMS symptoms (interestingly enough, most pregnancy signs can be the onset of menstruation) while the bloatey, queasy feeling was always a culprit after eating the wrong kind of food.

However, my sense of intuition kept gnawing at me for failing to heed the apparent signs. So when the headaches and nausea became more pronounced, I threw caution to the wind and decided to get the home pregnancy kit. Last Sunday night. Yet, between the fear of being disappointed and the strong womanly instinct, the former sadly won. I dilly-dallied until the next morning.

Suffice to say, it was great news! I was overcome with mixed emotions. Exhilarated, disbelief, worry and most of all, gratitude.

As advised, we went to the clinic again in the afternoon to reconfirm the pregnancy and get a referral for an ob-gyn. Only then did I text my mom and three other sisters.

It sure is surreal to be expecting again. I remember the last time I made the excited series of calls to my family. That was late July 2005.

I pray to God for a safe pregnancy and delivery and a healthy, bouncing baby.

For now, the nauseous feeling still lingers. Thanks to God, I have a strong stomach.

Insomnia-Induced Idle Talk

2008-10-21T15:06:00.002+08:00

*Sleep seems to escape my subconscious for the moment. It wasn't the coffee that's the culprit - that one I know for sure. It's probably the good old-fashioned worry that, to borrow Eliza Doolittle's expression, has done me in. On the other hand, it could be nothing more than hunger pangs that contribute to this insomniac episode. I remember my stomach growling as I turned in last night.

And this morning, still tossing and turning, I feel a hollowness deep inside the pit of my stomach. I was famished. For some reason, the Domino's New York Crust Pizza wasn't able to satiate my hunger. At a hefty sum, the extraordinarily thin crust screams rip-off to me.

With drowsiness miles away from my thoughts, it's best that I use the 'free time' to update a post. This past week has seen me reevaluating some aspirations that I've set for myself. Suffice to say, I have to be more pro-active in order to achieve them.

In the course of my 30-odd life, I have always been the over-analytical yet enthusiastic person. However, the eager beaver in me will slowly fizzle out at the strongest hint of betrayal or undue criticism. While I consider myself cautious when it comes to making new friends, I always have my gut instinct to round up the assessment. On the short-lived corporate front, I would rather have a clearly defined role at the workplace as opposed to become a master of all trades without any acknowledgment forthcoming from an aloof supervisor.

Becoming a full-time mother ever since I quitted my job in corporate affairs, I must say that motherhood has its own unique set of challenges. I was most fortunate to be able to make that transition with the help of an understanding and ever 'hands-on' partner who, I might add, was on a one-year sabbatical from work. (We were in the Netherlands for one year for hubby's Masters programme)

Though I contemplated coming back to work after we arrived home last year, the opportunity has yet to present itself insofar as I'd be able to leave Sadia in good, capable hands. My two-and-half year-old daughter is such a finicky eater that at times I am at wits' end trying to make her eat. Therein also lies one of my 'pro-active' pursuits. I have made an eating timetable that I hope to adhere to from now. And of course, there is the problem of weaning off that I have yet to decide on. Some people say that she'd eat more properly and heartily if I totally wean her off. All I can say is it's easier said than done.

Having a kid surely change one's world and not to mention one's mobility as far as nursing is concerned. But hey, who's complaining! Here's the lowdown on what it means to raise a baby/toddler without the help of a maid:

As parents, you can no longer afford to eat at a leisurely pace. Either you eat as fast as humanly possible or you chow down when the baby is asleep. In the case of Sadia, it doesn't help that her napping pattern has been haphazard at best. Else, an alternative is to take turns eating as one of you attends to the toddler's whims and fancies.

Stepping into a cinema is akin to a death wish when you are totting around an irascible tyke. Unless you book a whole auditorium to yourself to let the bambino run across the aisles, there is no conceivable way you are able to enjoy the silver screen with a screaming toddler on your face. The temporary solution for now is to heavily rely on DVDs - bootlegged or otherwise - as a form of escapism.

Toddler activities take precedence whenever you step out of the house. When you're on a shopping jaunt to a mall, always make sure the place has a decent toy store for the kid to let off steam. If you are out of reach of one AND an outdoor playground, please do not hesitate to use one of those coin-operated kiddy rides to get a moment of peace. Now you can relate to those parents who utilise these contraptions like crazy, unlike before when you look upon them with disdain for being so uncreative in entertaining their children. You know better now...

The television falls prey to a voracious tiny viewer who dictates which channels the parents would be able to watch. In this household, for instance, the default channel is PlayhouseDisney. Any attempt to change to another channel will be met with deafening shrieks that are out of this world.

However, fear not for sleep is the least of your concerns as you can catch up with your sleep either when the tot naps or by going back to bed after the other half leaves for work :) (Outside of your insomniac episodes, that is). Your partner, in turn, can replace his sleeping hours after coming back from work as long as the bambino is still napping. It's, more often than not, a win-win situation.

To say that your life changes once a baby enters the picture is in itself an understatement. He or she will demand your constant attention and reassurance when he or she goes through different stages of growth and development. Your old routine will be irretrievably gone, if not take a backseat to more pressing matters concerning your baby. Get used to it. Come to terms with it.

And most importantly, embrace it like you would cuddle your precious bundle of joy as if your life depends on it.

*Started writing on Saturday morning.

Kuching in a daze

2008-10-14T09:56:00.001+08:00

The gossamer curtain billows suggestively under the spell of an afternoon breeze. Its undulating waves match the slow-paced existence of this peaceful household. Outside, on a neighbour's spacious backyard, countless lalangs with their white flowers sprouting out rustle in the wind. Despite the negative press that lalang often gets, this 'sea of white' appeals to my aesthetic. Save for the sound of television, there is nary a voice rising above others, nor will there be a need to. In this quiet, idyllic setting, my frayed mind is instantly cajoled to join the rest in collective harmony.

For a short while, there won't be any worry about the perpetually broken down elevator, the drunken African expat, the crazy motorists on the roads or the ruthless taxi drivers.

Everything appears to move slower in this lovely, quaint place. Truly a holistic approach to life that many a weary urbanite, like myself, have sought after. Thus, heed my advice: to recharge your battery, find a temporary pastoral residence, complete with the night orchestra of crickets, birds and frogs, the fresh village air to salve the troubled soul, and a group of non-combative, relaxed individuals to restore your faith in people.

This leafy Kampung (Village), by the fringes of Sarawak river, has the inexplicable magic touch that always have me hankering for more. Welcome home Tita. Glad you're back.

------------------------------------

And now, on a sappy front :

I was standing
All alone against the world outside
You were searching
For a place to hide

Lost and lonely
Now you’ve given me the will to survive
When we’re hungry...love will keep us alive

Don’t you worry
Sometimes you’ve just gotta let it ride
The world is changing
Right before your eyes
Now I’ve found you
There’s no more emptiness inside
When we’re hungry...love will keep us alive

I would die for you
Climb the highest mountain
Baby, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do

I was standing
All alone against the worlk outside
You were searching
For a place to hide
Lost and lonely
Now you’ve given me the will to survive
When we’re hungry...love will keep us alive
When we’re hungry...love will keep us alive
When we’re hungry...love will keep us alive

(From Eagles album's Hell Freezes Over)

Happy Anniversary my dear husband. We were married on the 14th of Syawal 1425 and as wont, will celebrate the day as mutually agreed.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, guidance, hope, perseverance and most importantly, unconditional love. While I concede to moments of relapse, at times wallow in my own weaknesses or succumb to imagined shortcomings, I am most blessed having you in my life. May Allah strengthen our marital bond and bestow us with His bountiful barakah, insyaAllah.

During the 'Makan Temuan' ritual for Kuching wedding ceremony

The Raya that was : The Long Version

2008-10-08T19:54:00.003+08:00

It's now one week after the first day of Eid.

Somehow Raya this year turned out to be more low-key than expected. On hindsight, I should have expected it, what with the series of events that led to Eid.

We went to my parents' house on Raya eve bearing the customary Satay to be eaten for iftar and the ensuing Raya. My eldest and younger sisters and their respective families were around, helping out with last-minute chores like wiping down the long-forgotten corner table and filling up the containers with Kueh Raya ((Raya cookies). My twin sister's family had left for Johor Bahru earlier that morning to spend Raya with the MIL's clan.

After my younger sister's family left to clean their house, we went to Ikano to get some essential rations (read: her preferred carton of fresh milk) for Sadia. Sadia was bawling her eyes out when we told her that we're going out for a bit as she had thought we were leaving for good. Only when we said that Elisa - her favourite 5-year-old cousin - was tagging along that she miraculously calmed down.

Once there, we indulged in some ice-creams from New Zealand Natural before heading back to KD. Oh yeah, I had forgotten to mention that my dad and my brother were not around for iftar as they were invited for the traditional house-to-house takbeer that took place in our old neighbourhood of Shah Alam. Every year without fail, the Shah Alam folks would call my father to join them even though we had long left the community.

Following iftar however, I experienced a splitting headache that crescendoed when we turned in for the night. I couldn't fall asleep until almost 3 a.m. A succession of 'incidents' worked against my favour as I tossed and turned in bed. First, I tried in vain looking for some panadols downstairs in the dead of night and out of desperation, settled for a generic, unknown brand with the word 'Paracetamol' imprinted on the pills. Then, it started pouring outside as I was about to doze off and caused a leak in the roof that rapidly dripped into a ready bucket. The tap-tap-tap sound was enough to remove any desire to sleep. When I couldn't take it any longer, I took a thick towel and stashed it deep into the bucket. It provided a welcome cushion to the grating noise. When I thought that was the last of my trouble, someone's car alarm went off for the longest time. As I covered my left ear with the pillow, thoughts of Murphy's Law crossed my mind and I chuckled inside. Lethargy finally overtook me amid the din of the night.

The morning after my husband came back from the TTDI masjeed for Eid prayers, we both helped get a sleepy-eyed Sadia ready. With the rain last night, the house's solar panel was not running at its optimum which caused me and Sadia to shower in relatively cold water. Sadia sure got a rude awakening, so to speak, but she was surprisingly cooperative when we donned her in baju kurung and fine jewellery.

My eldest sister later knocked on the bedroom door, telling me that she and her family were going to leave for Kampung Bharu. So soon? I said. She wanted to see my other aunties and uncles before they disappeared for other houses. Where were my parents in the midst of the first Raya, you ask? Since it was a Wednesday, my mom was doing her morning dialysis in Subang Jaya whilst my father had purportedly gone for an SUK Raya event in Shah Alam. My brother also opted for a dialysis session on Wednesday (his usual would be Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday) so he'd have a hassle-free second day of Raya convoying with the maternal clan. My younger sis et al were in Rawang celebrating the first day of Raya with her SIL (who's in confinement) and the rest of the in-laws.

Turned out, Mama also had trouble sleeping due to a pounding headache and woke up later than usual to go to the hospital. Another reason Kak Long, my eldest came to my room, was to ask me to send the Raya goodies - ketupat, rendang and whatnot - to the hospital for my mom's nurses. For many years now my mother would bring traditional Raya dishes for the Muslim nurses on duty at her dialysis centre. Since they are accustomed to my mom's tradition, they look forward to it every Raya.

How ironic that when we put a night in KD to spend Raya with my family, no one was physically around. With just us in the big house, we decided to take our time eating the Raya food and snapping the compulsory Raya photos for posterity before dropping the food off at the hospital. My mother's session would end around noon anyway. Half past noon we were at SJMC and my mother and I went up to pass the goodies. With her eyes downcast, the nurse at the reception pouted and said in a low tone "Dah lama tunggu" (Waited for a long time). It must be pretty hard for them who had to work during Raya. Mama informed me that out of the eight Malay nurses, only two were allowed to take leave.

My mom went back home with my dad to rest and change into her Raya clothes, whereas we took off for Kampung Bharu. Excluding my grandma, only the families of one aunt and one uncle were at hand to entertain the guests. After the usual round of eating, salam and bestowing money to the little and not-so-little ones, we sprawled en masse in front of the telly joining the other early birds.

Since the next house to visit in Kampung Pandan was scheduled after Asr prayers, we went off to KLCC to run some errand and sat in (where else!) SanFran for a cold one. The time was apropos as Sadia was napping in her buggy. It was a scorching hot day and KLCC was teeming with people, primarily non-Malays and foreign Muslim workers from Bangladesh and Indonesia.

The Assam Laksa at my auntie's place in Kampung Pandan was a nice departure from the predictable Raya fare. Sadia had woken up at this time, flat out (read: cranky) from the day's hustle and bustle. As such, we decided to skip the last house in Kajang and took things easy for Sadia's sake.

-------------------
Second day of Raya is all about visiting the side of my late (maternal) grandfather's family. We were due at the Kampung Subang's house by mid-morning but alas we couldn't make it in time. Instead, we drove straight to Kuala Selangor to meet the rest of the maternal relatives for a lunch date at the house of my mom's cousin. After performing Zuhr prayers, we left for another relative's house, off Kuala Selangor - somewhere in Sungai (or Bukit) Belimbing - which boasts a swimming pool. The pool had finally completed after being in a state of limbo for two consecutive Rayas. Sadia, like a fish to water, wanted to dip in but without proper adult supervision (and swimming suit) was somewhat contented with splashing around. As wont, this house served its signature piping hot pisang goreng (fried banana) dipped in ground gula melaka (palm sugar). Yum.

Sadia's mood dove after this house, more so after she found out Elisa's car was going in the opposite direction of hers (my eldest sis and family were off to her in-laws in Sabak Bernam). We got lost for close to an hour, going to the next house located in Kapar. Luckily Sadia got to sleep during this time. By the time we arrived, most of my relatives had already left for the next house and Sadia had also stirred from her sleep. She was hungry and cranky. Not a good combo.

We then agreed to skip the last two houses since Sadia had not eaten properly and told my mom that we would see them back at the KD house for the night do. However, we found out that the relatives' gathering at my parents' was cancelled due to the lack of quorum. So we stayed in Ikano to feed Sadia and went home thereafter.

The third day we were off for a vacation that had long been planned and repeatedly postponed due to my husband's mounting workload. The holiday proved to be the breather that we've been looking for. But that's another story.

On the Raya front, we will be leaving for Kuching this Friday. It will be a short visit as hubby is needed back at work pronto. It's either we go back this Friday or later during Deepavali which would fall on October 27th. That'd be too late especially for my mother-in-law who yearns to see her youngest grandchild.

Until I have some air to exhale, wish us a safe and great trip back home. And do enjoy the remainder of your Eid.

Tag: Writers Writuals

2008-09-30T09:25:00.000+08:00

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.

----------------------------------------------------------------

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

2008-09-23T11:57:00.004+08:00

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

2008-09-17T09:06:00.002+08:00

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

2008-09-16T14:22:00.002+08:00

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

2008-09-08T14:31:00.000+08:00

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.

Once a Leftie,

2008-08-29T12:08:00.004+08:00

It must be noted that I am not at all talking about my political leaning. While I consider myself being mostly apolitical, I still cannot bring myself to trust someone with an overpowering gift of gab. Like a magazine, everyone can talk – I just want see substance underneath all the glossy cover.

Here my preoccupation lies in knowing very late in life that I am lefthanded. Correction, I was lefthanded. All the while, I don’t have any inkling as to this fantastic discovery because the thought had never presented itself to cross my mind. Recently however, a series of events provided that pivotal moment of epiphany that led me to question the opaque truth.

First, I observe Sadia’s natural inclination to use her left hand for play and eating. I had even inquired my husband if there is any leftie in his side of the family. He replied in the negative and knowing how observant he is, I could then narrow the search to my side of the family.

Secondly, the knee injury that I had sustained in early July confounded my familiar sensations and subsequently confirmed my suspicion, lying latent in the deep recesses of my mind. I have always handled Sadia with my left hand. If she falls asleep in my arms, I’d always position her with her head nestling comfortably within the crook of my left arm. I carry her with much ease utilizing the left part of my body – shoulder, hand and arm.

Also, the tendency to use my left hand for mundane tasks like picking up items, texting on the cell, and drinking offers an obvious hint to this innate ability.

Indeed, the tell-tale signs were nagging me since Sadia’s arrival but I never gave this possibility much thought. It was just like background noise. Until of course, the fated injury.

While the husband was away on business in mid-July and we – Sadia and I – stayed ay my parents’ place, I casually slipped in the question to my mother during one of our normal chats. “Ma, was I lefthanded?” Her emphatic Yes didn’t come as a surprise. In fact, it seems like I had fully anticipated the answer. It merely affirmed that long-held (yet dormant) belief that I was born a leftie.

I asked her the reason behind her conditioning me to be a rightie. She explained that she was afraid that I might have problems with eating and ‘cleansing’. Looking at her guilt-stricken face, I know she meant well and for the life of me, I’d not hold her accountable for the ‘handy’ change.

Now, at least, it makes perfect sense why my handwriting is so atrocious and looks beyond legible. If you get the chance to see my paper scribbling, you would definitely think you are looking at a doctor’s illegible nonsense – you know, the one you would normally see when the doc writes down your prescription.

I can vividly recall how bad my handwriting was in secondary (high) school when my Form teacher called me aside and advised me to improve my script lest it would be held against me in the exams, particularly the SPM! After that, I took extra precaution, not to mention effort, to write more neatly and unhurriedly during the examinations. While it worked for SPM for the most part, my barely readable scrawl must have shared the blame for my poor results in the 1119 exam.

I remember the pressure to complete the darn paper within a strict time constraint and how my handwriting suffered from the very ordeal. I bet the Briton-based marker wasn’t too pleased to see the ‘chicken scratches’ littering the answer sheet! If 1119 is a reliable indicator of one’s mastery of English, I must say I’m utterly doomed.

The closest person who can fathom my doctor-like scribbles is none other than my husband. There were however countless occasions that both of us couldn’t make sense what I had written less than 12 hours before! How funny and embarrassing at the same time.

With the full knowledge of my leftie imprints, so to speak, I am now at peace with my handwriting. Now I know why my twin sister writes neatly and almost typewritten-like whereas I struggle to a level of comprehension. To be sure, I do write relatively neatly if I pace myself and take the extra effort. But with my ‘unnatural’ right hand, patience gives way to clarity of thought and passion trumps over impassiveness.

Befittingly, I celebrate my scrawl by jotting these thoughts the old-fashioned way – with a hand-held instrument – that is strongly advocated in some literary circles. They say it pools one’s imagination into the safety net of papyrus, thus liberating oneself from the shackles of electronic persuasion.

While the jury is still out on that suggestion, I do relish using this paper medium which has seen me at my best and my worst.

Are you a Weenie or a Greenie?

2008-08-22T20:07:00.002+08:00

(Note : This post was scheduled to finish on August 19th for obvious reason stated in the post, but due to unforeseen circumstances - relocation to my parents' house while hubby's away, a bad flu and a demanding toddler - it can only be published today. Regards)

The latest Isetan newsletter cum mailer pays tribute to our Earth by promoting the use of 'eco-bags' and other cotton-made equivalents. This move is aimed at lessening the dependence on plastic shopping bags which take between 10 and 20 years to biodegrade.

While I heartily laud Isetan's move at creating environmental awareness to the masses, I know it is a quantum leap before most Malaysians are ready to be environmentally-conscious. To-date, many recycling centers have been installed in selected areas of Malaysia but they remain at best anachronistic and at worst idled. Ill-informed people just can't seem to make out what these derelict sites are for and to what purpose they serve - are they just cold monuments to prove our worth as a civilised society or emblematic of the lip service politicians pay to reel in the votes? Or do we carry on being the apathetic folks for as long as the law affords us?

Well, I shouldn't talk. Save for throwing items into the appropriate bins in the eco-friendly mall of Ikano Power Centre, I haven't indulged in any recycling efforts since I came back exactly a year ago today. (Wow August 19th 2007 was the date when we touched down in Malaysia).

Sadly, most of us Malaysians aren't brought up to recycle or reuse. It doesn't even exist in our vocabulary. Take for instance the upcoming Ramadan month which will take place in about 10 more days. In our crazy hunger, we will hoard food with abandon at the ubiquitous Ramadan Bazaars (liken to a food street hypermarket) happening all over the country. And predictably, post-Iftar the ones which we could no longer fill our mouths will go to waste.

To be sure, we are a waste-loading nation. But I sincerely believe our cultural mindset can be shifted, albeit one legislation at a time. Yeah, that's right. We need an effective blanket ruling on recycling if we are to succeed as an environmentally-forward country.

For one, our government can enlist the help of and get feedbacks from their diplomatic officials and representatives abroad as to the recommended ways to get our citizens 'actively' involved in recycling initiatives. This would be cheaper than hiring those consultants who charge our government millions merely for showing up on our shores.

How about the average citizens, like moi, who have some fantastic ideas to impart on the government with respect to the recycling issue? Surely there is an avenue through which we can engage the local MP to act on our behalf. Or are they too busy saving their own skin?

These improbabilities aside, I'd like to share my own recycling experience whilst living in the Netherlands. These measures, which have full governmental support, are living proofs that people can become environment-savvy when they have no other choice but to toe the line. With the laws staring them straight in the face, it is more advantageous - not to mention, profitable - for these ordinary folks to follow them. For me, Holland has made recycling such a cinch that I feel so good doing my part.

This is how it goes: (1) Whenever you purchase soda drinks in a can or plastic container, you'd initially be alarmed how relatively expensive these beverages are. (2) However, there is a reason as to why the price is high in the first place - to encourage recycling. (3) People return this PET bottle or can to a supermarket that carries this 'reverse vending machine' and in turn get a refund for each item that they turn in - 10 cents for a 300 ml glass bottle & 25 cents for a PET bottle, for instance. (4) They get this refund in a form of a receipt which can be used towards reducing the amount they have to pay at the checkout counter.

The reverse vending machine

Let's say you're recycling 5 PET soda drink bottles, so you'll get a refund receipt of €1.25 that is printed out at the vending machine at the end of your 'transaction'. You then go inside the supermarket to buy your rations and at the supermarket checkout your grocery shopping comes to a total of €5.50. You then present this tiny piece of receipt paper to the cashier who will duly scan it and deduct the refund amount from your total. In the end, you only have to pay €4.25.

Here's a video showing how the machine works:

The extra price added into these bottles and other 'recyclables' by both the drinks manufacturer and retailer is called 'Statiegeld' or a deposit. Retailers are motivated to add in the deposit price to the final product in order to get back the deposit from the manufacturer. This trickle-down effort at recycling ensures a high success rate as it induces the consumers to collect these bottles/cans for a greater grocery discount and the retailers to reclaim their deposit. As for the manufacturer, it can profit from selling these bottles for recycling. Else, it can re-use them for future production which helps to further lower the cost of manufacturing.

Now, isn't that just swell? We get to do our part of keeping the environment clean without much effort or hesitation.

However, I must add that not all cans and bottles has a 'Statiegeld' attached to them, i.e., the ones purchased at mom-and-pop, late-night-opening convenience stores which are a rarity in the Netherlands and more often than not, run by people of Turkish-descent or Indian-descent. To the uninitiated like me, it was exasperating to say the least trying to insert these plastic containers into the vending machine which kept spewing them back out. In such a case, it is better to utilise the municipal's curbside collection which operates once a week.

Back on the home front - that it will take a Herculean effort to get the project off the ground doesn't begin to describe the many obstacles facing this particular recycling scheme. Of course, there will be a politically-charged public outcry over the injustice inflicted by greedy capitalists. Huh? I'm not surprised if some naysayers will spin the whole truth off for the sake of appeasing the worrisome masses.

Yet, I have faith that through full and sincere government support, this recycling scheme will see even the cynical and the lazy lining up to get a 'fair' deduction on their grocery bill. Timing is of utmost important and considering the recent fuel hike, the powers-that-be need to strategise when and how to unveil such a plan. Again, we must bear in mind that some detractors will twist the whole recycling bid in view of the higher petrol prices.

I don't expect an overnight success to this method of recycling in Malaysia, but I'm confident that we will have more 'Ayes' than 'Nays' among our well-informed demographic.

Blast From the Past

2008-08-15T14:40:00.000+08:00

I was browsing through old photos to scan and chanced upon an old album containing those taken during my engagement.

It was a sunny day that December 14th 2003 when I was to become someone's fiancée. I vaguely remember the time, but it was in late afternoon because I could recall people having teatime food. And if I'm not mistaken, it was still the Syawal (Raya) month so the engagement also doubled up as a small Raya gathering.

But most importantly, the momentous day is forever etched in my mind as the day Saddam Hussein was captured by the allied forces! This breaking news was homed in by noisy relatives who were tuning onto the small telly in the dining hall. Luckily, the engagement ceremony had completed by then.

I also recall that my eldest sister was in confinement, having given birth in early December. The fourth-born, Elisa and her mother were cooped up upstairs in a make-shift baby room for the duration of her confinement. Moreover, my twin was almost six months pregnant and my youngest sister was already married for close to 4 months. All of us were still living under our parents' roof at this time, with the exception of my eldest who just opted to spend her confinement at my parents'.

That day also marked the first time I met my future parents-in-law and a slew of other relatives. What a nerve-racking day indeed! Luckily, it went smoothly and I didn't commit any faux pas.

THE Centerpiece - Sirih Junjung - thanks to two extraordinary aunties who are well-known for their Sirih Junjung creations.

Dulangs or Gift Trays from both sides. His - five items - in Gold and mine - seven items- in different shades of peach. ;)

When his mom finally came through the room to slid in both the engagement ring and 'merisik' ring.

With our respective parents and one of his twin nephews.

Please to meet you, my fiance :D

Short take : Cuppa Hubba-Hubba!

2008-08-13T08:18:00.001+08:00

Inside my head, I was leaping for joy when I first got wind of this article from a friend who, like me, shares an unswerving passion for coffee. It does vindicate my long-held beliefs about the wonderful properties of caffeine and in particular, coffee.

And in light of recent developments with respect to my knee, it behooves me to highlight this point :

Bone loss. Though some observational studies have linked caffeinated beverages to bone loss and fractures, human physiological studies have found only a slight reduction in calcium absorption and no effect on calcium excretion, suggesting the observations may reflect a diminished intake of milk-based beverages among coffee and tea drinkers.

As long as you are taking the recommended amount of calcium and drink your coffee with milk (read: less of the black or 'O' version), the possible bone loss can be prevented. I hear you loud and clear here!

It should also be noted that coffee's effects on the risk of developing pancreatic cancer or kidney cancer have thus far been inconclusive. Nor there is a link between consumption of caffeinated drinks and breast cancer.

Holding sugar intake constant, another great news concern diabetes :

Another review found that compared with noncoffee drinkers, people who drank four to six cups of coffee a day, with or without caffeine, had a 28 percent lower risk of Type 2 diabetes. This benefit probably comes from coffee’s antioxidants and chlorogenic acid.

Amidst of these great benefits of coffee, there is however one low point pertaining to weight loss. Contrary to popular belief, there isn't a long-term benefit to losing weight despite caffeine's so-called metabolism-accelerating properties.

If that is the case, it will be back to the drawing board for me. Clearly, there is no short-cuts to maintaining or shedding one's weight. I had always thought coffee would fend off gaining at least some kilos.

While I am more than elated with this piece of news, I would still tread with caution with respect to my daily coffee consumption. As life has shown me, too much of something is never good! (Unless of course you're talking about clothes :P )

Image filched from here.

A Cowardly Call? You be the Judge

2008-08-09T10:33:00.001+08:00

Have you ever experienced one of those days when you simply wish you don't have to deal with someone but the circumstance proves not to be in your favour?

Make that circumstance and conscience. That is, in the case of the latter, if you have one.

Then, there is one desperate thing left to do. Opt for Slydial.

Sly what? Well, it's this nifty technology that is gaining ground Stateside for letting people off the hook, so to speak, from facing and making those awkward phone calls.

As this NYT article elucidates:

The technology, called Slydial, lets callers dial a mobile phone but avoid an unwanted conversation — or unwanted intimacy — on the other end. The incoming call goes undetected by the recipient, who simply receives the traditional blinking light or ping that indicates that a voice mail message has been received.

Some people use it to break up with someone by leaving him or her a voice message; others depend on it to avoid talking to their superior who, despite the verbatim explanation, will put them through the third degree as to why they're on medical leave while others just want to avoid talking to somebody - relative or otherwise - who's either talkative or inquisitive to no end.

Personally, it is amusing that a company has actually come up with this type of technological 'service'. But on hindsight, I am not all that surprised MobileSphere manages to zero in on the overwhelming effect today's technology has on most people.

MobileSphere’s co-founder, Gavin Macomber, said the tool was a time-saver in a world in which conversations could waste time, whereas voice mail can get directly to the point. Part of the reason people are so overwhelmed, Mr. Macomber said, is because they are connected to devices and streams of data around the clock.

How true this is. I'm constantly linked to my phone, no thanks to the 3G technology that enables me to check my emails and bookmarked websites. I'd have this compulsion to check my phone now and then for news and interesting tidbits.

Even my husband, who had upgraded to a 'mini-computer' phone, seems compelled to read his work-related emails that flood in after office-hours and over the weekend (these people working and sending work emails on a Sunday should re-assess their priorities). Such an ingenious way of technology to suck the life out of you even on your off day.

I think some of us have committed an evasion of technological advancement in one form or another. Refusing to answer the phone, pressing the Reject Call button when a familiar telemarketing number (like Citibank!) comes a-calling, or merely ignoring an text message/sms which is so beneath you to deign a reply.

Interestingly enough, the article points to people's predilection to 'miss one another on purpose'. In the near future, the phrase 'playing phone-tag' could no longer be a succession of seemingly innocuous missed calls between two individuals, but instead has a negative undertone which plants a seed of gnawing suspicion for the two parties involved. On the back of our mind, there will always be that "Did he leave a missed call on purpose?"

This 'one-way communication' is prevalent all over the Internet with sites such as Facebook, Twitter and Radar.net reinforcing the habit on a pool of both willing and unwilling audience. I found myself sniggering at this part for I have to confess I'm a perpetrator of this mode of communicating too, broadcasting my thoughts and whereabouts with a relish that probably borders on mania. :)

As John Poisson of Radar.net puts it :
“We’re in this mode where we’re telling everybody everything all the time...It becomes about saying things — just blathering on. We’re at the apex of that trend.”

I can't agree with him more on that point.

With Slydial on the block, getting straight to the point will be much easier amid the yackety-yak one usually has to put up with. If only there's a Malaysian version on the market.

Addendum: Turns out, my husband uses the voice mail all the time at the office, primarily to schedule a meeting, to leave a friendly reminder to attend meetings and to leave specific instructions to someone. If only they have a Slydial option for meetings that will circumvent the propensity of going off on a tangent by certain people. But I've heard some companies like ExxonMobil have very strict guidelines - everything is recorded for Corporate Governance purposes - on how a meeting must be conducted, thus minimising the probability of veering off topic. Well, that should be a motivation!

He also told me about the voice mail option of my cellphone Service Provider where at the click of some buttons, I could bypass talking to a person. However, I'm not sure if the service is available and extends to those outside of one's Service Provider. In that case, we still need Slydial! :)

A Knees-Up!

2008-08-04T02:17:00.000+08:00

I will try to keep this one short. We finally went to see the specialist last Saturday morning after I kept changing my mind about going to the hospital. You see, the said knee somewhat got better the night after I wrote about its poor condition.

It must have been the venting out that did the trick. Seriously enough, the young doctor prescribed me a stronger painkiller - with strong side effects like vomiting and fainting spells - that night I came asking for a reference letter. After that dosage, my knee didn't feel numb and weak like it was on the previous day.

But there is still residual pain and until today I still can't go back to praying the normal way as yet. I'm still assuming a sitting down solat position.

Where was I? Oh yes. The meeting with the specialist - consultant orthopaedic and sports injury surgeon - took place briefly before I was asked to go and get an x-ray of both knees for comparison. This was where I spent most of my mid-afternoon, much to my little family's chagrin.

After what felt like an eternity, my name was called to go into the imaging section. There I still had to wait since all the x-ray rooms were occupied. According to hubby, Sadia became worried in the waiting area when she saw people with slings, casts and bandages coming out from where I went.

X-rays were taken from three different positions. Standing up, lying down and sitting down.

With the consultancy clinics operating until lunch time on Saturdays, it was a quarter to 1 p.m. when we finally arrived back at the specialist's room. He promptly put the relevant x-rays on the illuminator while I waited for hubby to come back from the gents. He asked me to lie down while he examined both knees. I couldn't fold my right knee without some pain, nor could I straighten my right knee for a long period at a time.

The diagnosis? Both my kneecaps (patella) are displaced from what should be their normal position. He couldn't figure out exactly why the right knee was more susceptible to pain when both kneecaps were actually out of sync. The tissues on the outer side of the patella look like they were pulling my kneecaps from their correct place. He had however ruled out a ligament tear since I would have to be active in sports to sustain such an injury. I wouldn't know any wiser.

He did however say that excessive weight gain could exacerbate the pain. Basically, it looks degenerative - that's a fancy word for growing old, I'd think - and he prescribed me two different supplements along with a physiotherapy session once a week that I need to attend for a month.

So I'm on medication still - or it is more like I'm on supplements - and cannot bend my right knee or press it on any surface, no matter how hard or soft.

As for the physio, I plan to see how it goes first. In the meantime, on the urges (and lectures?) by well-meaning aunts I must cut down on my caffeine intake. They see the resemblance of my case to other hardcore coffee drinkers. One even had to put a metal brace down her back due to a brittle bone condition. And she's the type who must always have her coffee black!

Egad! It's down to one coffee a day for me....maybe I'll start next week. :P

Knee-deep in pain

2008-07-31T10:31:00.001+08:00

I have not been well for close to two weeks now. It is not so much that I've been in denial about this ailment, but more because I was trying my best not to let it get to me.

I had thought by doing so the pain would slowly dissipate.

But in this particular case of mind over matter, I had been proven wrong. It hasn't got any better.

Two Saturdays ago, we stopped for our customary mall jaunt in The Gardens following a lunch date at my parents' place. Sadia was sleeping on my lap at the back seat of the car when the car pulled into a spot in the basement parking. As I wiggled my way out of the seat while holding onto a sleeping toddler, something snapped inside my right knee. Dismissing it as just another muscle twist, I went out and walked towards the carpark's entrance.

My walk however slowed and came to a complete stop as soon as I reached inside of the automatic door. I practically screamed for my husband who had already walked ahead with the empty buggy when any further movement proved to be excruciating. I was writhing in pain.

We usually walk fast in any crowded areas such as this carpark's ticket payment booth in order to avoid Sadia from waking up. Luckily Sadia didn't stir when I hollered for hubby.

I asked him to carry Sadia instead as I tried to regain my footing, so to speak. The pain crept down from the right knee to the foot, thus causing me to hold my breath. We decided to forgo eating in Chilis which was farther away from our parking spot near to the Cold Storage supermarket and sat down at Italiannies instead.

The pain subsided for a bit when we sat down to eat but resumed as soon as we started walking toward Borders, the bookstore. And the crunch (pun intended) came when I proceeded to sit on the floor with Sadia for this interactive kid song-and-dance demo. I couldn't make a slightest move without grimacing in pain. I couldn't even come to a standing position when Sadia bawled her eyes out when the super-chirpy lady asked all the kids to scream. Fortunately, Yayah came to the rescue. It took me quite a while to bring myself up.

We stopped by the neighbourhood clinic on the way back home to Ampang. The familiar loudmouthed doctor had the gall to suggest losing weight as the solution to my knee pain. He attributed it to being overweight for this unexpected pang. I was more disturbed that he came to this conclusion only after I told him what had transpired and before physically checking my knee.

I admit that my weight has gone up considerably, but I wouldn't say that it is a gross increase. After debating with him about the BMI calculation, I shot back "Aren't you also overweight then?" He readily admitted to this obvious fact and that he's constantly using a muscle relaxant to combat his back and leg problems. He offered me the same, along with some painkillers.

The next day my hubby left for Saigon on official business while Sadia and I moved into my parents' place. I had thought the pain would go away on its own. After weighing the truth of the doctor's prognosis, I decided to perform some mild exercises - walking up and down the stairs several times. As it turned out, the pain became worse.

Subsequently, my mom thought that it must be some angin or loose wind trapped inside my knee cap and asked me to use her hand-held electronic massager to rid my knee of angin. Desperate for any quick fixes, I utilised the machine. Yet, I didn't feel any better. On the contrary, the knee area throbbed and turned swollen. So much for self-diagnosis and home remedy!

When hubby came home on the previous week's Wednesday, we dropped by the swanky clinic in KLCC for a different opinion. I was given some herb capsules and a gauze bandage to wrap the fragile knee in place. All the walking that I'd done only caused the pain to be more severe. The pain travelled up to my right buttock and down to the sole of my right feet.

We even went to the KLCC clinic again on Saturday morning with the possibility of getting my right leg x-rayed. However, the doctor didn't feel the need to do so since my knee wasn't crackling like a typical arthritic condition. If the same doctor that I'd seen were on duty that day, she would have administered the x-ray.

I feel sorry for my left leg having to bear the burden as the right side continues to be in state of suspension. By the by, a more 'feasible' explanation for this sudden spasm of pain is that I always carry Sadia using my left hand. (Turns out, I'm left-handed by nature, but that's another story) In other words, the transference of extra weight on the left side of my body 'carried' a physical toll on my right side as it tried in vain to find a point of equilibrium.

Last Tuesday serves as a final straw for me when walking turned cumbersome and laborious after I drove from Ampang to Kota Damansara to let Sadia play with her cousins. With a clingy toddler who 'prefers' to be carried around as and when she needs reassurance, I can't afford to lose my mobility. However, Sadia has somewhat grasped the gravity of the situation. 'Mama sakit knee' she would remark and asked for Yayah to carry her.

This persistent pain is by turns draining my strength and inducing me to cry. Now and then, I reminded myself that others have suffered worse ordeals and I should be thankful for whatever I have. In the midst of this self-inflicted misery, I came to the knowledge that a fellow Facebooker and a former Primary (Elementary) School friend passed away the previous week's Tuesday in a car accident and left behind two daughters and a husband (Please see here for details). That in itself kept me grounded and jolted me into a realisation that life is far too short to mope around.

So last night, as a final attempt to get a move on with my life, I pleaded for a reference letter to see an orthopedic specialist from the same neighbourhood clinic . Since the beguiled doctor on duty couldn't accurately diagnose me ( I didn't have any fever so it couldn't be septic arthritis, he said), he assented to my request.

We will see how things pan out from thereon. In the meantime, let's hope and pray I get well soon.

The Trouble With Love is...

2008-07-22T02:01:00.000+08:00

Let's see, what shall I write about this time. I have many issues percolating in my head - Anwar, Obama, ISA - but I'm too tired to do my thorough homework on them lest some zealots shoot me down for my inconsistencies or lack of patriotism.

I'm writing this from my parents' house since the other half is out of the country again for business. Luckily, he's not gone for long this time.

The Anwar case is getting on my nerves while Obama's rise to success piques my interest. ISA is the kind of legislation that we can do without in this day and age, considering how it has been abused in some politically-charged instances. I won't pretend to be well-versed, nor feign an interest in politics since I have better things to do than watch a battle of nerves between old, bitter men. And what I mean by old here is having reached one's puberty.

However, since I'm getting 'old' myself - not in the physical kind but in the responsible-adult-kind - I must at least hold a semblance of interest in some things politics.

Before I veer off topic again, I found this gem of an article in the New York Times online which describes love lessons in interesting economic terms.

My favourite analogies are:

In general, and with rare exceptions, the returns in love situations are roughly proportional to the amount of time and devotion invested.

I duly believe in this mantra. Not only does it work for love, it also applies to other realms of your life like work and spirituality. However, some cynics might counter that the amount of time you slog off at work does not necessarily commensurate in monetary terms. In such a case, it is not the job you should be doing anyway! To paraphrase a quote, "Money is not everything especially if you love doing what you do".

In every long-term romantic situation, returns are greater when there is a monopoly. If you have to share your love with others, if you have to compete even after a brief while with others, forget the whole thing.

How true. I remember a guy friend who was chasing this gorgeous girl with a string of other admirers lining up. He bemoaned the fact that he won't stand a chance to win her heart even after he thought he had played his cards right. He had been Mr. Nice, but that was apparently not 'good' enough. Alas, he removed himself from the battle line lest he would be permanently scarred and bitter from an unrequited love.

The returns on your investment should at least equal the cost of the investment. If you are getting less back than you put in over a considerable period of time, back off.

While this is true for the most parts, I must reiterate the 'cost' involved may not always be financial in nature, but could also count time and emotions as their cost. I believe in the sincerity of the hearts and that in itself will pay out in the end.

Long-term investment pays off. The impatient day player will fare poorly without inside information or market-controlling power.

Indulging in 'fast love' would only eat you up in the long-run as you fail to stick your guns when it comes to the 'fundamentals' and 'intrinsic value' of love. Standing by your man/woman in all sorts of weather, so to speak, reaps a bountiful reward.

When you have a winner, stick with your winner. Whether in love or in the stock market, winners are to be prized.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a no-brainer.

Read the article in full for other fun economics take on love. The rules are not earth-shattering by any means; but by providing an insight to the obvious, they are reminders of things we often neglect when juggling the various roles in our lives.

Dominant vs. Recessive

2008-07-16T10:23:00.000+08:00

The heavens have opened and aided in cooling the temperature inside the home. Except for the present cicak (gecko) problem scuttling on my floor, the apartment looks very much lived in. There's a large cardboard box in the living room with its own cut-out roof and window where Sadia plays house with either one of us or her platoon of soft toys.

Toys are strewn on strategic corners of the living room, but mostly dwell in the guest cum toy room. The TV shows its typical black screen, indicating no Astro (Cable) reception as the rain continues pummeling down to earth.

The quietude that has lay in its wake calms my frayed nerves somewhat which badly need some kind of intervention or diversion, or both. Despite the cold ambiance, sleep eludes me as my mind tries to uncouple itself from incessant worries. Perhaps, if I just close my eyes, peaceful slumber will overtake me.

---------------------------------------

My mother asked me when Sadia and I were staying with her last week whether Sadia is more afraid of me, or her dad. I couldn't give a definite answer, at least fast enough to convince her. I had wanted to say she's more afraid of her Yayah, but then there were moments when I struck the fear in her. So I ended up saying it is the former, but my lack of conviction proved otherwise to her. In parenting, she firmly believes that a child must fear one of his parents so as he would think twice before acting out of line. While this principle is great in theory, I have a problem emulating this parenting style. I feel if a child recoils from one parent, she would end up distancing herself from that parent. Instead of cultivating a close relationship with said parent, they would be more like strangers to one another. Something that hits closer to home.

I think what my mom had wanted to convey here is that the 'fear factor' equates to commendable respect for said parent. A feeling that engenders humility and obedience comes from a great, wholesome upbringing. A child should want to avoid misbehaving out of embarrassment for her parent(s), not because of being fearful of the consequences. However, for toddlers, I suppose the more effective and least confusing route of invoking fear is preferred to get them to toe the line.

Somehow the thought of putting the fear of God into one's child compels me to draw comparison to that of a marriage. Must one need to fear one's husband (or wife, if it strikes your fancy) in order to attain a harmonious relationship? Again, I think some people still mix fear up with respect. Mistaking the former for the latter, or vice versa.

While respect has to be earned, fear is an automatic reflex that occurs once the other person demonstrates his might - verbally or physically. In other words, it takes a long time for respect to evolve whereas a short-term frequency defines fear.

This brings me to a line of thought - a familiar refrain, if you will - that there has to be a dominant half and a recessive half for a marriage to work. The dominant partner will exert his influence and behaviour on the recessive partner who will succumb to his (or her) commands. The recessive partner's signature traits will be suppressed in the process, thus making way for a different psyche to emerge.

Whether it is to her detriment or her benefit is a different story altogether. For instance, I was surprised to discover that a strong-willed, self-possessed friend turned squishy and subservient following her nuptials. And there's one who became more frugal (read : penny-pinching) once getting hitched to an equally thrifty partner. On the positive side, one partner who was wild and crude was transformed into a docile creature under the 'tutelage' of a patient half.

To be sure, there are many permutations to this personality make-over which arose from a marriage, be it good or bad. One cannot expect to remain the same old person after undergoing one of life's important rites of passage. In essence, you are the same person, but certain behaviours will either be stymied or replicated for the sake of one's marriage (or if you will, one's peace of mind).

Again, I have a problem when people start pigeonholing a married couple into one that is dominant and another recessive. Naturally, that is what comes to one's mind upon seeing these people in action, especially when such a change is so glaring. It's part of human nature, I guess, to hastily draw a conclusion.

Instead of these labels, I suggest that we look to other more appealing adjectives, like sacrifice and compromise. After all, they are synonymous with the concept of marriage. That way, when one looks at a seemingly subservient wife or a outwardly submissive husband, one would keep those undue thoughts in check for there are many secret ingredients and controlling agents to whip up a great marriage.

For the sanctity of one's marriage, I believe some changes are better than never.

While The Husband's Away

2008-07-09T17:25:00.001+08:00

The other half has been out of town since late last Friday night. Predictably, I had a considerable misgiving about having to hold the fort alone in the interim.

Despite the fact that we both know this day would come sooner or later, I was not at all pleased when it came knocking on my door. His new position entails travelling, at least initially (I hope) as he needs to tie some loose ends and configure a firm plan for action.

This is different from the days when there were just the two of us. I could just pack my bags and stay at my parents when he was away overseas. Now with a toddler in tow, I have to execute my plans in a better frame of mind and with (almost) perfect timing. The former refers to my tendency to be overemotional whilst the latter relies on Sadia being a creature of habit. I simply cannot afford to indulge in my 'boohoohoo' moments since Sadia would take a bulk of my free time - more so as the hubby is not available at night to take over - and my reprieve only comes when Sadia abides by her routine which, as far as toddler standard goes, is noncommittal.

This six-day trip marks the first time my husband is away from us as a family unit. While he attended classes in The Netherlands, the arrangement was fine with me as he did get to come back to check on us once in a while, like during lunch break or in between classes. At times, he even skipped having dinner with the classmates just so he could spend time with us. Bless him.

Oh no. My bad. He was away twice during my confinement, but I didn't mind that much since Sadia was, on hindsight, relatively easier to handle back then.

So, this signals his first time abroad after coming back from the honeymooning year in Holland.

As wont, I felt apprehensive having to be left on my own to take care of Sadia, despite staying at my parents' for the most part of the duration. But Sadia turned out to be on the whole cooperative with me; our long drive from Ampang to Kota Damansara together was somewhat smooth. She even asked me on few occasions "What's wrong Mama?" whenever I looked sad or stressed out. Bless her.

With husband coming back tomorrow God willing, the following are some observations that I've made from this whole experience :

It is possible to fit one set of parents, a brother, two nephews and a niece in one's small apartment when one (and one's sanity) is more than willing to share the same cramped space.

Acute lack of sleep doesn't give you the license to unleash your anger on a toddler, or an unsuspecting waiter.

It is possible to leave your ostensibly clingy toddler with your mom and her cousin(s) to play while you go about your chores, once the toddler grows accustomed to these people.

Imploring a toddler to eat her food is like trying to turn stone into gold.

Never underestimate the energizer-bunny power of one's toddler who could go on for a long period without food when she is preoccupied at play with her cousin.

Don't ask me how but this nomadic existence somehow helps in shedding a few kilos (or less optimistically, a few pounds). Must be all the running around the places.

Catching up with old friends over coffee has a more copacetic ring to it when the toddler sleeps throughout most of the tête-à-tête. Thanks Eng for the skinny latte and the barrel of laughs. :P

It is possible to keep your emotions in check in the presence of responsibilities and priorities as a mother. Dwelling on the empty space on a spacious bed or the pangs of loneliness won't take you anywhere.

This brief distance apart also serves as a time of reflection on one's marriage and the things one has taken for granted and one can improve in this union. (Trust me to romanticise this short stay)

With almost a week behind me, surprisingly I feel fully recharged and raring to go. As Michael Bublé intones in Home :

Let me go home
I’m just too far from where you are
I wanna come home

My Mode Evolution

2008-07-04T11:42:00.004+08:00

Now that I'm more or less out of my doldrums, let's move on to a more sanguine topic.

The July edition of Instyle magazine plays homage to a woman's personal style. The featured article centers on our style profile which roughly falls under the following five categories : (a) The Naturalist, (b) The Bombshell, (c) The Sophisticate, (d) The Trendster and (e) The Romantic.

After tabulating the 22-question fun quiz, I am predictably bobbling around The Romantic spectrum. Unfortunately, this means my fashion sensibility lies in ruffles, bows and floral patterns. While I have dabbled in some ruffles during my lifetime, I'd need some convincing trying the bows. Well, you never know.....

But, I am guilty as charged when it comes to florally-infused fabric. To say I have a propensity towards the floral is in itself an understatement. I live for and thrive on flowery design. More specifically, I am so gullible when it comes to floral skirts.

Yes, skirts. Skirts of epic proportions. Not those mini or micro-mini, just long-ish or maxi ones that would suitably hide a multitude of sins. I love the Flowy Flowery concoctions - paisley notwithstanding - more than I do wearing a pair of pants. Yes, it has gone to that extent.

But it has not always been that way. Long, long ago when I was an addlebrained teenager, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing one. I was a bit rough around the edges, which euphemistically speaking, I was a tomboy.

However, I am not one of those full-fledged tomboys who sport a crop and disdain everything feminine. I still read Jane Austen and anything of its ilk. It is safe to say I have yet to find an identity that is aligned with my (then) inhibited personality.

Another stumbling block to my road of 'skirtification' was my perceived big body size which hampered any desire to put on a lovely skirt. For some reason, I didn't like my thighs rubbing against one another back then. I attribute it to being self-conscious about my body size and the fact my gait changed as soon as I hopped into a skirt.

Subsequently, the mostly meat-less (and non-Malaysian, I might add) diet, long walks to college and caffeine dependence saw me losing some weight while studying in the States. I was more than ready to try on the skirts that I'd been eyeing at the mall. :)

After that moment, I never looked back. I would hoard anything that remotely resembles a floral skirt. Yet, since working life prevented me from sashaying one at the office, I had to make do with neutrals like black, black and black. I do admit that at times I defy convention and wear some at work, especially after I left the short-lived banking stint.

When we were staying in Holland, I found myself being assailed by aesthetically-pleasing floral skirts especially during the Spring/Summer season (It's just impractical to wear skirts in the winter, even with woolen tights). My favourite one is the Danish fashion line, Noa Noa, with its ultra-feminine cut and soothing pastel hues. Luckily by then, I had lost some of my pregnancy weight and was happy to wear some during our summer sojourns.

Now that I am back home in Malaysia with a mostly sedentary existence (the operative word here is MOSTLY) and a myriad of halal meat and other food to choose from, I realise that I couldn't care less about the rubbed thighs more than I do about fitting into my beautiful flower powers again.

The reality and agony of slowed metabolism.

While my evolution from a fashion Dodo to a girly Confection might be a long-drawn, late-bloomer affair, I am nonetheless satisfied with the floriated results.

A hopeless romantic at heart and a guileless idealist, I'm truly in sync with my clothing style now. You could even say I'm comfortable in my own skin.

The Halo Effect

2008-07-02T03:33:00.001+08:00

Almost everyone is inclined to believe that first impression matters a whole lot.

It's only human to fall into this sweeping generalisation. To be impressed on the first encounter calls for the crucial 3Ps - personality, physical beauty and that inimitable pizzazz.

Studies even show that people initially look at a person's attractiveness, even before considering her or his other traits, no matter how commendable or abominable they may be.

This Halo Effect - where our attractive quotient will explain away our other undesirable attributes - is especially important during interviews which require us to project our best possible selves to the prospective employer.

Once an impression is imprinted into another's mind, a sequence of expectations will take place with respect to the 'first trait' that stands out to said observer. For instance, a seemingly loquacious individual is expected to be at the forefront of social events and actively involved in public speaking initiatives. However, the person that we'd projected during an interview oftentimes falls short of the one we happen to be in real life. Ahh, the challenge of recruitment.

Of course, like beauty, attractiveness is in the eyes of the beholder. Come to think of it, (physical) beauty should be subsumed under the attractiveness category. Some people focus on the physical aspect of attraction, while others are attracted to one's comportment - the way one carries oneself which includes the clothes one chose to wear, body language, and superficial accents like accessories, make-ups and social connections. In some cases however, a larger-than-life personality pounces on you and trumps all the other more deserving qualities like, let's say, intelligence. Even so, what is one man's meat is another man's poison.

What's with this fixation with the Halo Effect, you might ask? Well, I'm just intrigued by the way people become easily swayed by the power of first impression and the consequences that follow from such an 'act.' Particularly, when it comes to making friends.

Since friends are supposed to stick by you through thick and thin, you have to weed out those who do not subscribe to the same philosophy. Those who run out the door as soon as the (emotional) alarm begins to ring. Those who would rather hover at the fringes of your life lest they have to defend your credibility. Such people exist, I'm afraid.

I, for one, was a sucker for those who are nice to me in any conceivable way. Experience has thought me that most often than not, they have a hidden agenda in mind. While I relished the attention that was given to me, I also imagined that we'd become the best of friends. When that person betrayed my trust for his or her career move for instance, I was beyond devastated. I'd drown myself in self-pity and wondered why did such an excruciating thing happen to me.

As a result, nowadays I am wary of the charade of niceties that assaults my senses. This in turn has transformed me to a person I loathe - prejudging others or second-guessing myself based on a person's treatment of me. Bitterness will only sour the flavours of an abundant life.

Someone wise once told me that it matters not whether this person is sincere or not, what's more important is that you are (sincere) and the rest is between this person and his Maker. How true. I always believe what goes around comes around.

Instead of harbouring possible ill thoughts towards those who approach me in friendship, I should just savour the rich tapestry of these relationships and take it one step at a time.

As for the Halo Effect that a person inadvertently emanates, with many years of experience behind me, I can rely on my gut instinct to plot the path to a better place where friendships are concerned.

What I've learned is that in the course of knowing a friend, always make sure that your expectations are reasonable and less than idealistic. That way, you won't be too disappointed if the new friend's oddities skew from your perception.

Making new friends are hard, especially at this age of mine.

Maintaining great friends that one has is even harder, I would think.

For now, I'm blessed with the ones I have or in the midst of having.

Beach Getaway

2008-06-24T04:02:00.002+08:00

The lulling sea breeze, the lapping waves and the din of families playing and sunbathing on the sand outside greeted us as soon as we settled into our room. The room's patio faced a strip of beach with a row of chaise lounges for hotel guests.

How glad we were when the room was finally ready since we arrived about an hour early from the stated check-in time. Considering we left quite late from home and even stopped for a petrol fill-up, we had thought we would be there near to the appointed time of 3 p.m.

I didn't count that it was still a school holiday when a three-day getaway was proposed in early June. I had thought it was only the customary one-week school break the previous week and was looking forward to a quiet, relaxing time at the hotel. Blame it on not having a school-going child as yet.

Since that week was the second half of the mid-term school holiday, the hotel was teeming with people, most predominant of whom are the squealing children. Yet, the pandemonium that resulted from a combination of school's out and kids galore was surprisingly inviting. Sadia enjoys the festive feeling that came with the crowd. We confessed that the merriment and laidback vibe even rubbed off on us.

Most especially, she loves attempting to swim in the water with the other children. The small kiddie pool, equipped with a water slide, suited her wee size and we were more than happy to 'show her the ropes'. Although we are unable to float ourselves, we still like to soak in the water with a requisite depth i.e., one in which we could touch the pool's floor. :)

We were pleasantly surprised when Sadia got used to her lifesaver ('pelampung') by kicking her legs on her own. She's a natural. Probably she should take swimming lessons and thereafter teaches her old parents how to swim. Else, we can take the classes together. Haha!

After spending our annual Raya vacation here last year, this trip marked the second time at this seaside resort. Well, in my opinion, calling it a 'seaside resort' would be somewhat misleading. The hotel covers a substantial area - all 23 acres of them - of the beach with kampung-styled wooden chalets propping stilt-like straight into the sea. Thus, the private beach area is rather limited save for venturing further into the public beach that adjoins it.

The renovations and improvements that were underway during our virgin stay had finally come to fruition comprising, among others, a flock of noisy peacocks roaming free on the compound, chaise lounges by the beach, and a snack bar by the seaside to unwind. Also in the works is an ultra-modern - floor-to-ceiling glass windows - spa complex by the water's edge.

Our visit this time around was also 'graced' by the presence of a certain son of a former Prime Minister and his family et al. And et al is the term loosely referred to the body guards and nannies in waiting. This particular arrangement which entails that these parties be with you at all times got me into thinking if the kids would have any leeway for some sort of privacy. It surely would be suffocating for me if someone were to follow me everywhere 24/7. They were on a close watch when the kids frolicked in the same pool as we did. They chose the table nearest to the only entrance door during breakfast.

Also, on the last day before checking out as we relished the pool for one final time, I bumped into a familiar-looking TV3 personality - I forgot the name - who was reading a Tafseer Al-Qur'an (Qur'anic Translation into one's Mother Tongue) by the poolside. It was certainly refreshing to see someone thumbing through these pages at the most unlikely places. A few days later I came across an article in the newspaper headlining that she had donned the tudung (or hijab).

Apart from these deviations, we engaged in the customary trip to Malacca on the second day for a quick mall run and ikan bakar (or grilled fish) and other seafood binge.

Of course, Avillion's main attraction for us fledgling parents is without a doubt, the animal farm which lets you (read: kids) feed the animals - turtles, birds, rabbits, chickens and hamsters - 10 a.m. daily at the enclosure situated close to the swimming pool area. Sadia loves the ritual to bits and enjoys it more with the appreciative crowd of her age.

This vacation was also a first for Sadia in terms of sighting new animals. Other than mimicking the loud cry of the peacocks, she is obsessed with the snails that we had discovered during our nocturnal strolls. Till now, the snails have left a lasting impression on her!

Full from the ikan bakar grub, we sauntered along the wooden planks housing the water chalets on the second night, savouring the night serenity as the sea breeze gently stroked our exposed skins. Stopping at one kampung-styled gazebo on these wooden planks, we rested our heads on its ample space and blankly gazed at the infinite sky. The new moon tried to peek its way through the clouds, but to no avail. As the wind got stronger and Sadia restless, we heeded the signals and doubled back to the spacious room.

This village is just the lush haven that we need to escape the dreary life in the city.

Eager to swim even from the beginning of journey

The welcome drinks that left us wanting

Refreshed from her nap in the car, Sadia wanted to explore the grounds

The view from our patio

Bunny wabbit

Just before we left the room

Sadia has a penchant for flowers too!

A Liberated Woman

2008-06-17T02:45:00.001+08:00

At the risk of being called an irresponsible mother or worse an uninformed Muslim, I must admit that I have yet to send Sadia for circumcision (or as it is widely called in Malay, 'sunat'). You see, I attribute my lackadaisical manner to the conflicting information about having my female offspring circumcised.

From what I was told, it is not compulsory to put one's daughter under this excision procedure. And then, left and right, I heard other people's girls underwent circumcision as early as six months old. Am I missing an important piece of the information somewhere?

A casual inquiry with my well-informed uncle did confirm my belated instruction on this matter. It is NOT compulsory, but it is RECOMMENDED for hygienic purposes. However, when I rejoiced at the fact that it is not mandatory, he stressed on the cleanliness part and strongly urged that I send Sadia for the mini-op.

Since I have missed the boat of recommended timeframe for female newborn circumcision, I do not care for the stress and trauma that will accompany this circumcising surgery, knowing quite well how Sadia is like. I do need to sit down and talk to the specialist with regards to my concerns. Will Sadia need local or general anesthestic, considering how rambunctious she can be? How long will the circumcised part take to heal? Does she have to eat certain types of food to heal faster? Or any food to avoid during the healing period?

When I perused the Internet for any available literature on female circumcision or female genital cutting (FGC), as it is called by certain NGO-related quarters (frankly I prefer the former), circumcision in general - both male and female - is culturally ingrained as opposed to religiously required.

The practice of FGC predates both Islam and Christianity and there is no clear understanding of where or why the practice of FGC came into existence. Greek papyrus from 163 B.C. mentions girls in Egypt undergoing circumcision and it is widely accepted to have originated in Egypt and the Nile valley at the time of the Pharaohs.

In the case of widespread male circumcision in Islam, different schools of thought are at variance with respect to either it is recommended or obligatory. The proponents of male circumcision cited cleanliness and attaining purity from the germ-attracting prepuce, while the opponents maintained that the Holy Qur'an doesn't mention anything on circumcision. Yet, I tend to agree with the former as it is succinctly explained in and extracted from this article :

The point of view I find most convincing is that circumcision is obligatory only for males as suggested by the evidence used by those who deem it obligatory...but the obligation is waived in the case of a person who embraces Islam and feels afraid of the consequences of the procedure. In any case, it is not a condition for the validity of a person's profession of accepting the Islamic faith or the performance of his religious duties.

Surely those words buttressed the viewpoint that circumcision for females are not mandatory, as reinforced further in this write-up :

We must emphasize, however, that the correct stance is that there is no reliable text which directly encourages any form of circumcision, and thus the matter is left to other general texts which prohibit infliction of harm and those which encourage all things healthy and beneficial. One fundamental of Islamic jurisprudence is that what is not specifically prohibited is allowed, but still subject to other indirect texts. This makes for a great deal of tolerance in religion, but also allows it to cope with new issues brought by time.

All these talks about sunat brings to mind my own experience which happened quite late in my life compared to today's standard 'age'. I was about 9 or 10 years old and the ceremony took place in our long-standing humble abode in Shah Alam, which involved all of us four girls.

I distinctly remember being afraid of the whole hullabaloo - the intimidating-looking mak bidan (or traditional expert in genital cutting), the hush-hush talks by the adults, and ritual gadgetry (read: knife!). So
scared I was that I ended up locking myself in my room when my turn came next, thus causing an uproar for parents and relatives to coax me to come out!

For the life of me, I can't recall what they said to convince me to unlock the door, but I did finally come out and was ushered gingerly to the master bedroom where the bidan awaited. Probably I got sick and suffocated of being alone in my room. Or maybe, hunger got the best of me.

But I do remember it was a quick and (almost) painless procedure and I was quickly asked to mandi bunga (shower with the florally-infused water retained in the bathtub). They said I was probably 'hexed' (pukau in Malay) by the bidan as a form of 'local anesthetic' against the anticipated pain. Either I've blocked it altogether from memory or the far-fetched pukau story is true, I really can't remember the cutting part at all. But I ALWAYS remember the running away and locking myself part. :)

Before some uninitiated readers get all squeamish and judgmental about circumcision and connect it to the removal of essential organ(s), I have to contend that the only type of female circumcision that is considered 'commendable and permissible' in Islam is the Sunna circumcision, or Type 1 (see here for anatomical details) which is referred to, in colloquial terms, as hoodectomy.

This procedure is harmless and has no detrimental effects upon women, and is similar to the circumcision of men, as mentioned previously. Rather, some have even argued that there are some benefits to this procedure, as mentioned earlier, such as increase of sexual pleasure, prevention of unpleasant odors which result from foul secretions beneath the prepuce, and reduction of the incidence of urinary tract infections and infections affecting the reproductive system.

As mentioned in five paragraphs above with respect to causing unduly harm to the body, Islam is steadfast in its opposition to female genital mutilation that is prevalent in some African nations like Ethiopia, Sudan and Somalia. This Type III circumcision is the most severe form of FGC and it is also called infibulation. Personally, I find it smothering and very sad to have one's genital organs being watched with an eagle eye by detached third parties. It's an infringement of one's privacy and rights to one's body.

A reverse infibulation can be performed to allow for sexual intercourse (often by the husband using a knife on the wedding night) or when undergoing labor, or by female relatives, whose responsibility it is to inspect the wound every few weeks and open it some more if necessary. During childbirth, the enlargement is too small to allow vaginal delivery, and so the infibulation must be opened completely and restored after delivery. Once again, the legs are tied together to allow the wound to heal, and the procedure is repeated for each subsequent act of intercourse or childbirth.

While the grounds that circumcision promotes cleanliness and enhances fertility are acceptable, the more exclusive reason for Type III method that acts as a proof of virginity is simply preposterous. Predictably, the expensive bridal price that correlates with these severely circumcised women also extends to other socio-economic aspects. Pain and suffering are inconsequential when compared to the prospect of monetary status and preserving family reputation.

Ironically, all these concerns about pre-marital sex and promiscuity that severe female circumcision affords has brought my attention to this eye-opening New York Times article last week.

Apparently, some Muslim women of Arab and African descent in France have opted for hymenoplasty - a restoration of hymen - as a last-ditch effort to 'certify their virginity' to their future in-laws or arranged-for-marriage husband. How twisted has our lives become!

Gynecologists say that in the past few years, more Muslim women are seeking certificates of virginity to provide proof to others. That in turn has created a demand among cosmetic surgeons for hymen replacements, which, if done properly, they say, will not be detected and will produce tell-tale vaginal bleeding on the wedding night. The service is widely advertised on the Internet; medical tourism packages are available to countries like Tunisia where it is less expensive.

A fiery debate on female virginity and all things feminist is now taking place in France as a result of a highly-publicised case involving a French Muslim groom who discovered that his wife was not a virgin on their wedding night.

Some feminists, lawyers and doctors warned that the court’s acceptance of the centrality of virginity in marriage would encourage more Frenchwomen from Arab and African Muslim backgrounds to have their hymens restored. But there is much debate about whether the procedure is an act of liberation or repression.

In some unfortunate cases where the hymen is accidentally torn (for instance, due to a horse-related incident), one young French Muslim woman bravely underwent the surgery so as to avoid the unnecessary stigma that is attached to promiscuous women and the bleak marriageable future ahead.

Others cited averting disaster with enraged parents and/or in-laws as the reasons behind their decision to restore their respective hymen. Whereas these Muslims' decision made has deep-seated religious and cultural roots, it was certainly both startling and amusing to know that some Americans undergo this procedure as a 'Valentine's gift' for their husbands!

Thus, on one hand, we have circumcision and the negative press that it attracts (my Malaysian girlfriend who studied in Columbia University received a deafening gasp from her classmates when she informed of her circumcision) and on the other hand, we have hymenoplasty and the life-saving role that it offers (albeit at the expense of feminists' outcry). Would we rather let our child be circumcised for health reasons or have her turn to hymenoplasty later in life just because she couldn't communicate with us?

Weighing the pros and cons on female circumcision and its cross-cultural import, I must say I have made my decision in accord with an Islamic perspective that 'encourages all things healthy and beneficial'.

Prolly, Prolly, Prolly

2008-06-10T03:37:00.000+08:00

you won't admit you love me
and so how am i ever to know
you always tell me
perhaps perhaps perhaps
a million times i've asked you
and then
i ask you over
again
you only answer
perhaps perhaps perhaps
if you can't make your mind up
we'll never get started
and i don't wanna wind up
being parted
broken-hearted
so if you really love me
say yes
but if you don't dear
confess
and please don't tell me
perhaps perhaps perhaps
perhaps perhaps perhaps
if you can't make your mind up
we'll never get started
and i don't wanna wind up
being parted
broken-hearted
so if you really love me
say yes
but if you don't dear
confess
and please don't tell me
perhaps perhaps perhaps
perhaps perhaps perhaps
perhaps perhaps perhaps

I always like this classic song entitled (you guess it) Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps, and it is an English adaptation of the Spanish song Quizás, quizás, quizás, popularised by the late Nat King Cole.

The song harks back to the uncertain yet exciting period in my life during which my friendship flourished with my anamcara - my soulmate - alongside other pent-up emotions. Cliché as it may sound, exploring a relationship at the expense of a friendship found its way into our equation.

I'd be lying to say everything was smooth sailing once we decided to become a couple. There were many kinks that needed to be ironed out, and many issues to clear the air. To say the ups and downs of our dating phase has taught us immensely about ourselves is in itself an understatement.

Suddenly finding yourself having to answer to another human being, and feeling an inexplicable attachment to this person are two of the many new and unexpected sensations that kick in once you know you're hooked for good. Conversely, unwanted hang-ups surfaced and snowballed in every imaginable ugly forms. How ironic that we hurt the one we love through our callous actions and caustic words.

In our case, no matter how hard we had tried to deny ourselves a second chance, we gravitated towards one another like a bunch of horseshoe crabs (that's Belangkas in Malay). That's what you call Fate, or Jodoh in Malay.

With his birthday today, nothing is more apropos than to embrace - literally and figuratively - the man whom I have shared the roof with for almost four years.

An enigma to many, a charmer to some, and a lover to one - my husband is the proverbial backbone to our fledgling family, a source of strength for my down days as well as the driving force behind my foray into blogging and writing.

It was him who suggested that I should pen down my thoughts and cast them into the electronic oblivion for the sake of posterity and my sanity. Wary and awkward about exposing myself to world, he assured me of the advantages to the outlet that I was about to embark.

And of course, he was right. He is always right, well at least most of the time. :)

A big Madonna fan, a Harry Potter aficionado, a LOTR loyalist, a non-athlete (like moi), an interior-design fiend, an alpha cook, a fashion enthusiast and a metrosexual, I love him on all those scores and then some.

His outward nonchalance belies the concern and pride he has towards things and people that matter to him. Once the sarcasm comes out however, by all means take cover! Haha!

As we celebrate your thirty-ahem birthday, I would like to wish you dear the best in realising your yearly goals, and pray for our continued health and familial bliss.

In spite and because of the years we have been together, I am still that wide-eyed girl who adores you immensely. And you remain the mysterious boy whose roguish grin has captured my heart and soul.

Unequivocally.

Caving in to Churros

2008-06-07T17:09:00.001+08:00

Our June long vacation seems to culminate in this tantalising, gastronomic moment. Never mind that we had wolfed down a melange of seafood dishes from Malacca own 'ikan bakar' haven of Umbai in the previous three days.

Today, on our usual mall jaunt, I managed to coax (or is it more like coerce?) Hubby to sit down at Chinoz, The Gardens. I've become familiar with the Chinoz brand through my husband's business lunches in its KLCC joint. However, I find the ambience in the KLCC restaurant too stuffy and corporate-like. Needless to say, I distance myself from trying the food due to this gnawing fact.

The one in The Gardens Mid-valley has a more family-friendly appeal, without sacrificing the taste, service and quality. While I naturally prefer tomatoey sauce for my pizza, I didn't particularly mind the pesto base for our generous portion of funghi and free-range egg pizza. Four slices each were enough to satiate our palate. The appetizer of grilled squid with lime vinagrette serves as a nice counterpoint to the rich pizza.

The star of the show, hands down, was churros with Valrhona (reminds me of Venny) chocolate dip. The last time I tasted churros that good was in DisneyWorld in 1996. We scarfed down the elongated, sugary pieces dripping in chocolate in record time. A worthwhile, headlong sugar rush.

I will definitely come back to this Chinoz for more.

Meme Tag : Islam Inspires

2008-06-03T09:41:00.001+08:00

I'd be remiss if I do not apologise to fellow blogger, the lovely Aezack Haida for my lateness in answering this tag.

Truth be told, I'd wanted to answer it as soon as I possibly could, but I was sidetracked with other 'projects', real life or otherwise. And I was stumped to discover that my draft copy for this meme was overridden by related materials that I had slowly collated. Bummer! All the work gone down the drain.....

Yet, a promise is a promise and further delay will only worsen the situation. It has been more than a month since Aezack tagged me for her answers on April 24th.

Thus in return, without further ado, here are my answers.

Before we do just that however, let's go to the preliminaries:

Rules:

1) Answer the following questions.

2) Post on your blog with link to who tagged you.

3) Tag a minimum of three other bloggers and include links to their blog in your tag. Make sure to let them know you’ve tagged them too.

Meme Questions:

1) What Qur’anic verse do you find most inspiring and why? What does it mean to you personally?

From Surah Ar-Rad (Chapter 13), Verse 11.

That is the first Surah that pops in my head.

"For each (such person) there are (angels) in succession, before and behind him: They guard him by command of Allah. Verily never will Allah change the condition of a people until they change it themselves (with their own souls). But when (once) Allah willeth a people's punishment, there can be no turning it back, nor will they find, besides Him, any to protect."

My focus would of course be on the famous part of this Surah : “Verily! Allah will not change the condition of a people as long as they do not change their state themselves.”

The Malay equivalent is : "Sesungguhnya Allah tidak akan mengubah keadaan sesuatu kaum sehingga mereka mengubah keadaan yang ada pada diri mereka sendiri."

While this Ayah revolves on people (part of community, society, nation, etc) as opposed to an individual, I'm constantly reminded of this verse as it gives me a sense of perspective - a sobering one at that - on our ability to change if we put our minds and hearts to it.

It assures me that, despite the esoteric concept of predestination (qada and qadar), we are given some leeway to improve ourselves and change our stations in life. As asserted in this commentary :

Thus there are two sides to Allah's commandments: those that are certain to happen and those that are not certain. The angels only save man from those accidents which are not certain to occur. It goes without saying that such a protection in fact does not relieve man of his duties and freedom of choice. The destinies of individuals and nations are always in their own hands.

Instead of falling into the rut of idleness, ordinary people like myself are able to take control, to a certain extent, of our destinies through change and determination.

Personally, I take comfort in knowing that change is imminent insofar as I am strong-willed enough to follow through with it. In a way, this verse is an inspiration for me to effect relevant changes in my life and be a better person and God's servant in the process.

2) What Hadith (Qudsi or Sunnah of the Prophet salallahi alaihi was salam) do you find most inspiring and why?

As narrated by Muslim : Hadrat Abu Hurairah (may Allah be pleased with him), relates that the Holy Prophet (may Allah's blessings and peace be upon him), said, "One who covers up the failings of somebody in this world will have his shortcomings covered up by Allah on the Day of Judgement". (sourced from here).

This particular saying rings true even in our Malay tradition through sayings such as Menconteng arang di muka and Membuka bekung di dada, analogies used to guard against sullying another person's reputation through the disclosure of his or her faults.

At times, in the fit of anger, we might carelessly divulge delicious, disgraceful tidbits about a person to other people without thinking clearly of its consequences. Or, out of envy, we spread incriminating facts about another so as to rain on his or her parade.

This Hadith serves as a strong reminder for me to act and speak responsibly because I duly believe that what goes around comes around.

3) Other than the Prophet himself salalahi alahi wa salaam - what Muslim man do you find most inspiring and why?

Thanks to the inspiring movie on the birth of Islam entitled The Message that I'd watched as a teenager, I'm drawn to the character depicting Khalid ibn al-Walid whose conversion story (or reversion) to Islam is both compelling and moving. After entertaining doubts about his own religious beliefs following the Holy Prophet's (p.b.u.h.) first pilgrimage to Mecca, he experienced an epiphany that Islam is indeed the true faith and set out for Medina to convert.

Khalid ibn al-Walid, one of Prophet Muhammad's (p.b.u.h.) Sahaba (prominent companions), was instrumental in defeating both the Roman Byzantine and Persian Empires which paved the way for the spread of Islam. He earned the name 'Sword of Allah' from the Prophet himself after he won the Battle of Mu'tah.

Despite having fought in over one hundred battles, Khalid ibn al-Walid passed away in his own bed where he was quoted saying :

I fought in so many battles seeking martyrdom that there is no place in my body but have a stabbing mark by a spear, a sword or a dagger, and yet here I am, dying on my bed like an old camel dies. May the eyes of the cowards never sleep.

I admire Khalid al-Walid for his tenacity, courage and strength in defending Islam at all cause. He remained steadfast to the cause of spreading Islam even after Caliph Umar ibn al-Khattab removed him from his post as the army commander.

He remains to this day, one of the greatest generals in history and one of the formidable heroes in Islam. It's not that he struck fear in his enemies that I find most awe-inspiring, it is his unstinting loyalty to Islam which he had embraced with all of his heart.

4) Who is the most inspiring Muslim woman to you and why?

The wife of Prophet Muhammad (p.b.u.h.), Khadijah bint Khuwaylid for obvious reasons:

(a) She's the first person to convert to Islam.
(b) She remained loyal and supportive towards her husband, the Holy Prophet Muhammad's (p.b.u.h.) mission in spreading Islam.

I distinctly remember the story where she calmed and consoled our Prophet (p.b.u.h.) after his first Koranic Revelation through the angel Gabriel inside the cave of Mount Hira. She is his pillar of strength and her death which took place during the Year of Sorrow or roughly 619 AD, caused Prophet Muhammad (p.b.u.h.) much unhappiness that in turn led to his emigration (Hijra) to Medina.

The late Khajidah's influence and importance in our Prophet's (p.b.u.h.) life is indisputable as it is poignant.

5) What CONTEMPORARY (i.e., living) Muslim do you find most inspiring and why?

I was browsing the Internet in search for relevant materials for this meme tag and I am deeply moved by the works of one Mr. Idris Tawfiq who is a Muslim revert and a former Roman Catholic priest. His reversion story (which can be found here struck a chord within me, as it keeps me grounded over my own 'jihad' (struggles) as a born-Muslim. Thankfully, it puts things into perspective for me.

Excerpts of said article :

“One day I headed to the biggest Mosque in London, to hear more about this religion. Getting into London Central Mosque, there was Yusuf Islam, the former pop singer, sitting in a circle talking to some people about Islam. After a while, I found myself asking him ‘What do you actually do to become a Muslim?’

“He answered that a Muslim should believe in one God, pray five times a day and fast during Ramadan. I interrupted him saying that I believed all this and had even fasted during Ramadan. So he asked, ‘What are you waiting for? What is holding you back?’ I said, ‘No, I don’t intend to convert.’

“At that moment the call to prayer was made and everyone got ready and stood in lines to pray. I sat at the back, and I cried and cried. Then I said to myself, ‘Who am I trying to fool?’

When a person like Mr. Idris Tawfiq devotes the remainder of his life to spread the word of Islam and to refute the misconceptions about our religion, it behooves me to do my part - however big or small - in defending and explaining Islam in whichever means possible.

6) How has Islam inspired you in your daily life?

Alhamdulillah, I'm forever grateful to be born a Muslim. Coming from a family background with its own dose of liberalism and materialism, I must say the greater jihad for me, would be to overcome those weaknesses and shed the excesses that are associated with such a way of life.

The Islam that I know inspires me to better myself in every aspect of my life. It teaches me about humility, self-forgiveness, patience, self-improvement, unconditional love and of course, faith.

There are some significant goalposts to hit in the future, God willing, and I have faith that through constant prayers and reflections, I will attain them one day.

I won't be tagging anyone else, instead I leave you with this inspiring Sunnah :

Volume 1, Book 3, Number 79 :
Narrated by Abu Musa:
The Prophet said, "The example of guidance and knowledge with which Allah has sent me is like abundant rain falling on the earth, some of which was fertile soil that absorbed rain water and brought forth vegetation and grass in abundance. (And) another portion of it was hard and held the rain water and Allah benefited the people with it and they utilized it for drinking, making their animals drink from it and for irrigation of the land for cultivation. (And) a portion of it was barren which could neither hold the water nor bring forth vegetation (then that land gave no benefits). The first is the example of the person who comprehends Allah's religion and gets benefit (from the knowledge) which Allah has revealed through me (the Prophets and learns and then teaches others. The last example is that of a person who does not care for it and does not take Allah's guidance revealed through me (He is like that barren land.)"

That Would be NO, NO, NO!

2008-05-22T11:02:00.002+08:00

The Redevelopment Plan

At the request of my wise mother, I've decided to put my two cents worth on an issue that is very close to our hearts.

The distressful news appeared on Monday's Street section of NST (one of Malaysian dailies - New Straits Times) highlighting the plans to overhaul the Kampung Baru area into 'a potpourri of residential and city centre commercial area.'

The major revamp on Kampung Baru comes at the heel of the Draft Kuala Lumpur 2020 City Plan which was unveiled last Thursday.

Having called Kampung Baru my Kampung (or village) since I was a wee toddler, I'm vehemently opposed to this purported redevelopment project. It is a travesty to the long line of Malay generations that have established their roots here.

I take umbrage at the insinuation that Kampung Baru is hindering development and progress by refusing to pander to the greedy exploits of businessmen and politicians alike.

Naturally this issue all boils down to dollars and cents. Or in our case, Ringgits and sens.

With an estimated market value of up to US$1.4billion for a 250-acre of land, I bet every conceivable person wants a piece of the action. To me, Kampung Baru is liken to a diamond in the rough in dire need of some honing and polishing by prospective suitors. Unless she is protected and well-informed, this 'fair maiden' might fall into the wrong hands where her reputation (and to a degree, her identity) will forever be tarnished.

What is Kampung Baru without some wooden houses? Do we really need another concrete jungle in the middle of KL? I'd understand if the City Hall wants to raze the squatter houses that have turned up illegally in some parts of KL, but demolishing a piece of our cultural heritage, legal tracts of land owned by fellow Malaysians is simply a cruel, underhanded tactic to cash in some easy money.

In my sincerest opinion, KL would be just like another city if it were not for Kampung Baru. Kampung Baru is famous for its perennial culinary offerings that are sold below the prices of that available in the food courts of shopping malls. And what is Kampung Baru without its annual, boisterous Ramadan Bazaar that never disappoint?

Kampung Baru has also witnessed many a number of watershed moments in Malaysian history such as the formation of UMNO at its equally historical Sultan Sulaiman Club followed by several AGM meetings and of course, the bloody May 13th 1969 incident.

Sultan Sulaiman Club

While it looks noble on the outset, the City Hall's plan to 'form a centre for collection, distribution, marketing and showcasing of the cultural, arts and artifacts' in the area appears to be at best disingenuous and at worst, feels like an afterthought.

We already have Karyaneka and a slew of other cultural and craft centers that would be able to satisfy the curiosity of both foreign and local tourists. These centers, which focus on demonstrating artistic and cultural endeavours, lack the real-life appeal that comes with experiencing another person's culture. Instead, tourists could just walk into (or take the Light Rapid Transit (LRT) to) Kampung Baru and soak in the sight, smell and action that define our old Malay Reserve settlement.

I hope and pray the powers-that-be won't mete out the same fate on Kampung Baru as that which befell the beautiful, colonial-style building that housed the oldest school in KL, Bukit Bintang Girls School (BBGS). In its place is predictably a 'commercial centre' - an ultra-modern yet soulless shopping complex called Pavilion, whose only tribute to BBGS is a minuscule floor space exhibiting photographs of the school and its occupants throughout the decades.

I don't want the pictures of my grandparents to end up on any tribute wall for the wrong, commercially-driven reasons.

To safeguard the interests of these Malay settlers, I implore City Hall to scrap the redevelopment plan and instead use its resources - financial, manpower, and so forth - to improve these people's lives by fortifying the drainage system in response to flooding, fixing the roads to avoid traffic jams and solving the problem of automobile overcrowding by building a multi-tiered parking area. The latter would be strictly for visitors' use and residents having more than one car per household. Hefty fines would be imposed on those who fail to comply with this rule.

In Delft, for instance, parking by the side of the canals is mostly reserved for residents of that particular canal-facing buildings. Out-of-towners who park without a proper 'Resident Sticker' will be fined a heavy fee. There are some parking spaces for visitors - indoors and streetside - but they are limited and a bit on the expensive side. This in turn encourages people to take the efficient public transport like trams and trains.

Short of saying that KL is light-years behind The Netherlands, it has yet to boast an efficient and highly-respectable transportation system but in time we will get there. While I don't have the faintest idea when that time will be, the meddling and squabbling of petty, selfish politicians as well as slow funneling of funds should account for most of the time lost in revitalising Kampung Baru's infrastructure.

Redeveloping Kampung Baru into a 'main residential centre' (read: condos galore) and a 'city centre commercial centre' (read: charging food at premium prices) provides an easy route for City Hall to embark on and profit from, as opposed to bettering the current infrastructure that would enrich the lives of so-called 'village' folks.

Foreigners and out-of-towners visiting Kampung Baru will attest to Kampung Baru's uniqueness as a vibrant and lively Kampong in the middle of the city. If Kampung Baru were to be obliterated from KL's map, KL in my opinion would be like any other cities in the world. Advanced by all means yet lack of originality. How sad is that?

Why oh why do we need to lose yet another part of our heritage in the name of progress? The government must gazette Kampung Baru as a Heritage Site and protect it at all cause. Heck, it can even pass a law to shoo away and punish greedy developers and ruthless capitalists.

Beyond any doubt, the real value of Kampung Baru is truly inestimable.

p.s. As written in the NST article, 'City Hall has urged KLites to give their views on the draft plan and voice their objections, if any, before June 30.' Together, let's record our objections to City Hall on the Kampung Baru project. Believe me, it would do us 'city' folks a lot of good. However, since the term KLites is pretty vague, we must first inquire as to the definition of the term KLites. Is it just for those born in KL or is it inclusive of those residing in KL for XX number of years? While we're at it, can City Hall look into providing KLites with more green lung areas?

An aside: Intelligence

2008-05-17T12:42:00.001+08:00

I'm forever fascinated by the array of adjectives that mothers employ to reinforce certain intelligent behaviour by their kids.

For instance, I invariably use Pandaiiii* as a form of reward for Sadia's smartness. Sometimes, I interchange it with "Good girl" for other types of behaviour that don't cause me a headache and make me run amok.

Other variations to this word that I've come across being used are Pandainyeeeee* and Clever.

But the most interesting, not to mention long, sentence that I've heard is "That's it, XXX. Mommy is so proud of you. You can do it," uttered by a local TV personality that I had the pleasure of meeting in Bangsar's Kizsport and Gym. And she said these every single time her boy did something physically remarkable.

*It is one of the Malay adjectives for Intelligent.

--------------------------------------

Since we're on the topic of intelligence, I have a story to share that is both bizarre and stupid at the same time. At least, in my estimation it is. Of course, there are other adjectives that I could offer for good measure, but you get the drift once you read this story.

Last Monday, my husband was in one of his office lifts going out to lunch. As wont during this hour the lift was almost full of people and he had the misfortune of being in the same one with this lady whom we shall refer to in this anecdote as M.

In the said lift, M who naturally craves attention started making conversation in that high-pitched voice of hers with my husband. This took place while others stayed quiet and proper until the lift was to arrive on the ground floor.

The conversation veered towards me for some reason. She was asking if I had already started working to which hubby answered in the negative.

And then she made the most uncalled of remarks, "I don't think I can do that (not working and staying at home)...I need to think, man" and trailed off to say "I read Wall Street Journal" at which point she promptly opened her oversized bag and practically shoved the pile of said broadsheet onto my husband's face.

Hubby was taken aback by such an inane comment and odd gesture and replied "It doesn't mean when you stay at home you don't think....she (meaning moi) has other outlets....she writes, for example."

"What does she write about?" she asked curiously.

"Anything...she does research on them."

Finally, in an impudent and mocking manner, she shot back "Does it get published?"

Wanting to put her in her place, hubby lied and said Yes. That shut her trap up.

Knowing that she was now out of tricks, M tried to change the subject "So where are you off for lunch?"

As timing is everything, hubby sardonically said "Obviously not with you" as soon as the elevator's door opened and walked away from the ugly scene.

I was in disbelief when hubby phoned me shortly after his weird encounter with M. The nerve of that woman. I know she had received a Professional Qualification in Finance a couple of years back, but that does not automatically translate into a freewheeling license to be high and mighty about other people.

She has always been annoying with all those blunt remarks about matters of no consequence. Two years back she opined that staying at home all the time would make it harder to lose all those pregnancy weight. This was after I told her that I'd quit my job to follow my hubby for studies. I think her logic is flawed since there are other avenues to lose weight for SAHMs like the ubiquitous 'reputable' slimming centres that are all the rage in Malaysia. (Not that I'm its patron :) )

She was just saying that to get a reaction out of me. It's her classic, biatch M.O., I think.

Like the time she was in the hotel lift (again) with my husband and said "How come you didn't say anything?" referring to the course they had attended together. She was mighty proud for being an eager beaver participant and wanted to show off to the passive participants who took the same elevator with them.

Of course, hubby corrected her that he did ask questions but she was too busy hearing her own voice to listen to other people's input in the class. :P

We always dread bumping into her at hubby's workplace - KLCC - due to this 'quirky' attitude of hers. Most of the times, we do the 'BBTN' - Buat-Buat Tak Nampak* - and goes up or down the elevator, whence she lingers nearby. The only reason we tolerate her is because she's the wife of our mutual friend.

I don't know whether she gets a high from inflicting others with this kind of verbal abuse or that she just wants to reaffirm her superiority. I recall the moment when she showed the photo of her newborn in her wallet and quickly added almost regretfully that she (the baby) has a button-like (penyet) nose. I didn't understand why she preempted by telling me that trivial information even before I could open my mouth to comment anything. Probably she's not happy with the nose or would like to save the trouble of mean people saying that to her face. However, I'm NOT that kind of person. And I was not even focusing on the little clueless, innocent baby's nose, for goodness' sake!

This particular species wouldn't like if we throw a few curve balls their way, but relish the feeling of doing the same. Such is life.

What goes around comes around, man!

I find it very amusing that she resorted to open her bag to prove that she does indeed read WSJ, thus confirming her high-minded persona. Please spare me the mindless posturing!

What I don't like is her antiquated school of thought which equates housewives to ditsy ladies with no access to intelligent pursuits. I would expect this mindset from Neanderthal males, but not from a so-called Professional.

But sadly, I believe this narrow perception is rife in some Asian societies where men think highly of their female work colleagues and see their domesticated wives as unequal in this respect. If only they take time to discuss worldly issues with their partner, then they would be surprised to know how 'learned' the wife is. How shortsighted can some men be!

I always love the 'lively' discussions - anything under the sun - I usually partake with my husband.

It's not about who knows more about certain topics, there's bound to be stuff that we won't know in this whole wide world.

The important thing is we learn from one another. Thanks for reminding me dear.

And thanks again for defending me. How chivalrous of you :)

* Is humorously translated as Feigning Temporary Blindness

Short-take: B'day Photo-Op

2008-05-12T09:20:00.000+08:00

Azmal (or Ahmal)

Azmal, Zahra, Elisa and Alya

Sadia with her 'contemporaries'

Blowing candles time!

Sadia loves singing the birthday song

Due to popular demand, we all sang the birthday song thrice!

Here's some photos from the Kota Damansara's potluck held on the 3rd May in conjunction with Sofia's birthday which actually fell on 24th April. I haven't been making an appearance at these potlucks for a while so it was nice to see familiar faces again.

I love the delectable chocolate cake, ordered from the hotel where BIL works. And the usual nasi with lauk-pauk was sorely missed.

There would be another potluck cum birthday, God willing, this Saturday. Oh my, so many birthdays mean ka-ching! :)

On a different note, I can't wait to take a holiday somewhere!

On a short note...(or at least I tried to)

2008-05-10T03:00:00.001+08:00

First of, I would like to apologise for not replying to the comments for my last three blogposts. My *ahem* internet connection has gone kaput the morning after I posted my last entry and I have been downtrodden ever since. Downtrodden is a great euphemism for all imaginable excuses like procrastination, goofing off, heavy baby duty thanks to a round-the-clock flu and sheer laziness.

I am stealing time away from a toddler who refused to fall asleep at the wee hours of the morning. Since she's glued to the tv sans my mammary glands for a change, I get a free rein of the Internet...for now.

Thus, I'd better finish this rambling before she remembers me or THEM. :)

Some people have suggested either directly or indirectly (via my other half) that I should wean her off by now. Some cited religious reasons (I have yet to get a reliable source), others use the health routes - more nutritious food for her Royal Fussypot and vitamin deficiency for moi. But I think the most significant factor that would compel me to wean her in a heartbeat is having control of MY time without her looking for me every time she wants some comfort. My husband is in complete agreement with me on that ground after seeing me in frustration over this nursing dependence.

But I have yet to throw in the towel solely because my patience has yet to run out. And most of my sisters (if not all) continue to breastfeed until they conceive another baby! Now if that isn't an incentive, I don't know what is.

As such, I would appreciate if people wouldn't pass judgment on me for nursing a toddler. I have also read somewhere the benefits of breastfeeding one's child until he or she is naturally weaned off. So, we will see how things pan out.

Speaking of judgment calls, I had recently encountered a 'rubbing me the wrong way' moment when a college friend whom I had the 'pleasure' of reuniting on Facebook chatted with me about matters of the heart. She had wanted me to tell all as to how I finally got hitched with my other half, whom I had ostensibly carried the torch for since college.

If she were to express her words differently, I would probably have complied. But the manner in which she asked grated me to no end. Since she was pressed for time, she requested that I emailed her the lurid details. Of course, I haven't done that at all.

She seemed to imply that I had waited and pined so long for a man. I didn't like the sound of that at all. But in the realm of online chatting, I didn't get to say my piece and had resorted to spew out a silly quote instead. The story of my life - not able to convey exactly what I feel at the crucial time. I tend to stew on it afterwards, rather than lash out immediately there and then. Well, at least most of the times.

Anyhow, it should have been an indication 10 years back when the said friend and I had a fallout over a petty issue i.e., email spamming, to which she had said something that rubbed me the wrong way (Surprise!). Something to the effect that I need to get a life, rather than send those endless forwards. She can be heartless sometimes.

And I had thought she had mellowed after a decade. That's why I didn't mind adding her as my friend on Facebook. Boy, was I wrong!

Probably I am too sensitive when it comes to words. But as the saying goes, 'Choose Your Words Wisely, For It Can Be Your Last', friendships (or relationships for that matter) can cease to exist over the wrong choice of words.

I also believe those who say you're sensitive are sensitive themselves. If you can indulge a friendly banter with one person, but cannot tolerate it when the person returns the favour, then by all means, you ARE sensitive.

Like my other half said, "Well, you're the one who wants to keep her as a friend." I'm regretting that decision now.

When she already has a certain preconceived notion about my life, it'd be futile to recount what has happened up to the moment that I got married. We're never THAT close for me to share those pages of my interesting life.

On that basis alone, it'd be best to let sleeping dogs lie.