The things we do that only others see

THE 1999 novel Chocolat by Joanne Harris tells of a woman who moves in with the wind to a little French town. She is a sojourner and is quite unlike any of the people in that village, with her unconventional ideas and her disregard for meaningless traditions. Despite her fair share of prejudice and pain, she ultimately brings hope to a group of people who sees change and possibilities and a different world apart from their own.

The sojourner can be anyone. He is the teacher in a godforsaken place. Totally dedicated to his vocation but unappreciated. He is the doctor in a far-flung part of the earth. Totally dedicated to his calling but feeling trapped. He is the creative worker in a multinational company. Totally dedicated to his career but feeling empty and lonely.

Sometimes, I feel like a sojourner. It is as if I am in a particular place for a particular reason. Like the protagonists of the novel, Vianne Rocher, and her daughter Anouk, the road is never easy, the path is embedded with stones that need to be taken out painstakingly, one by one, so that it is smooth again.

In the course of it, weariness bears down, oh so strongly.

I have been here for a few years now. People ask me: "What do you think of Ireland? What do you think of the Irish? Do you miss your children back home in Malaysia?"

What can I say... should I just mouth the trite answers that are expected of me? Do I tell them what they want to hear or do I tell them the good and the bad, the joy and the pain, the fun and the sadness, the alienation and the friendliness, the rejection and the acceptance, the closeness of minds of a people who know no better?

There was this nice and elderly English gentleman whom I used to meet on the street where I live. He probably did not have many friends. But what struck me was that he never failed to talk to me whenever he saw me. He thought I was on a long vacation as I stayed on after the summer holidays and he continued to see me again in autumn and winter. He used to carry a bag slung across his shoulder. One day, I saw him walking without his bag. I stopped and asked, "Where is your bag?"

He was taken aback and said that he had left the bag behind. He must have gone home and thought to himself, why, this lady noticed that I carried a bag every time I went out for a walk. The next day, he saw me again from afar and waved merrily at me, holding his bag high up in the air, to show me that he was carrying the bag. After that, our friendship grew -- albeit circling around his health, his bag, my health and my bag. Finally I asked him whether he would like to come into my house for a cup of tea.

I wished he had accepted my invitation that day to come in for a cup of tea to escape the stormy weather. I wish I could have talked to him more. But I couldn't because John passed away and it broke my heart that I did not even know about it and I wondered if there was anyone at all at his funeral.

As I sojourn, I find myself in several very varied circles of good friends, maybe because I listen more than I speak, I reflect more than react and I empathise more than gossip and judge. A number of my friends have mentioned that they are glad I have come into their lives. I feel humbled by such an honour because of my own imperfections.

I am reminded of the story of the monk carrying two buckets of water from the well to the monastery every day. One bucket is perfect and the other has holes. The bucket with holes asks the monk why he continues to use it. The monk asks the bucket to look at the side of the road where the perfect bucket passes over and it is barren. He then points to the flowers growing on the other side of the road and says "See, these flowers are here only because of the water you sprinkle on them". 

As we sojourn, may our imperfections be the channels that allow our gifts and talents to flow to where they mean something to someone else.

Source: The things we do that only others see - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-things-we-do-that-only-others-see-1.490817#ixzz2uLvyqa00

Appeal of teddy bears

WHAT is it about teddy  bears that makes most of us go soft in the head? I for one have collected a number of teddy bears from different countries and have sat them all down in a cupboard and then carefully cleaned them whenever they got soiled.

Among the well-loved bears are the Paddington bear from Peru, Rupert the bear from England, Biffo bear from Beano, Yogi bear created by Hanna-Barbera (who claims he is smarter than the average bear) and the hand-raised Knut the polar bear that I saw at the Berlin Zoo. But these names are quite lost on present-day children, who are probably familiar only with Pooh, made famous by Walt Disney. But truth be told, the Disney version of Pooh is again rather different from the original A. A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh of Hundred Acre Wood.

History has it that the first teddy bear originated from the States after President Theodore Roosevelt and some of his friends went on a hunting trip to Mississippi in November 1902. After tracking down a helpless bear, one of the guides asked the president to shoot it but filled with compassion, the president could not bring himself to do so. Shortly after that, Clifford Berryman, a cartoonist, drew a cartoon of the event. A store owner in Brooklyn saw the cartoon, and true to the American spirit of entrepreneurship, decided to create a toy and named it Teddy Bear.

Teddy bears have gone a long way since. They are endeared by children and adults alike. In fact, I have even walked into a Teddy Hospital that specialises in bandaging that torn-out limb or re-stuffing that well-loved shapeless lump. Visitors to the hospital are asked to stay quiet for the patients.

Like doll houses and miniatures, they are also much sought after by beary (pardon the pun) many collectors. Sir Robert Clark, who died in January 2013, was recruited to Churchill's Special Operations Executive. He had a teddy called Falla, who was with him even when he parachuted into enemy territory in Italy and became a prisoner of war in World War 2. He later became a collector of more than 300 teddy bears.

Recently, Travelodge, the hotel chain, carried out a poll among 6,000 British adults on the significance of teddy bears (there seems to be polls on almost anything). More than half of the respondents still have a childhood teddy bear and 35 per cent sleep with one. Because of the great attachment between the teddy bear and its owner, the loss of one creates great distress. Travelodge said that in 2011, staff had reunited more than 75,000 teddies and their owners. And it is not only children that we are talking about but "frantic businessmen and women" calling the hotel about their forgotten teddy bears. In Teddy Bear stories for Grown Ups by Catherine Taylor, we have 23 fascinating stories of relationships between teddy bears and their owners, including the one about how a teddy bear survived the Titanic.

So what does a teddy bear provide that other toys do not? The respondents of the poll said sleeping with a teddy provided a "comforting and calming" way to end the day. In fact, 25 per cent of men said they even took their teddy bears away with them on business because it reminded them of home. Now I understand why Mr Bean does not go to sleep. I think deviant artist Begemott captures the idea of teddy the protector best in his drawing Sweet Halloween dreams where a teddy bear fends off a monster with a sword while a child sleeps on peacefully.

So with Valentine's Day just around the corner, I think teddy bears make excellent gifts.

They do not wilt like roses do, and unlike chocolates, they give great comfort without the extra calories.

Source: Appeal of teddy bears - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/appeal-of-teddy-bears-1.479943#ixzz2soKaSecE