UNCONDITIONAL LOVE: A MOTHER'S HEART

It's mother's day today and I'm sure many mothers in Malaysia are given treats and gifts on this special occasion. Interestingly enough, there are 27 Mother’s Day this year because different countries honour their mothers on different days.

Since I live in two countries I get to celebrate it twice so to speak. But to me everyday is Mother’s Day because it is a privilege to be one.

I came home recently to Malaysia because my son Samuel had to undergo a knee operation due to sport injury. My trips back home usually involve a lot of travelling and feasting but this time round I was home bound for the most part of my stay but it was still very satisfying to cook, clean and nurse.

It was nice to go to a wet market and choose fresh produce - the sights and smells -  something that I hadn’t experienced for a while. It was lovely to get back to my spacious kitchen and use my familiar pots and pans again. The gas stove was still standing strong.

King Solomon in all his wisdom had written many proverbs about the good wife and mother. 

She is priceless above rubies. She is industrious and ensures that there is food on the table. She invests wisely and helps the needy. She is clothed with strength and dignity and she hopes in the future. She speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

Many of us mothers are such.

We emulate the good practices that our own mothers have done for us and in many ways we try to do more. Giving and sacrifice are almost natural traits in us. Most mothers worry from time to time although we try to put on a brave face regardless of whether the son is a baby or a 28 year old.

My mother was the mother of all worriers. Her anxiety came from deep within which I believe was due to her environment and life experiences. She was one of those who thought that worrying was a way of showing love and care. But sometimes being on the receiving end of listening to her worries made it difficult to see that as a sign of caring. Instead it became my job to take care of the worrier - to reassure her that I could handle my problems. Thus there were many times that I withheld information from her so that she didn’t have to worry.

The heart line between a mother and child is so great that it transcends distance.

How many times had I awaken in the middle of the night sensing that my child was having a difficult time whether in Dublin or in Kuala Lumpur? How many times had I rejoiced in my heart for my child before something great actually happened? And how many times had I shed tears and grieve within, knowing that there would be impending sorrow? Interestingly enough, this also works both ways. I’ve had my children calling me and asking me whether something was amidst because there was this ‘discomfort in their gut’ even when I never told them so.

I have people look at me and wonder whether I’m doing my ‘job’ as a mother because I don’t seem to worry as much as they do.

What helps me to worry less is a sense of trust and communication.

Knowing that my children are independent and are able to make sensible choices helps me to step back at times and let the course of action or consequence unravel.  I have also learnt how to accept it when my advice is not taken. I don’t believe in nagging or being a helicopter parent.

Painful though it is, I allow my children to make mistakes. We cannot protect them from every potential threat and neither should we do all the thinking for them.

Through prayers, I also place my trust in my Creator and that gives me a lot of peace. I exchange dark emotional clouds hovering over me and a sense of panic with conversation, support and shared beliefs. My child’s pain is my pain but being there for a child (whether in person or in cyberspace) when he needs it most breaks anxiety. And I’m not only talking about physical pain but also emotional pain.

Sometimes we worry because we think that no one can do the job as efficiently as ourselves. It is most helpful to be surrounded by good service providers. I trust the knowledgeable surgeon, the caring relatives and the good friends that I know would also look out for my son.

At the end of my stay, I flew back to Ireland, happy that Samuel is on the way to recovery. I also held a hand sewn quilt that I had completed while the patient was asleep.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 13 MAY 2018 https://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/05/368861/unconditional-love-mothe

I'M GLAD MY CHILDREN HAVE TURNED OUT ALRIGHT

WITH each Chinese New Year, I think of family and friends who were born under the zodiac sign of that particular year.

My interest in such signs is purely for knowledge as I do not believe that they influence the individual in any way, whether in the past, present or future.

What makes it interesting is that these signs are based on the Lunar year and not the Gregorian year.

So to say that every Chinese child born this year is attributed the Earth Dog zodiac sign is erroneous as this only applies to children born between Feb 16 this year and Feb 4 next year.

This sometimes complicates matters for schoolgoing children because while the majority may carry the same zodiac sign of the particular year that were born into, some children born in January for example, may bear the zodiac sign of the year before.

My youngest falls into this category and while her friends were born in the year of the Dog, being a January child she was considered to belong to the year of the Rooster.

But, technically she is still 24 years old just like all her other classmates.

So, I sit back and tell myself, wow, my youngest is already 24. Where did all the years go?

She’s out working and enjoying her work and all that comes with being 24 — freedom, life, responsibilities, decision-making, happiness, sadness and everything that the world can offer.

She is out experimenting with new things and testing boundaries.

She is learning how to carve out a future for herself, to know what she wants and to fight for what she believes in.

A personal milestone indeed for herself and for myself, the parent.

For me, it is about appreciating my adult children and about letting go.

It is about taking stock. It is about understanding that their views may be different from mine and that I may not agree, but it is still okay.

It is about the good choices they make and my heart rejoicing with them.

It is about the bad choices they make and my heart aching with them.

It is about financial independence for themselves and for myself.

What I have saved, or have earned is now mine. No more student accommodation costs, tuition fees and living expenses to pay for.

No more living under the same roof.

Instead, we have new found sources of income — pocket money from the children straight into our savings account every month.

Holidays and hobby classes for the parents paid for by the children.

Not that I need them to pay for us, but I believe it is beneficial for them to learn how to give and for us to learn how to receive.

Just like when I would take on extra work just to make sure that they could go for the extras — piano and violin lessons, ballet lessons, philharmonic concerts and holiday camps.

Some parents live for their children or live through them.

I do not fall into either category but I made sure that since I brought them into the world I must be as good a compass to guide them.

These are the life skills that I tried to teach.

Uppermost is the value of selflessness and the importance of being appreciative and not to take anything for granted.

The beauty of simplicity as opposed to materialism. Humility and efficiency in all that we do so that others will trust us and know that we are made of more.

A drive to succeed, to be self-confident and to know that we need to be committed and creditable in order to gain respect and be trusted.

Most of all, to know that we are not infallible, we make mistakes but we can pick up the pieces.

I was asked in a group discussion, what would be on my bucket list regarding my children?

I have none. They have turned out all right.

Not only did they turn out all right, they have turned out very well indeed.

I am sure that whatever brickbat is hurled their way, they’ll be well able to handle it.

And I am very proud.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 18 FEBRUARY 2018 https://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/02/334363/im-glad-my-children-have-turned-out-all-right

ICELAND HOLIDAY WAS ICING ON THE CAKE

Two weeks ago, florists were very busy indeed stocking up and selling flowers. According to a survey by the National Retail Federation in the United States last year, 36% of Americans bought flowers for Valentine’s Day, spending a total of USD1.9 billion. Men usually buy flowers, especially roses, for romantic reasons on Valentine’s Day and women also use this occasion to show their care to their sweethearts, parents and good friends.

We went to Reykjavik, Iceland recently and I would sum up the whole Icelandic experience as one of love.

The stunning landscape is something else. Although harsh and at times unforgiving I cannot help but marvel at the geysers, the shift in tectonic plates, the thundering icy waterfall and the postcard perfect city. I would certainly vouch for such a trip to be on one’s bucket list. Since it was winter there were only four hours of sunlight daily. In contrast, summer would see 22 – 24 hours of sunlight. Would I go there again? Yes. 

There are so many attributes of love and I will try to list down some from my observations of the trip.

Love does not seek its own. It is generous.

This trip was made possible because my daughter Sonya bought the package for her parents and her siblings. I have not considered Iceland in my travels thus far for the simple reason that the prices of most things are exorbitant over there. It is not surprising that quite a number of people living in Reykjavik hold two jobs. Our tour guide for example, holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Fisheries and works with the Department of Fisheries during the day and moonlights as a tour guide by night. If a regular burger costs around 30euro in Reykjavik, I cannot imagine how much the airfare, deluxe accommodation and tour expeditions would have cost my daughter. The icing on the cake was my son Samuel flying over to join us. Any mother would understand what having the whole brood with you feels like. Complete.

Love is kind.

As eating out was pretty expensive, my other daughter Audrey took to cooking most of the delicious meals. It is a delight to just sit back and watch another person cook for you and wash up as well. It was a 'real' holiday as the parent did not have to plan or execute the plan. Pure relaxation of the mind and body - a good rest indeed. When I saw her preparing sandwiches, I noticed that she gave others the fresh slices of bread while she ate the crusty ends. Just like how a parent would give the drumstick to the child and eat the less popular parts herself.

Love is responsible.

As the ground was icy and the snow thick in various places, the children constantly cautioned us to tread slowly and be careful lest we fall. The last time I fell, it took me more than 6 months for my ankle to recover.  I saw them skipping and prancing on the icy ground. Such is the advantage of youth.

  

Love is mindful over little things.

In this age of disposables and living off the State or worse still the parents, some young people do not know the meaning of 'waste not'. It was indeed a delight to see the next generation being careful with their money and living within their means and not easily persuaded by advertisements to buy things they do not need. 

Indeed I see this as one of the rewards of authoritative parenting. I wonder how much is taught and how much is caught – a good balance of both I think, although some may call authoritative parenting old school. This is a style characterized by reasonable demands and high responsiveness. While authoritative parents might have high expectations for their children, these parents also give their kids the resources and support they need to succeed. It is the teaching of boundaries, discipline, humility, selflessness and tough love. My parents brought me up on this formula, and I have done the same with mine and it still works even when the world gravitates towards liberal parenting.

Love is appreciative.

Polar bears visit Iceland either on an iceberg that melted or by swimming all the way from Greenland. Although highly controversial, it is national policy to kill polar bears on sight as they are inevitably hungry after their sea voyage, and a danger to residents and livestock. 

The beloved compares himself to the polar bear that has drifted into my circumstance and has not been rejected. He says, ' who else would have me?'

I thought that is very sweet indeed.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA, 26 FEBRUARY 2017 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2017/02/215418/iceland-holiday-was-icing-cake

REFLECTION IS A BEAUTIFUL THING

The act of reflecting is one of my favourite past times these days. The term "reflection" is derived from the Latin term reflectere -- meaning "to bend back." Reflecting is not a touchy – feely condition but serves more as the bridge between experiences and learning.

Reflecting about what I do with my life is one of them. I have found myself a routine that I am comfortable with and a set of friends who bring joy. I am continually developing the talents that I have and sharing them with others.

I was at a conference recently and one of the speakers asked ‘If money were not a problem, what would you like to do with your life?’

We were all supposed to come up with an answer in a minute. Some would like to stop working immediately and pursue their hobbies, buy a yacht, build a mansion or go on a world tour. In short, to live a life that is very different from the present. Such is what dreams are made of.

I thought about it. My answer was: I wouldn’t change a thing.

Then I went home and thought about it again.

Surprisingly, my answer was still the same. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Reflecting about what I do with my roles is also another area that I constantly explore. My private roles as a wife and mother take precedence over my public roles.

Being a mother generates the image of a very long journey – sometimes there are signposts, sometimes there are none. Florida Scott-Maxwell says, no matter how old a mother is, she watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.

In Ireland, Mother’s Day is celebrated on the fourth Sunday of Lent, so this year it was celebrated on March 6. But in Malaysia, next Sunday will be a significant day for all mothers.

I received a pocket book of anecdotes from my daughter, aptly entitled, ‘Keep Calm for Mums’ that I find most interesting.

Most mothers are well aware that there comes a time when your children don't think you are very smart anymore.

They may tease you about texting with one thumb or get impatient when they have to explain to you how to download music into your iPod. (again). They roll their eyes when you do not say things that are politically correct or feel mortified when you enjoy sharks fin soup while the rest of the world campaigns for animal rights. They are surprised when you actually know who Kafka is or even had a combo microwave oven once. The type that could bake cakes with a nice brown top.

They think you are myopic in matters of the heart and exclusive relationships. They think you are old-fashion and your values are archaic. In fact you could very well be the dinosaurs that didn’t quite make it into Noah’s Ark. Indeed Peter De Vries, the American novelist knew exactly what it was like when he said that ‘there are times when parenthood seems nothing but feeding the mouth that bites you.’

Actually, that is nothing new under the sun. There was once when I felt that I knew more than my mother and was irritated when her perception of life did not quite match the philosophical thoughts that I had acquired at university. But now upon looking back, just like how Abraham Lincoln felt, all that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.

Recently, my son who is an avid photographer sent me 2 pictures of Irish monuments that he had shot but forgotten what they were. I told him that they are Glenstal Abbey in County Limerick and Waiting on Shore Monument at Rosses Point, County Sligo. Then he sent me 3 photos of flowers and asked me for their names. (Apparently, mothers are supposed to know everything, including monuments and flowers.) As I have either planted them or seen them in my walks, I told him that they are the red lizard tulip, the azalea aikoku and the peony rose. I also double checked with the internet just to make sure that I had identified them correctly.

His response took me by surprise.

‘Mum, you are so smart’, he texted back.

Reflection is a beautiful thing

 This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/160501nstnews/index.html#/23/

The Gift of Motherhood

At Angkor Wat, Siemreap, Cambodia

The early images I had of dollhouses were those in story books. Usually dollhouses were placed in nurseries and children had loads of fun playing with their tea sets and dolls. To any child, seeing such pictures is like an unattainable dream, the sort that fairy tales are made of. Until the child becomes an adult and can indulge in the spoils of her labour.

I first met Sarita about 3 years ago and when I saw her dollhouses, I was bowled over. The best part was she built them, from the basement to the roof. Everything was so meticulously done and love was written all over her creations.

Then one day, on the way home from Dublin, Michael pulled over at  Mitchelstown and there was this lovely shop that sold beautiful dollhouses. So I had to realise the dream of my childhood and bought a dollhouse for myself.

 It is a beautiful greenish coloured double storey house with an attic. Like any house, it had to be furnished, so I ordered miniature furniture from the Dollhouse Emporium and Maple Street in London. I then wallpapered the rooms accordingly: sitting room, bedrooms, kitchen, study and music room. Sarita also kindly helped me to wire up the whole dollhouse.

As I made the quilt, mattress and pillows for the tiny beds, I could remember vividly the tiny dresses I made for my children’s dolls. Then I progressed to making clothes for my children – beautiful frocks embellished with smocking and embroidered roses for Sonya and Audrey and pyjamas and bow ties for Samuel. And now that the children have grown up, I wonder where all the time went and how they could have fitted into those tiny clothes once.

We wonder what we have imbued in our children. Have we given them life skills? Have we showed them love? Have we disciplined them? Have we given them not only the  knowledge of God but the experience of knowing God?

One of my friends whose son has just started college in another town said, ‘You never realise the seriousness of what you do with your children until a new season of a big change dawns.... which tells me of what and how I have invested into the life of my son..’

Take music for example.

Some studies indicate that foetuses can hear and react to sound by moving. Other studies say music  may enhance children's intelligence and spatial reasoning skills. So, I remember I took up piano lessons just so that my babies could listen to music regularly while still in the womb. Whether it is coincidental or not, all my three children have perfect pitch and love music.

Then I read somewhere that children can read at an early age. So I taught them all how to read at 18 months so by the time they were four, they were familiar faces at the public library – a place where they could just sit for hours to enjoy a good book.

Whatever we would like to instill in our children, be it a love for music or for reading, the key words are enjoyment, consistency and commitment. I remember the hours that I spent reading to the children and sitting with them in a variety of music classes. I remember the number of music teachers that came in and out of our house – the short-lived strict teachers, the ill-tempered teachers and the encouraging teachers.

We all want our children to make us proud. Teaching them manners, respect, ethics and a good attitude in life is what will set them apart. Disciplining them when they are wrong and teaching them the realities of life will help them know that the world does not owe them a living. Making them capable and confident will prevent them from relying on others for handouts. We do the child a huge favour when he is made to realise that he is not the centre of the universe and not everything is about him.

While Ireland celebrates Mother’s day in March, May 11 is Mother’s Day in Malaysia.

Audrey wrote on my timeline ‘Thank you for being such a great mum who brought me up to love the Lord and to reach for my goals. Thank you for all the love and care you’ve shown me throughout the years. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I love you, mum.’

And she gave me a dinosaur onesie. (one-piece jumpsuit) Now what child gives a mum with grown up children that? She must know her mum very well. So I wore it complete with a ridge on its back and a tail and when I worked in the garden, my dog went completely mad, wondering what his mistress has morphed into.

Back to the dollhouse. When the switch is on, voila, the whole house lights up with the little people in it and it looks so beautiful, just like a home with the people you love in it.

                                             I am thankful that God has made me a mother.

                                                               Happy Mother’s Day

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-gift-of-motherhood-1.586486

Looking For the Blueprint

THE movie Philomena won the BAFTA award for best adapted screenplay. The story of a son looking for his biological mother and the biological mother looking for her son would tug any heartstrings, more so when the mother and son in question are Irish.

Stories abound where years ago, unwed Irish mothers were put away in workhouses or convents because they were "fallen women" and their children were given up for adoption or sold.

Philomena was pregnant and unmarried at 18, so she was kept out of sight at Sean Ross Abbey in Roscrea, county Tipperary, behind grey stone walls.

In recent years however, adoptions in Ireland have become increasingly rare. Prospective parents now look abroad to adopt a child in a process called inter-country adoption.

At some point or another in our lives, we have wondered if we were adopted, especially when we do not look like our siblings.

Doubts creep in when we think and feel that our parents favour our brother or sister over us.

Stories that our parents tell us when we ask them about conception do not help either: the stork drops babies into chimneys or babies are found in dustbins and cabbage patches.

In the process of instilling fear into us or making us toe the line, parents even threaten to "give us away" if we misbehave.

I am not adopted and neither have I adopted a child. I cannot imagine what a parent goes through in the process of giving up a child to someone else.

However, my earliest memory of such a scenario was when I was about 10. I was living above a furniture shop then and usually I would exchange pleasantries with the owner of the shop when I got home from school, before making my way up the stairs, school bag and all.

On that particular day, he looked very downcast and, even after I had greeted him, he made no response.

So I asked my mother what had happened to him and she told me that he had just "given away" his sixth daughter because business was poor and they could not afford to feed another mouth.

In some cultures, it is required by law to state that a child is adopted. However, there are cases where the names of the adoptive parents are recorded as the biological parents of the child.

I have friends who have told their adopted children that they were adopted right from the start.

I also have friends who have never told their children they were adopted. '

Among the famous who were adopted were Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Babe Ruth.

Steve Jobs was adopted and even though he was subsequently re-united with his biological parents, he continually affirmed that his adoptive parents were his parents 1,000 per cent.

Every now and again, we read in the papers of people searching for their biological parents or parents searching for the babies that they had given up for adoption many years ago.

Sometimes, a chance meeting of siblings separated by birth but yet look very much alike, has paved the way for a reunification.

The book Adoption Healing, a path to recovery by psychotherapist Joe Soll, a licensed clinical social worker, lists down the myths and facts about adoption.

According to his findings, most people surrender a child to adoption because they lack the resources to do otherwise.

Bonding begins before birth and the child suffers the pain of separation from her mother.

The discovery of her adoption status is confirmation of what is innately felt and known by the child. Women who lose babies to adoption never forget and their loss is unresolvable.

There are reports of happy endings where families are re-united and aching chasms filled.

Yet, I have heard of those who have met their biological parents but chose not to have further contact with them. I have also read of biological mothers who had kept it a secret all their lives and felt that the resurfacing of a child given up for adoption would disrupt their present status.

There is just no generic rule that reunification spells happiness.

Source: Looking for the blueprint - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/looking-for-the-blueprint-1.503229#ixzz2w54r9wM6

A Day Off for Mums turns them back on

When my children were young, I would read to them every night before they fell asleep.

One of their favourite books was about a stay-at-home mother who would cook, sew and do practically everything until the father came home. Once in a while, her friends would call over and she would go out with them and the father minded the children.

A simple story but it reminds me of the times when mothers, whether they are working full time outside or at home, need a day out.

My mother had her own days out. She used to go to the Orchid hair salon every Saturday to "set" her hair.

She never missed an appointment and would come home with beautifully coiffured hair, resembling a pineapple, stiffed with hair-spray. Such was the fashion then.

And every Sunday, she would hang up her pots and pans and there was absolutely no cooking done.

Interestingly enough, there are church-run Mother's Day Out programmes, especially for stay-at-home mothers who do not have domestic helpers or relatives to help them mind their children.

Teenagers and young adults run the programme. There is no real structure to the programme, no curriculum or schedule of events.

These volunteers sign up to supervise the children who play, do crafts, learn letters, numbers, shapes, take naps, and eat with their friends. These are typically between three and six hours and are usually two to five days a week.

This gives the mother the much needed break to go grocery shopping without a crying baby, get her hair cut, take a nap, blog or do anything she wants.

The greatest obstacle is the mother's difficulty to deal with the "guilt" of leaving the child with someone else. Whatever form a mother's day-out can take, it is certainly therapeutic. It helps preserve sanity and breaks the mundane cycle of things.

I was in Dublin recently as my daughter was receiving an award from the university. I did not want to drive and thus I took an express bus. It was actually quite fun because I had not travelled leisurely on my own for a while. I had the whole day to myself as the ceremony was at night and my daughter had day lectures.

The bus stopped near Grafton street, which was perfect. All the mannequins in the window display were screaming at the shopaholic in me. I read somewhere that we should not shop on an empty stomach so I took a turn to Georges street where most of the Asian restaurants are. I was spoilt for choice and sat down at a Nepali restaurant for a three-course lunch of piping hot mountain rice topped with well-stewed lamb pakuwa.

I was not disappointed as I imagined myself somewhere in the Himalayas and tasting the food of gods.

There were pigeons everywhere pecking breadcrumbs from off the sidewalks. Obviously, they were not subjected to any signs of a recessive economy as they were so fat, I could not see their legs.

I chuckled when I saw a bus with a big chocolate chip cookie advertisement over it "Chip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" (an ingenious twist of the song from the Disney 1946 animated movie Song of the South).

I thought of my bills that have been paid. I thought of the house mortgage that has been settled.

I thought of no more car loans or any other outstanding loans. I thought of my older two children who are working. I thought of my youngest daughter's education expenses at Trinity that have been taken care of.

It was time to go for the award ceremony. As I walked towards the university in my new dress and matching shoes and handbag, I felt like a million dollars.

It was indeed a mother's day out, a good beginning for a new year.

Source: A day off for mums turns them back on - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-day-off-for-mums-turns-them-back-on-1.460352?cache=03%2F7.206773%3Fkey%3DMalaysia%2F7.288059%2F7.308059%3Fkey%3DKuala+Lumpur%2F7.320411%2F7.320411%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.575117%2F7.575117#ixzz2qDDm5Win

Strange thing about teenage years

SEVENTY thousand young people were screaming at Leicester Square, London,  on a Tuesday night. They had waited for hours; some were said to have camped out overnight on the street, and they were not disappointed. Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Niall Horan arrived in style.

Who?

The fact that I was not impressed by the names of the Great Foursome, a.k.a. One Direction, is because I had left my teenage years a long time ago. I am a parent the worst nightmare that a teenager could morph into.

The teenage years are the strangest ever. It is when everything is about I, me and myself.

If people talk, they are talking about me. If they do not talk, they are not talking about me. I speak in hyperboles. I write in hyperboles.

I even dream in hyberboles. If I fail in anything, the humiliation is magnified many times over. If I am successful, I believe everyone should know what I have achieved and if he does not, I wonder whether he is living on Earth or on an unknown meteor.

If I am committed to a viewpoint, I will defend it to death. If anyone has contrary ideas, I will have to sit down and have a very long discussion with the person ... no, not a discussion, but perhaps more like an argument. My energy is boundless and my dogged determination to get something that I like, usually a popular product that other teens have, is almost unshakable.

That is the teen in me, shouting from the mountain top.

The most common phrase a teen will use in a parent-teen argument is "You don't understand. During your time it was different". But then again, is there any difference? On the surface level, the setting may have changed.

Technology has advanced, toys have changed, holiday destinations are more exotic but underlying principles and teenage experiences, whether specific or general, have not changed much.

Now that I am a parent and am on the other end of the continuum, I can see that there is a great similarity between what I had experienced and gone through and what that young person is going through now. But, of course, when you are a teenager you do not realise that.

I was watching a documentary about the Bee Gees. I enjoyed their songs tremendously when I was a teen and there was this clip that jolted me back to my past. I saw Robin Gibb cupping his ear with his hand as he sang Massachusetts. I remember I was so engrossed in watching the very same performance over a black and white television, oh so many years ago. It was very rare in those days for national television to air a pop group singing and it must have been on one of the festive days.

So there I was watching Gibb cupping his ear, mesmerised until my mother said: "I think he has an ear ache."

I was aghast that my mother would even mention such a thing about this demi god and highly irritated that my precious time with the Bee Gees was interrupted.

I attempted to correct her by saying that he was trying to deaden the side noise so he could hear his own voice better.

Ignoring my reply, my mother contemplated and came up with another more ingenious suggestion.

"I think he must have a toothache."

My face reddened and if my mother had not gone to the kitchen to check on the rice boiling over the charcoal stove, I would not know what I could have done to her.

So now, many years later, when I see Gibb cupping his ear on a flat screen television, I laugh loudly to myself and wonder why I was so uptight over the cupping-ear incident once.

Whether it was a ear ache or a toothache or a sound technique, what did it matter?

Oscar Wilde said, "youth is wasted on the young" and there is a Chinese phrase that goes: "I eat salt more than you eat rice", meaning that the older person has gone through more experiences than the young person would credit him for.

Tell it to an adult and he will shake his head knowingly. Tell it to a teen and he cannot believe that the adult has gone through what he is going through.

I hear that in Dublin, patient parents queued for more than two hours with their excited children to get a good seat in one of the two cinemas that had premiere screening of the movie One Direction: This Is Us.

At a time like this, I am so glad my children have outgrown the phase of going in that direction.

Read more: Strange thing about teenage years - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/strange-thing-about-teenage-years-1.351333#ixzz2eK4RZGhI