WELCOMING THE YEAR OF THE ROOSTER IN IRELAND

Yesterday was the last day of the Chinese New Year and the Rooster is a Chinese symbol of honesty, as well as physical and moral fortitude.

This is the second time we celebrated this glorious occasion in Dublin, 6769 miles away from our home in Malaysia.

What is it like celebrating a very special occasion away from that land that you were born in and away from the air of festivity that you were accustomed to?

Prior to the New Year, I managed to buy some arrowroot bulbs from the Asian supermarket and turned them into crisps. This was my first try and they didn’t turn out exactly like the store bought ones, but they were tasty nevertheless. I wanted to make the special New Year cake (niangao or kuih bakul) but couldn’t find the necessary ingredients. So I managed to buy two imported from London Chinatown for 10euro a piece.

Next was shopping for clothes. I didn’t need an excuse for that but an excuse made shopping for the quintessential red dress all the more fun.

Then came the question of cards. Unless you order them online, it was impossible to buy any. So I made some for friends and for some Chinese shop keepers or restaurateurs whom I know.

Before I knew it, I was invited to give a short talk about Chinese New Year to the Irish Countrywomen’s Association (Castletroy Guild). I managed to borrow ornamental firecrackers and paper cuttings with auspicious words from my friends from Mainland China. I don’t know who enjoyed it more – the audience or myself giving the talk! I slipped into the lecturer-presentation mood seamlessly and the adrenalin rush was immense when I talked about something close to my heart.

The opening ceremony of the Dublin Chinese New Year Festival (DCNYF) took place on the eve of the New Year at  Templebar’s Meeting House Square. Temple Bar is the cultural quarter on the south bank of the River Liffey in central Dublin. The whole square was filled with tourists and locals alike and it was wonderful to see children dressed in traditional clothes.

The two-week programme was varied: photography and art exhibition, symphony orchestra, Chinese cooking demonstration, ping pong challenge with Chinese nibbles, Chinese movies, lantern making, tea ceremony and even Guinness Storehouse tours in Mandarin!

We went for Yan Wang Preston’s Mother River Photography talk and exhibition at the Gallery of Photography as well as the Chester Beatty Library’s Chinese Collection. Then we had a grand Lunar feast at Lao Chinese and Korean BBQ Restaurant on Parnell Street.

I remember the first time we stood in Temple Bar in 2012 surrounded by many pop up stalls selling hot Asian snacks as well as toys like paper dragons and watching the dragon prance on the stage in the freezing cold. The dragon was clothed in green, white and cold – colours of the Irish flag – and the well built dragon dancers were Irish. Even the guys beating the drums or clanging the cymbals were Irish.

The nostalgia, the memories and of course, the separation from loved ones and friends and the feeling of being a stranger trying so hard to make sense and fit into another land welled up within me and I burst into tears.

But this time round it didn’t feel that painful as I watched the lion dance on the street.  Like the rooster, it is all about honesty as well as physical and moral fortitude.

I am surrounded by more loved ones and many good friends. I am honest with myself and know that without sacrifice there can be no victory. I also received one solitary Chinese New Year Card from a friend, a plate of hot piping noodles from a restaurateur, half a durian from a friendly shopkeeper (incidentally  one fresh durian would cost 35 euro per kg.) and lots of well wishes from family and friends.

All these little gestures made all the difference.

This article was originally printed in the New Straits Times Malaysia 12 February 2017
http://www.nst.com.my/news/2017/02/211554/welcoming-year-rooster-ireland

LESSONS FROM IRELAND'S 1916 EASTER REBELLION

Exactly 100 years ago the streets of Dublin and skirmishes in counties Meath, Louth, Galway and Wexford saw  much turmoil and bloodshed during an armed insurrection, mounted by Irish republicans to end British rule in Ireland and establish an independent Irish Republic.

Every year at Easter, this event is remembered. All the more at Easter 2016 – the year which marked the centenary of the defining moments of the struggle for independence.

There was a military parade, including an Aer Corps flypast and a 21-gun salute. There were  synchronised wreath-laying ceremonies at strategic points around Dublin, starting with Dublin Castle. In addition, there was a ceremony for all those who have died during the events of 1916 in the Garden of Remembrance. There was also a state event for the relatives of those who took part in the Rising and the official opening of the Easter Rising Centenary Visitor Facility at the General Post Office (GPO) – an iconic building that served as the rebel headquarters during the Rising.

Internationally, centenary events also took place in 100 countries, including one at the John F Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, in Washington, DC, and one in Nigeria based on Roger Casement’s development-aid work.

I am not a historian but because of a natural interest in the affairs of the land, I have been collecting reprints of first hand accounts of the 1916 Easter Rising. These took the form of memorabilia or newspapers from Northern Ireland, the Republic of Ireland and the United States.

It was interesting to note that the very same event was interpreted differently by the different publishing houses. Their perspectives were very much coloured by where their sympathies lay.

The Easter Rising of 1916 is now widely regarded with pride. Patrick Henry Pearse was seen as the embodiment of the rebellion, and he was executed alongside 15 other leaders.

Those who were executed were venerated by many as martyrs; their graves in Dublin's former military prison of Arbour Hill became a national monument and the Proclamation text was taught in schools. 

This insurrection also provided fodder for great literary works, some of which are  O’Connell Street" and "Lament for the Poets of 1916" by Francis Ledwidge, ‘The Plough and the Stars’, a play by Sean O’Casey, and ‘Insurrection’ by Liam O’Flaherty.

Although the flame of Irish nationalism had begun to burn, some questions remain:

Was it justified as fighting for freedom or a futile battle? Who were the heroes and who were the villains? Could the 1250 insurgents in Dublin fight the 16000 troops and 1000 armed police in Dublin? Did the countless civilians have to die for an insurrection that they were not part of? Was it idealism at its best or a gross act of miscalculation?

Looking back, it feels surreal that people, male and female, from all walks of life would give up their lives for the greater good.

I wonder in this 21^st century how many of us will actually do that. And even if the young people had wanted to involve themselves in the fight for liberty, equality and fraternity, would their parents have allowed them? Or would they say – get your degree, get a job and put these idealistic notions out of your head!

I wonder too whether present day netizens would subscribe to a larger cause, rather than spend copious amounts of time taking selfies and checking feeds on facebook.

I wonder too, how those who fought in 1916 would judge us and our society today.

 This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 3 APRIL 2016        http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/160403nstnews/index.html#/23/

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

  

THE BEST GIFT IS THE GIFT OF HOPE

I was driving along O’Connell Street in Limerick one evening and traffic was grinding to an all time slow. Why, because there were cranes here and there hoisting burly men to elevated positions as they fixed strings of beautiful street lights to usher in Christmas. There was a certain excitement in the air and I was pretty sure no one was complaining because it was quite a sight to behold as the workers, all dressed in their safety gear, carefully lifted up the main attraction – the Star of Hope.

The star wondrously lit up the dark winter sky. During WW II, there were stars hanging in many windows, as families hoped for the safe return of their loved ones who were serving in the war.

Temperatures were dropping all around as I sat in the car with the heater turned up and the radio blasting Christmas carols of sleigh bells ringing and the spirit of giving hope.

Hope is a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen. It is not wishful thinking.

One of the activities that I get involved in is the annual shoebox appeal. Organised by Team Hope Ireland, this charity body works with children and their families and communities in war torn countries in Eastern Europe, former Soviet Union and Africa.

Last year, people in Limerick sent 8000 shoeboxes stuffed with toys, sweets and other gifts to the children in Lesotho, sowing a little hope into the lives of young ones who have nothing in the way of material goods.

So I wrapped a shoe box with pretty paper and went shopping for goodies for a little girl that I have never met. I felt like a child again and  thought a ‘princess’ theme might appeal. 

It was more difficult than I had thought.

Socks with Disney ‘Frozen’ princess images came in a range of sizes and I had completely forgotten what children feet sizes were! The sales girl came to the rescue and I bought stickers, stationery and a jigsaw puzzle – all with princesses on them.

Next came toiletries, and the range was gorgeous –  child size make-up kits, Olaf the snowman toothpaste and tooth brush that were screaming at me to buy. I succumbed and bought a bag of Haribo gummy bears as well.

I stuffed everything into the shoe box and then topped it up with a card with Irish sheep cartoons (that had real wool stuck to them) as well as a soft toy bunny that I made. I was very surprised that a shoe box could hold so much stuff.

Just like the child who picks up a starfish and throws back into the sea so that it can live, I know my shoebox will not change the world but it might mean the world to just one child.

I felt that I was certainly enriched by the whole experience.

It reminded me of the times when I was involved with groups that did voluntary work with the hill people in the Philippines and the indigenous people in Malaysia. Even though we supplied them with basic necessities like medicine and food, the welcome  that we received surpassed anything that we had imagined. Their hospitality put us all to shame and whatever little they had, they shared with us. It is strange but when we give a little of ourselves or what we have, we receive even much more.  

I was listening to Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowing in the Wind’, the lyrics laden with strands of war, peace and freedom. Dylan says that the answer to  chaos is in the wind. But ‘ just like a restless piece of paper it’s got to come down...But the only trouble is that no one picks up the answer when it comes down so not too many people get to see and know . . . and then it flies away.’

What is it that we hope for as the year draws to a close?      

It is my hope that we love our neighbours as our ourselves- to respect and regard their needs and desires as highly as we regard our own.                                                                  

                                 

                                      A blessed Christmas to all Christians!


This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA, 20 DECEMBER 2015
http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/151220nstnews/index.html#/23/

THE COLOURS OF THE SOUL

Recently  the biological parents of a prominent civil rights activist in Washington state have claimed that she has been misrepresenting herself as a black woman when her heritage is white. This is a grave matter because it borders on deception of the masses.

As onlookers, we wonder why anyone would do that because technically, we are born white, black, yellow, red or brown or a mixture of different colours . However, it gets more complicated when we talk about our cultural identities.

Granted, most of us think and feel according to how we have been brought up within our cultural boundaries. However, there are some who gravitate towards cultures that we have not been born into. I’m thinking of the Anglophile, the Weeabo, the Wapanese or the Koreaboo - strange terms that we use to make sense of conditions that we find hard to explain.

An anglophile is a non-English person who greatly likes and admires England and the things, people, places and culture of England. The Weeabo or Wapanese are non-Japanese who admire the Japanese culture  and they may even  dress or have their hair done like anime characters and go to anime events. The Koreaboo are non-Koreans who identify with all things Korean.

Some sociologists call this cultural identity.

This  is the identity or feeling of belonging to a certain nationality, ethnicity, religion, social class, generation or even locality. Factors that influence one’s cultural identity include education, exposure, media and social groups.

Many of us who were fed a good diet of nursery rhymes during our formative years become all excited when we see London bridge or eat Christmas pie for the first time – thanks to images of the iconic London bridge falling down and Little Jack Horner who sat in a corner.

When I step into a traditional sweet store, my eyes quickly search for the humbug made famous by Enid Blyton. In my mind’s eye, the humbug is some kind of sweet that is made-in-heaven and I never knew that it is a boiled sweet, usually with black and white stripes and flavoured with peppermint.

When I fell in love with gardening, I finally saw Wordsworth’s host of golden daffodils, the Cos lettuces that Benjamin Bunny nibbled on and the gooseberry bush where Peter Rabbit got caught in a net as he tried to escape from Mr. McGregor.

We enjoy British humour and try to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of adversity. We follow the lives of the Crawley family and its servants in the family's classic Georgian country house in the fictional Yorkshire country estate of Downton Abbey.  It is such a joy to hear clearly articulated sentence structures spoken in Standard or BBC English.

We think in English, we feel in English and we even dream in English.

Then there is this younger set that is totally overwhelmed by all things Japanese or Korean – be it the food, the pop idols or the drama series.

 I know of many who spend many waking hours watching such dramas, with a good box of tissues beside them. It comes as no surprise when Korea and Japan top the list of the countries that they would like to visit.  Korean and Japanese men or women would also be their choice of an ideal spouse.

It is good to embark on a cultural identity search – to know who we are and what our propensities are. If we find ourselves similar to every other person around us in thought and behaviour , that is well and good.

But if we find ourselves different from the norm, that is good too as long as we are not trying to deceive others.

The colours of the soul reflect the fact that we are unique and that we are wonderfully and beautifully made.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 27 SEPTEMBER 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/09/colours-soul

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150927nstnews/index.html#/23/

EVERY GIRL LOVES A DIAMOND

Much has been said about the allure of a diamond. Diamonds are forever and diamonds are a girl’s best friend. I never thought I would say this but I have fallen for a diamond too. This time round, it is Neil Diamond - the voice, not the man.

Truth be told, I was never quite his follower in my school years but tastes change with age.

Now I think his voice is something else and even at 74, he can mesmerise 14,000 people, mainly older women. I know this for a fact because I was sitting there among the crowd    at  3 Arena, an amphitheatre located at North Wall Quay in the Dublin Docklands in Dublin.

I was there early so I had time to indulge in my favourite past time – observing.

There were two huge screens upfront that had a running commentary of the audience’s tweets. It was amazing how the tweets shared a common vein –  every single tweet was about a daughter who had accompanied her mother or father for a never-to-be-forgotten experience.

When the man came on the stage, the atmosphere was electrifying. Suddenly the elderly people were clapping or waving their light sticks.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the very same people who came in through the doors of the amphitheatre with their  walking sticks, spring up  and dance! I thought it was all very spontaneous and graceful.  Every grandmother or grandfather was  a young person again that night.

As Neil Diamond belted out the classics, the lyrics of ‘I am I said’ struck a chord.

As the song goes, ‘ I’m New York City born and raised...but nowadays I’m lost between two shores. L.A.’s fine, but it ain’t home....New York’s home but it ain’t mine no more.........’

Very true indeed.

There are some who have been born and raised in a village and remained there all their lives so they probably would not feel this predicament. There are others like myself who have moved from towns to cities to countries. We have more than one place to call home and yet there is a feeling of being ‘lost between two shores’

I remember participating in an ice-breaking activity where I was given this question. ‘What would you like to be said at your funeral?’ I thoroughly enjoyed that as I had been preparing all my life for this....sounds morbid...but that is one of the fun things the mind can do.

So I said I would like to model it after Michael Hess’s headstone inscription (from the true to life movie Philomena). ...’A woman of two nations and many talents’. And then I added, ‘For those who are here attending my funeral, who had never spoken or were kind to me when I was alive, what are you doing here?’ This is especially so in a society where being seen at a funeral is of utmost importance.

In the context of a sense of belonging, I find that there is this  phenomenon that I would call the ‘Ellipsis Effect’.

Ellipsis in the area of linguistics is the act of leaving out one or more words that are not necessary for a phrase to be understood.

It is very strange but when I stay in a place long enough, I feel that I have lived there forever and memories of other places where I had set up home before, fade over time. It would seem that I have never left in the first place. It doesn’t matter whether the places that I have lived are as varied as night and day. It doesn’t matter whether I have very good friends in any of those places. It doesn’t matter how many years I have spent in one place. So when I begin to settle the Ellipsis Effect kicks in.

Apparently, I am not the only one who feels this way Does this attest to the innate human instinct to survive and to put down roots wherever we are?

Home is where memories are made.  Home is where we feel comfortable, loved, relaxed, peaceful, and contented, 

Home is where the heart is.

 THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES - 16 AUGUST 2015

 http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150816nstnews/index.html#/23/


http://www.nst.com.my/node/96372

WITH LIGHT THE DARKNESS CANNOT REMAIN

Now that summer is coming to an end, we will soon miss the sun that blazes through the sky for days on end and sets only after 10pm. During summer, the whole atmosphere is electric and everyone seems to have a sudden burst of energy. We are all too happy to hang up the bulky coats and put on shorts and t-shirts instead. Colours are vibrant, the grass is greener and the sheep look happier. We even rush out to buy the table fan when the heat threatens to be unbearable.

However, when it is winter and snow is like a soft white blanket in my backyard, I lament the possibility of not seeing the sun again. I get this feeling all the time, as if winter will last forever and I am permanently locked in a climate that will not change.

Strange but true.

Maybe it is because summer and winter  are poles apart. With Spring and Autumn the transition is more gradual. Cherry blossoms in Spring are quickly blown away as Summer’s warm clime heralds. As for Autumn, the  rich golden hues and falling leaves prepare us for Winter. We are so busy sweeping the leaves away, we hardly notice that tree branches are becoming bare.

What is it with the human brain that when we get accustomed to something  good or bad , we seem to think that it will become a permanent state? The mind is easily tricked by what it sees for a relatively long period of time.

Everything on earth is transient. They say that time flies when you are having fun. We are also well aware that misery loves company and when it comes to misfortune, it not only rains but pours.

Yet we have seen it many times that both good and bad experiences come and go.

It is just that when we are in the thick  of it, we think that it is permanent.  Going through a rough patch will leave anyone brow beaten. Much has been written on this topic and the usual response to overcoming difficult times is to analyse the problem, seek possible solutions, communicate, forgive and most of all learn not to blame yourself. This whole process may take months or years but it is comforting to know that tomorrow can be a better day.

Sometime ago, PIETA House (Preventing Suicide and Self Harm) organised a Darkness into Light walk. Starting at 4:15am and crossing the line just as dawn was breaking, the annual 5 km walk with 80 venues across Ireland and beyond,  celebrated its 7^th year.

I thought the walk was very symbolic.  Darkness which can be very intimidating and overpowering cannot remain forever when light breaks through.

There are so many of us who have experienced difficult seasons and great seasons in  life.  It has been said that beautiful paths could not have been discovered unless we are lost.

Catherine Fisher, writer of Incarceron  illustrates this in the Songs of Sapphique,

“I have walked a stair of swords,
I have worn a coat of scars.
I have vowed with hollow words,
I have lied my way to the stars...”

I rejoice when I  know someone finally has a breakthrough. It could be a bad habit or a limiting circumstance but to actually see a friend emerge victorious is great happiness. The humble person is one who has known defeat and pain and yet has found his way out of the depths.

I like this inspirational quotation that I have seen: Everything in life is temporary. So if things are going well, enjoy them because they won’t last forever. And if things are going bad, don’t worry, they can’t last forever either.

How true.

'

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  2 AUGUST 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/09/light-darkness-cannot-remain

 http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150802nstnews/index.html#/23/