TAKING TIME TO BE SILENT

I was unusually silent for a number of days and that was terribly inconvenient. Well, laryngitis does not discriminate and I was reduced to mousey whispers at best. How true it is that you never miss something until it's gone, in this case, my voice.

To humour myself, I attributed it to the possibility of viruses hidden on the walls of WW II underground tunnels as I had just returned from a historic tour of underground Berlin. I may not be too far wrong as the tour guide did mention that the walls had not been repainted, so think ancient Egyptian tombs that harboured yesteryear's deadly germs.

The beloved who always wanted to live a quiet life said, 'I had a quiet weekend' . The strange thing was, everyone else whispered to me too and that was really funny.

But there is another type of silence that is a conscious act.

I’m talking about entering the Room of Silence (Raum der Stille) in Berlin.  Located on the north side of Brandenburg Gate, this room has been there for 15 years. It offers a place of solace for Berliners and visitors to sit down in silence and relax.

It is a pretty small room where visitors can pick up a symbolic stone and remain quiet for some time. There is a wall hanging by Hungarian artist Ritta Hager on the theme of ‘light penetrating the darkness’. This room resonates the call for tolerance between all nationalities and beliefs.

This reminds me of the necessity to be silent and to reflect. Seemingly, there is scientific evidence that shows that adding 30 minutes of silence to a daily routine can reduce stress.

Silence has become a stranger to most of us. People are uneasy when we are quiet and assume that something is wrong. There are those who talk non-stop, as if they are afraid of being silent during a conversation.

I believe that most of us get out of bed in the morning and almost immediately reach out for our mobile phones and start checking the messages, alerts or calls that were left there while we were sleeping.

We rush to the shower, make a cup of coffee and switch on the ‘noise’ around us – be it the radio or the television. Then we get into our cars and listen to the airplay or our favourite music. When we reach the office, we talk and work or listen to more talk.

If it is not external noise that we deal with, there is also a stream of internal noises in our heads. Our minds start ticking and we start planning or worrying or arguing and justifying with our own thoughts.

Certainly, there is a lot of chatter going on.

Choosing a specific period of the day to be quiet can actually help us to deal with life’s challenges better as we capture the dynamic and dissonance in our hearts and the world that we observe. The adage that we are human beings who have somehow transmogrified into human doings is very true.

It is very strange but when I stand back in silence and reflect, things fall into perspective. I am in control of my emotions and circumstances rather than be controlled by them. I can be centred and still while everything else around me rushes by.

My immediate responses to challenging situations or ugly exchange of words morph into a different level of tolerance and understanding. Somehow the hurt inflicted upon me the night before does not sting as much. Because the rhythm of the body slows down, there is rest.

Close the door, breathe and then spend some precious moments in silence before the chatter.

It is time to power down intentionally. 

It is time to unplug.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA  21 FEBRUARY 2016 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/02/128644/taking-time-be-silent

THE RARE ACT OF CHIVALRY

It was on a regular day that my daughter’s car tyre needed to be filled with air. So, on the way back from town, we turned into a petrol kiosk that had an air pump. She removed the valve stem cap, checked the air pressure, stretched the hose around to the closest tyre and inserted the hose into the valve.

It was then that I heard someone holler at us.

I looked up and there was a male driver on his way out of the petrol kiosk. He asked, ‘Are you alright? Do you need help?’

I gave him the thumbs up to indicate that everything was fine and he waved and moved on. We were chuffed as that took us by complete surprise. Either we looked ridiculous man-handling an air hose or he belonged to the last batch of those who practise the chivalric code.

The chivalric code, is a code of conduct associated with the medieval institution of knighthood which developed between 1170 and 1220.  This code contains virtues such as mercy, courage, valour, fairness and protection of the weak and the poor. An example of this in the twentieth century is protecting women from harm and helping them when needed.

In this part of the world, there are many who still pull out a chair or hold out the door for me. There are still others who say sorry or excuse me when I am blocking the way. Before I leave the counter after having purchased something, there is always a broad smile, a thank you and a general greeting to have a good day, in a very natural and genuine voice.

When I travelled alone on some of my working trips to parts of Europe and the States, it was always a delight when some random fellow passenger helped me retrieve my cabin luggage. There was no shoving or pushing to try to get out of the plane as quickly as possible.

Imagine the horror when I travel on budget airlines in some countries where some passengers are totally unruly. They let their children run up and down the aisle and it is worse if a clique has boarded the plane together. They will talk loudly and use pungent headache relieving ointment with no consideration for the rest of the passengers. Before you know it they are all rushing to get out before the plane actually lands and the poor stewardess has to constantly plead with them to sit down and put their seat belts on again. I can’t imagine anyone helping me with my luggage during such flights. Both chivalry and good manners are dead here.

Compare this to the sinking of the Titanic where the majority of the survivors were women and children. Research of the incident has shown that many male passengers refused to enter the lifeboats or depart the ship until they knew all women aboard had been brought to safety.

There are some who adhere strongly to the feminist liberation movement and argue that we need no help from the physically stronger men and that we are no damsels in distress. Women can fly planes or mow the lawn if they wanted to.

There are many arguments as to why there is a lack of chivalry these days.

Some contend that this is due to boys being brought up not to respect women enough. Others think it is a result of the post-feminist backlash. According to an article entitled ‘Chivalry is dead and feminism is to blame’ by Martin Daubney in the Telegraph, men have become afraid of helping women lest they appear patronising. The writer gives the example of the fear of offering to help change a tyre and getting a slap for being sexist. Even offering a seat in a bus to a perceived pregnant lady (only to be reprimanded that he is calling her fat ) or to a pensioner (and be accused of making a big deal of her advancing age) can lend a chivalrous man in trouble.

                                     

In most parts of the world, chivalry has a weaker emphasis in today’s modern society than in history. As for me, even if I could be an astronaut and walk on the moon, a little help in time of need is most welcome.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 14 FEBRUARY 2016
http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/02/127356/rare-art-chivalry

MEMORIES OF SNACK FOOD FOR THE SOUL

It’s very strange but every time Chinese New Year comes around, I think about food. Yes, like any true Malaysian, I think about food most of the time but during this time, I certainly think about it more.

It is not just craving for what I can eat or what I will eat, but it is usually something that I’ve eaten during my childhood formative years. Call me an old soul but yesteryear’s food and drinks seem to taste so much better than what is served these days at the fast food restaurant.

Maybe it is the nostalgia that comes with it. Somehow, when I attach good memories to the delectable morsels, they automatically become more tasty.

Researchers say that even during a simple associative taste, the brain operates the hippocampus to produce an integrated experience. In other words,  there is a connection between the parts of the brain responsible for taste memory and the parts responsible for processing the memory of the time and location of the sensory experience.

There are some things that I’ve enjoyed as a child that are no longer available, at least not in the way they were packaged. I’m talking about the Fraser and Neave carbonated orange drink that came in glass bottles. I can still buy the drink now but in plastic PET bottles and aluminium cans.

We didn’t have a refrigerator then so my dad would put the bottles in the cement water tub to keep them cool - the same water tub that held the water and the dipper for our showers. Imagine some lovely mosaic design at the bottom of a swimming pool. The bottles lying at the bottom of the tub gave a similar effect – more so because I could drink as much orange as I wanted during the Chinese New Year.  This fizzy drink tasted extremely good with Ngan Yin Hand Brand Peanuts from Menglembu, Perak.

These empty bottles were then returned to the seller for more drinks. To an overactive child’s mind, the glass bottles conjured images of orphans (from Charles Dickens’ novels) who must have cleaned and scrubbed them in work houses under the likes of Mr Bumble. I read the abridged versions of the novels as a child and felt sorry that I could drink the juice while others had to clean the bottles.

There are some biscuits too that conjure a picture of delight.

Iced gem biscuits – small biscuits topped with pink, yellow, green or white hard sugar icing. Originally the biscuit bottoms were made by Huntley and Palmer of Reading, Britain in the 1850s and the icing section was introduced in 1910. Few of us could afford imported biscuits during that era and so we bought the local substitute.

I remember getting them from the Tengku Mariam Primary School tuckshop. They were good value for me because I could get a bag of them for a few sen. Somehow my mother frowned upon them because she said they would give me worms.

I enjoyed the crispy twisted biscuits as well as the bolster-like biscuits, usually given to relatives during weddings. I wonder what they symbolise –they probably represent the new couple’s unity and prosperity.

The interesting thing about food is that each race or clan has its own delicacies. The fun part is that we mix with people from all races and also those who speak different dialects and we learn to enjoy their delicacies as well. 

I speak the Teochew dialect and I miss traditional delicacies like the Png Kueh (rice cake that is shaped like a peach) which is as scarce as hen’s teeth now.  Learning how to make them from recipes over the internet is never quite the same as the ones my parents bought for me from the market.

The best part is every time we return to Malaysia, my friends will bring us round to all these fantastic food joints to savour all that we have missed. That is the beauty of friendship and I cannot be grateful enough for such lovely homecoming treats.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 7 February 2016           http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/02/126199/memories-snack-food-soul