A Year Older

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

(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)

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



You're Still the One ~ Shania Twain

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

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

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

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

(Bridge)
(Chorus)
(Chorus)

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

Real Life Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Wanderlust

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

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

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

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

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

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

With my darling Sadia in Paree! July 2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

Change is Gonna be Good

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...And Baby makes Four *

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

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




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




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



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

Pregnancy Journal 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday Dedication (Albeit Belatedly)

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Chicago, Chicago! - An Abridged Memoir

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Interlude: Things I Cannot Do

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

For the life of me, I cannot :

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

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

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

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

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

(6) Snap my fingers.

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

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

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

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


Image borrowed from here.

Rites of Passage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like parents, like daughter. :)

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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