MUCH SOLACE FROM WORDS

LOOKING at the Cliffs of Moher, I stood inspired by the unspoilt beauty of nature. The 214m high cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean take their name from a ruined promontory fort "Mothar" which was demolished during the Napoleonic wars to make room for a signal tower. The Cliffs of Moher are also home to one of the major colonies of cliff nesting seabirds in Ireland. Indeed, nature has a calming effect on the soul and spirit.

If we think back to when we were young, we can always remember the people who have encouraged us: dad, mum, teacher or friend. Even in adulthood, a pat on the back by a boss or coach does wonders to the soul and spirit.

Other than the usual "awesome" and "fantastic", I picked up a number of interesting local phrases of praise and encouragement. "You are no daw" means you are smart, "you are deadly" means you are seriously earth-shattering. The power of words is unquestionable. Being encouraged gives a boost to our confidence. Uplifting words can come from anyone: a security guard, a priest or a car salesman.
It was late in the night when I visited a loved one at the intensive care unit of a hospital. I was thirsty and decided to get a cup of coffee from the vending machine. However, the glass door that led to the vending machine was closed and a security guard signalled to me on the other side of the door to press a button to open it.

The door opened in a jiffy but I noticed that there was no button on the other side of the door for me to get back into the ward. "How am I going to get back in?" I asked. He said, "Just holler, and I will come running." Then some small talk ensued. As I was making my way back into the ward, he said, "You speak very good English." I smiled and thought that was nice.
Then I saw a very elderly priest making his rounds hoping to encourage the patients. He approached an 84-year-old Catherine, held her hand and instead of saying the usual "Get well soon", the witty priest asked, "Are you ready to go back to the hurling field after half-time and continue the match?"

The elderly lady laughed and I thought that was hilarious. Hurling is an outdoor team sport of ancient Gaelic origin, played with sticks called hurleys and a ball called a sliotar. It is somewhat like hockey to the uninitiated.

The priest held her hand and prayed for her. Then before he left the ward, he said, "Now Catherine, no more hurling for the rest of the season, okay?"

As I walked to my car after the hospital visit, I was reminded of the salesman who sold me the car. He told me I would have to buy insurance online. Apparently, the quotes differ greatly from company to company. One of the determining factors would be age. To the average Mat Salleh, all Asians look alike and it is difficult to tell how old they are. So I asked him how much it would cost to buy a year's insurance for a particular model.

He sized me up in my jeans and T-shirt and very seriously without batting an eyelid said, "That depends on your age. I won't ask you how old you are but I can tell you for a lady of 25 to 30 years, it would cost..." I guffawed within. Call it sales talk but if that is what he thinks I am, so be it.

A TESTING TIME

A search for the definition of ‘test’ yields interesting results. It is a quiz to examine someone’s knowledge of something. It has to be a standardised tool for measuring sensitivity or memory or intelligence or aptitude or personality in order to achieve a certain score or rating.

I can remember those schooldays when we studied and were put to the test. No one in their right mind would welcome a test with open arms. Yet, ironically, when we hold the test paper in our hands and find that the questions are spot on and we are well prepared for them, a sudden surge of confidence arises within.

I thought my public tests days were over until I got a call from a stranger, a fellow Malaysian who has lived abroad for years. She has got my name from a common friend and she called me just to welcome me and then she told me I would need to get a provisional driving licence as it is cheaper than an international one.
‘You have to sit for the undang-undang test first before you take the road test.’ She said.
Friends from some countries do not have to take a local driving test. A Singaporean driving licence is readily accepted in this part of the world. Naturally I was flustered and upset to know that my many years of driving experience did not count at all. Just thinking of memorising 851 road rules left me numb. I remembered the last driving test I took was when I was 18 and in my school uniform.
My daughter told me she wanted to take the test as well. So we marched down to the nearest book store to buy the driving test book and the practice CD, both sold separately. We registered online to sit for the test and the studying began.
I chugged uphill like an old steam train. I fussed and I ranted. I argued with the book even though it was a losing battle as it was the written word. There were road signs that I had never seen before and rules that were different. Sometimes for a single road sign there were so many varied answers. The first example: a broken white line on the driver’s side next to a continuous line would mean the driver could overtake. But the correct answers given were: (a) You may overtake by crossing the continuous white line and (b) cross the broken line. The second example is a continuous line on the driver’s side next to a broken line would mean that the driver could overtake with care. The correct answers given were: (a) Overtake only if you do not cross any of the lines (b) Do not cross the white line and (c) You may overtake provided you don’t cross the continuous white line. After looking at all the lines in the book and studying about overtaking, I felt I did not want to overtake any car at all. Try changing a dogma of truth that you have learnt eons ago and the brain would not cooperate.
My daughter whose mind is akin to the tabula rasa (clean slate) where driving is concerned, breezed through the book within hours. She was perplexed at how I saw all the rules in a complicated manner so she pitied me and said,
‘Mum, just study by heart all the answers and don’t question.’
I was lousy company for the weeks that ensued. It is a clear picture of the woman and the book. I took the book with me to the park. I took the book with me when I was a passenger in the car. I took the book with me to bed. When I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, I would sit by the computer and practise the test questions on the CD. I was not contented with the scores until I had tried numerous practice tests. Deep inside, I thought I was sitting for the Higher School Certificate all over again.
Then the day came.
The test was held in a mobile truck which shook when the wind blew. I had 40 minutes to answer 40 questions. The room was cold and my fingers were frozen whether from the cold or impending arthritis, I would not know. The questions looked exactly like the ones I studied in the park, in the car and before I went to bed. Carefully I clicked the answers and pressed FINISH. Then I waited for the words to appear.
Congratulations. You have passed.
As I walked out of the truck, I knew the practical part of the road test would be coming up soon but for the moment, I smiled as I thought of shopping for winter coats, feasting on pastries and sipping hot coffee – treats we had promised ourselves if we sailed through the ordeal.

Call Willie if you are seeking a soulmate

WHO can forget the lyrics of the matchmaker's catchy song in Fiddler on the Roof? In the name of tradition, much care must be chosen to find a good catch, complete with looks, reputation, intellect and riches. Interestingly enough, such tradition still finds its way into a quaint town called Lisdoonvarna in Ireland.
About 40,000 single men and women flock to the small spa town of Lisdoonvarna in Ireland every year with one thing on their minds -- to find the perfect mate. This 150-year-old matchmaking festival is the subject of folklore and the whole town comes alive in September and early October. It is probably Europe's biggest singles festival.

There is much music and speed dating during weekends. Other exciting activities are held in 17 venues throughout the town during the week, for example the "Lisdoonvarna Meeting" -- a horse race for amateur jockeys. As with every much celebrated event, the festival culminates with the awarding of the coveted titles of "Mr Lisdoonvarna" and "Queen of the Burren" to the best-matched couple.

This festival was borne more out of necessity in those days where farmers, who had eligible sons and daughters, were often too busy or lived too far apart to have any social life of the regular kind. Thus, "basadoiri" or matchmakers of old invited these eligible bachelors to meet once a year when the hay and crops were gathered, their reward being the collecting of generous dowries once successful matches were made.
Rumour has it that Willie Daly, the present day Lisdoonvarna matchmaker, has been bringing couples together for more than 40 years and has his grandfather's matchmaking book dating back 130 years to prove it. Just a simple filling of form listing basic details and interests for a nominal fee sets the hopeful on his romantic quest for a life partner. It is all done in a decent manner, with no secret trysts unlike what Will Smith, the date doctor did in Hitch.

In fact, I was told that a friend of my brother-in-law met his bride at the festival and they are still happy together. But Willie once lamented to a local tabloid that a decade ago it was all about falling in love and finding a soulmate, but in the last 18 months, people are asking, "Has he a house or is he solvent?"
What is it about match-making that intrigues us and is it still relevant in today's society? When I ask students which they would prefer: match-made or love marriages, there is always a split down the middle with half the class preferring one to the other. Sometimes, discussions turned into heated debates and like warring chieftains defending their territories, I fear war might have broken out had I not stepped in.

Most people in my parents' era found their partners through a matchmaker.

Others argue that falling in love is a magical experience like in Barbara Cartland's ageless romantic rendezvous. But people can also fall in love for the wrong reasons. For example, some people love the idea of being in love so much, they end up falling in love with the first person that is nice to them.
A lot of people are scared of being alone, so they get committed to someone quickly and people also fall in love to show off to others that they can be loved as well. But my students will unanimously agree that neither arranged or love marriages are made in heaven.

The festival, itself, is brilliant, really. It is like a hunting game for hordes of lonely souls seeking the prize of an Irish heart. I hear that 10 cheerleaders from Texas are due to arrive in Ireland, and these high-kicking girls are heading to Lisdoonvarna and have already got in touch with Willie. They could have fathers who own oil wells or they could perhaps be searching for rich, lonely travellers such as themselves.

Some have thumbed their noses at the festival saying that no self-respecting person would join the hunt which is contrived and commercialised. Others may go away feeling shortchanged as they had set their hopes too high and could not find their princes among the down-to-earth bog farmers there.

But if there is this willy-nilly feeling deep down that will not go away, telling you that the biological clock is ticking, then by all means call at Willie's office at the Matchmaker Bar or one of his clinics in the Hydro Hotel. The Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival is simple fun, and as they say "the craic is mighty in Lisdoonvarna".