Feeling like I'm at Home Again

Every now and again I meet up with Malaysians in this part of the world. The first reaction is that of surprise as there are not many of us around here and the next is noticing the unmistakable trademark –  the Malaysian identity that surpasses everything. We are no longer defined by psychological barriers like race, religion or class status. Instead we are all countrymen united by some form of camaraderie in a different land.

I first talked to Sham (Shamzuri) Hanifa in 2010 over the phone after watching an interesting documentary aired over national television about his success in the culinary field.

It is always lovely to hear a success story. Even more so when he is a Malaysian.

I was pleasantly surprised to see him in the flesh when I went for the National Crafts and Design Fair in Dublin in December 2014. There was a section called the Food Emporium where over 100 artisan food producers showcased the best of the season’s bounty.

Sham opened the award winning The Cottage Restaurant in Jamestown in County Leitrim in 2008. The menu at this restaurant draws on a rich culinary heritage that shines through chef-crafted selections of contemporary Irish cuisine with an Asian twist.

Not resting on his laurels, Sham recently created quite a stir with his new range of handmade cooking sauces, inspired by his grandmother’s cooking. The best part is that they are 100% natural with no artificial ingredients, no artificial preservatives, no flavourings or artificial colourings, no additives and no stabilizers.

When I visited Sham’s stand at the Food Emporium, it was well stocked with bottles of homemade sauces. As there were many customers at his stand, Sham reminded me to call again at his stand before I left the fair. I did and to my surprise he packed six complimentary bottles of his flavoursome sauces for me. I was thrilled to bits because that was totally unexpected. Immediately it reminded me of Malaysian kinship and generosity. I must certainly call at his restaurant when I go up to Jamestown.

Another interesting café and bakery that is near where I live is  I tea in Limerick. Run by young Malaysians, I tea serves an assortment of Irish and Malaysian cakes and buns as well as the traditional Irish breakfast.

Situated in a corner of the Limerick Milk Market which becomes very much alive on Saturdays, it caught my attention when I was doing my weekly shopping for fresh produce. Sitting down to a hot cup of latte and a meat floss or curry bun is quite an unbelievable experience in a place where buns are usually sweet and creamy.

There was a Saturday where my beloved and I sat down and ordered hot drinks and a pandan swiss roll at I tea.

Knowing that we would not be able to finish the whole swiss roll, I asked whether we could pay for the whole swiss roll but just eat two slices of it at the café and take home the remaining portion. They told us it wasn’t a problem at all and we happily had our fill.

To our surprise when we were about to go home, the owners gave us a brand new swiss roll instead of the original half!

Again it reminded me of Malaysian kinship and generosity. So I told my Irish friends about the shop and every time I’m in Limerick, I will surely pop by the shop. I guess it is the Malaysian in me who wants to see another Malaysian succeed, just like my Japanese friends who will only buy Japanese products wherever they are.

It is amazing how a country is defined by its culture and its people. It is the little things that we hold dear like the politeness, friendliness and generosity that continue to live in us wherever we are. We may take such things for granted. But when we are in a foreign place, and we meet other people from the country that we originate from, and they treat you so well, a feeling of pride and unity wells up within.

These little touches make all the difference.

I am left feeling that I am home again.

Weblink: http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150510nstnews/index.html#/22/

The Spirit of Caring

I never imagined myself saying this but my recent visit to Nenagh General Hospital in County Tipperary was a pleasant one. I do not think anyone fancies going to a hospital unless she really has to. Other than the happy occasion of welcoming a new born baby, most of us associate hospitals with emergency cases, blood and all its gore.

This time round I went for a routine colonscopy on a Wednesday morning and the anxiety drama started on the Monday prior to that because I had to go on a soft diet followed by a liquid fast. Then on Tuesday I had to drink two litres of Moviprep and one litre of water. It wasn’t exactly the most fantastic drink but the flavour had improved greatly since the last time I took it.

When the day came, I was surrounded by lovely and very friendly hospital staff – right from the admissions desk to the day ward. Nurses like Peggy, Helena and Dierdre and Aine fussed around me and made me forget what I was in there for.

That is what I call the human touch.

What a difference good bedside manners make. You are surrounded by total strangers and yet they treat you so well, as if they have known you for some time or you are the next-of-kin.

There were a number of elderly patients around me and I observed that the staff spoke very nicely to them and cared for them with great respect. Although respecting the elderly is a golden rule, to actually see younger people putting that to practice is something else.

A far cry from what I used to experience in hospitals before.

I had nurses shouting at me in both private and public hospitals.

When I was at a private hospital delivering my first born, a nurse made snide and uncouth remarks when I was writhing with labour pains. Because it was so traumatic, I can still hear those remarks even though my daughter is well in her adulthood.

Then on another occasion, the daughter was sick with croup and had to be hospitalised in a public hospital known for its state-of-the-art facilities for a week. She was four at that time. As I could not take time off from my lectures, I had to sit by her bedside and prepare my lessons while she slept only to be sarcastically told off by a nurse that the children’s ward is not a market where I could bring in my ‘wares’ and do my work there.

Often times we blame it on the environment, on the lack of staff or on staff being overworked. I guess when we want to find something to blame, there is always something to blame.

Dealing with humans is a calling. There are those in people-related professions, medical or otherwise, who should not have been there in the first place. We also hear of awful stories of carers who abuse their senior patients who are not in the position to fend for themselves. In the absence of the closed circuit television which can reveal the horrors of abuse, I wonder how many patients are silently suffering for fear of retribution?

So back to my experience at the Nenagh General Hospital day ward. When I finally woke up after the procedure, there was no lack of attention either. I was given a can of seven-up, followed by a pot of hot piping tea and two slices of toast with butter and marmalade. (Just like Paddington bear, marmalade is my favourite jam)

I felt like it was home away from home.

                          A blessed Christmas to one and all

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/node/62289

Goodwill Hunting

We were walking along Arlington Street in Boston   recently when I heard someone shouting at me from a Pajero which had stopped at the traffic lights. I turned my head and saw a lady waving at me excitedly. She shouted ‘ We have the same handbag!’ and simultaneously lifted up her handbag and shook it vigorously to show me that what she said was absolutely true.

I laughed as I saw that I was also carrying the handbag with bird prints all over it. Then to further accentuate the fun mood, I unbuttoned my coat to reveal a matching bird print frock beneath it. I bought my dress and bag from Dublin and I wondered whether she got the same from downtown Boston. Well, that definitely caused an adrenalin rush.

Then we made our way towards Beacon Street where the famed ‘Cheers’ pub (of the American sitcom television series that ran for 11 seasons from 1982 to 1993) stood. I saw two tourists trying to make sense of the vicinity by pouring over a small black and white map of Boston. In my pocket was a big coloured map of Boston which I took from the concierge. I related what I saw to Michael and I was caught in a to-do or not-to-do situation as we walked past the couple. Michael gave me the affirmation and I ran back to the couple and gave them my big and coloured map and their broad smiles said it all.

What is it about random acts of kindness that make our day?

These may be very small stuff but yet again they leave a fuzzy feeling behind, after all we are tripartite beings – body, soul and spirit.

What touches our souls lifts up the spirit. That little encouragement, that gentle pat on the head goes a long way. We talk of chocolates being soul food and shopping as soul therapy. We can see what we look like in the mirror and we can try to improve what we are not happy with. But it is hard to see our emotions in the mirror and even if we do, we are seldom taught how to recognise our emotions and how to deal with them.

So what am I trying to say?

We often forget that although we look strong on the outside, we are fragile inside. Being constantly battered by words, accusations, injustices and name-calling leave us frail. Being told what to say and what not to say far too often enough leave us wondering if we can say anything to anyone at all.  Being misunderstood because of our perceptions or of our choice of words make us wish we had shared none of our opinions at all. We may be made of rock but constant chiselling will chip off many bits of us over time.

So why can’t we have acts of kindness instead of destruction?

To be kind is to be in the shoes of the other person, to empathise and to walk with her and hold her hand and show that you care. To be kind  is not to bring up the past over and over again. To be kind is to encourage but to correct at the same time when you can see another walking down the path that you would not like to go yourself. To be kind is to understand that not everything is personal and not everything is about you.

To be kind is also to take stock of our own emotional health. We cannot blame another person for what we are or are not. To quote Ann Bradford, ‘Tell the negative committee that meets inside your head to shut up and sit down.’ We owe it to ourselves to develop confidence, self esteem and self respect. When we have been told to do this and that for too long, we need to step aside and say to ourselves, ‘Do we want to fall into someone else’s mould or can we be ourselves?’

It is never easy to see the wood for the trees when we are in the thick of it. No one can identify with the intensity of emotions that we go through, and the choice is ours alone to decide what we want to do with our lives.

It is the stuff that we are made of that anchors us. I have often wondered how huge trees can be toppled in a storm and yet when I see how shallow the roots are, it all makes sense.

When our emotional health is in order, we have every reason to live.

                                                    All that is gold does not glitter     

                                                    Not all those who wander are lost

                                                    The old that is strong does not wither

                                                   Deep roots are not reached by the frost –

                                                                                                    J.R.R. Tolkein             

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/goodwill-hunting-1.551698?cache=03%2F7.203490%3Fpage%3D0%2F7.306867%2F7.321287%2F7.325431%2F7.325431%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.682829%2F7.124478%2F7.699950                           

THE CYCLE GOES ON

I WAS reading Dr Gabriel Fitzpatrick's account of a six-month volunteer assignment in Chad, Africa -- his first mission with the international medical aid agency Medecins Sans Frontieres (Doctors Without Borders).
Dr Fitzpatrick, a public health specialist from Aughnamullen, County Monaghan, Ireland, worked in a small tent hospital in Africa looking after children who were malnourished.

Like Dr Fitzpatrick, I had always wanted to be a medical doctor but abandoned the idea when I could not dissect a frog in Form One. Till this day, I cannot dissect anything that is alive or drugged. I also wanted to be a missionary but did not have the guts.

So I became a teacher instead. I reasoned that whether I became a doctor, a missionary or a teacher, I would still be of service to the community and hoped to inspire someone along the way.
Dr Fitzpatrick wrote: "This week, among many admissions, a young mother arrived with twins. She had not eaten for a while. The twins were a haunting sight. Tiny skeletons wrapped in a fine film of skin. Their hair, brownish in colour, fell out too easily when touched. I struggled to remain composed as I examined them. I could see their small chests rise and fall with the breathing cycle."

A cycle is specific. King Solomon in all his wisdom wrote that there is a time for everything. A time to give birth, and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to uproot what is planted. A time to kill, and a time to heal. A time to tear down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to dance.

A cycle is also repetitive. We experience the continuity of days, weeks and months in a year. Chinese all over the world have just ushered in the Year of the Rabbit only this time I am away from home. It takes 12 years for the rabbit to reappear in the lunar calendar.

Although I do not believe in the Chinese horoscope, a cursory glance at the characteristics of those born in the Year of the Rabbit renders interesting information. They are private individuals but are reasonably friendly and enjoy the company of a group of good friends.

They are quite calm people who do not exhibit aggressive behaviour. Intelligent and quick, they also like artistic ventures, such as painting and music and are generally quite present in these worlds. Among the many professions, they excel if they are doctors or musicians.

Perhaps, Dr Fitzpatrick was born in the Year of the Rabbit.

Twenty-four years ago my eldest daughter was born in the Year of the Rabbit. Now that she is busy walking up and down the wards of a hospital and plays the piano when she can find time, her mother's heart is aglow with pride.

This tells me that I must have done something right, to challenge her to pursue her dream and to imbue her with a sense of servitude and responsibility. As far as I can remember, she never had any other ambition except to be a doctor. I hope she would become a doctor with a heart big enough to embrace challenges across borders.

Finally, a cycle is also continuous. Like any article that we read, I searched for a good ending in Dr Fitzpatrick's story.

He wrote, "I wish I could tell you both twins survived. The baby girl recovered, but four days after arriving at the hospital, the little boy died. The mother softly kissed his forehead and holding him in her arms released a scream that scared everybody. The nurses were crying. I was numb. We all continued with the job."

In this case, despite the emotional setbacks of reality in the nameless hospital in Africa, work still has to be done. The cycle goes on. How true.