THE JOURNEY

It was a cool morning and the final week of 2023 when my friend and I decided to meet up at a local cafe. She ordered peanut butter toast with banana slices and I ordered a bap with cheese and egg. Not one who has a great appetite for breakfast, I couldn't finish the bap and so I ate the good bits - the melted cheese and the egg - and left some bread behind.

Looking at what I had done, I confessed that if I had done that as a kid in front of my parents, I would have got an earful for being picky, for wasting food and for depriving some hungry child of food in a poor country. But of course, now that I've lived to a ripe old age, I have the privilege of leaving some bits behind on my plate. 

My parents were humans themselves and not everything they did was right. But I'm extremely thankful for the values and ethics that they imbued in me. Prudence vs extravagance. Tenacity vs tardiness. Respect vs egocentricity. Confidence vs insecurity. To know who I am and to be proud of all that I am. To know when to lead and  when to follow. To know when to speak out and when to be silent. To know when I am wrong and when I should say I am sorry. 

I wonder how many children are taught these basics these days? In the quest of making a child happy, is it out of date to teach discipline and to set boundaries? 

Someone asked me whether I knew of anyone  who would like brand new and used toys. She said if she gave away 80% of her little boy's toys, he would hardly miss them. 

So sad. That kind of money spent on toys could have been put aside for his future. 

I started saving religiously  when I was 6. I opened joint bank accounts for my children and they learned how to save from a very young age just as I did. And this worked very well when they purchased their first car or house. 

Upbringing influences what we do. Are we a good fit or are we misfits? 

I know of someone who had changed many jobs and was always complaining about her last job and the people she worked with. I wonder whether she ever paused to reflect. Could she herself be the problem? 

Everyone has the potential to grow if he wants to. Just like the koi principle. If you keep a koi in a small fish bowl, it will grow to be only about two or three inches long. But if you release it into a small pond, it will reach six to ten inches long. However, if you put it in a lake, it can even grow to three feet!

Are we limiting ourselves because of fear? Are we huddling in our comfort zone, mixing only with people we know from long ago and doing things that are familiar? In other words are we stuck in our own mindsets and perspectives of looking at things around us? 

Self growth is the result of failures and successes. I can look back now and embrace my journey in life and praise God for every experience, good or bad. 

Because without the briars and thorns there will be no me in the present. I have become who I am and am still becoming. 

Amazing, isn't it? 

GOING KOREAN

KOREAN drama series are very addictive they said. I didn't know what they meant. UNTIL.

Because of the many cold rainy days, I decided to watch one series. Any excuse to explain this queer addiction. And so I am hooked!

Why are the episodes so engaging?

I must justify this binge.

1. The Complete Story

Nothing in any episode happens at random. There is a beginning, a middle part and a conclusion. Even if a character appears in episode 4 and disappears for the rest of the episodes, he will definitely reappear as part of the plot, even if it is in the last episode. When things become complicated, you can rest assure that there is a proper explanation by the time the series ends. The number of episodes is just right: 16 - 20 approximately. You can cry or laugh but you know you just have to go through this number of episodes. Nothing drags on. There are some western series that just go on and on until the plot becomes so ridiculous, just because the producer needs to generate so many episodes to please the audience and of course to make money.

2. Soundtrack

I've never really listened to any Korean song before but the Korean drama soundtracks are so engaging. I go away humming the tunes in my brain.  Then I google the tunes on Youtube to see the lyrics in both Korean and English. I must say I have it bad. Of course the actors and actresses are just eye candy and I wonder how they can have such unreal porcelain-looking skin. Plenty of make up, photoshop or amazing lighting, I console myself.

3. Values

I can simply identify with the Asian values. My parents taught me those values and I practise them. I find it so refreshing especially when the bar has been set so low nowadays. There are different genres. I love the ones done in the Joseon dynasty most of all. Yes, I have to google the Joseon dynasty and learn about its meticulous history record keeping techniques, why the eunuchs can have wives and adopt children and the dynasty's relationship with the Ming dynasty. I love history so that suits me fine.

4. Food

There's always plenty of food around. Not big plates that make you overeat but dainty little servings. We went to Kimchi school in Seoul and suddenly I felt that kind of kinship with the preparation of those delicious morsels of food.

5. Love and language

But the best part is the portrayal of love. We are bombarded with plenty of lust and sex in the everyday media whereby a meeting of 2 individuals who feel a 'connection' almost certainly end up in bed in the next scene. Korean dramas just make watching a love relationship delightful. We may have to plough through 8 episodes for a single kiss or a holding of hands. It's the suspense and waiting that makes it more alluring and worthwhile. 

I can't find fault with the language either even though I only read the subtitles. The moment I finish watching an episode and revert to a normal tv programme, I can almost immediately hear foul language and curses whether it is an office scene, a family scene or a lover's quarrel. Lots of yelling to boot.

KOREAN drama series are very addictive they said.

I have just finished one series and I can't wait to start another. Maybe when summer comes and I can spend more hours outdoors, I may be weaned off them. But then again, who cares? 

This is the beauty of hard earned retirement.

PLASTIC BEAUTY JUST DOESN'T CUT IT

When I brought a scarf to the counter the other day, I thought the salesgirl wore a beautiful shade of lipstick. So I paid her a compliment and said the colour on her lips looked lovely. Her response took me by surprise because she obviously had selective hearing skills. She smiled and said,

‘I’m glad you like the lips, I had them filled recently.’

I was both shocked and puzzled. I made a mental estimate of her age – probably 18 years old or younger. Surely, this is the prime of her life?

According to a local paper, the most popular non-surgical procedures among the 20 – 30-year-olds in Ireland are lip enhancements, fillers and botox.

Could an obsession with appearance result in body dysmorphic disorder?

I hear of accounts where the woman sneaks away to get certain parts of her body ‘fixed’ without telling the nearest and closest. Enshrouded in mystery, she exposes herself to certain risks. Apparently, women in Paris were having ‘lunchtime facelifts’ in the 1920s, even before botox came into the scene.

I wonder what makes a person go under the knife for cosmetic reasons alone? Could it be a boost to their self esteem? Could it be the idea that if they started cosmetic surgery at a younger age, the results would not be too drastic compared to when they go for a nip and a tuck when they are well over 50?

I remember laughing it off when my friend, who is also a plastic surgeon, persistently suggested that he could do wonders with my nose. My motto is if it is not broken, then don’t fix it. Besides, I have a very low threshold of pain and a high level of expectation. Imagine waking up from the operation to discover a very strange looking  nose. The idiom ‘cutting off the nose to spite the face’ would carry a new level of meaning altogether.

Sometimes a once-off experimentation with cosmetic surgery could also become an obsession.

We just need to look around and see how artistes and film stars succumb to numerous types of plastic surgery with some unfortunately ending up with a freeze frame face (a.k.a. ‘bat face’) and Ronald McDonald’s eyebrows.

In ‘The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock’ by T.S. Elliot, the poet delves into regret, frustration and an awareness of mortality as he observes how age has caused ‘a bald spot in the middle of his (my) hair’. No one likes to grow old or look old. Growing old seems to be synonymous with aching bones and popping pills. Looking old seems to make you feel ugly.

But then again what is beauty and what is age?

It is difficult for the aging person to tell herself that she is beautiful because the media tells her otherwise. The perception of beauty and age is also very much influenced by societal mores and culture. Some will never reveal their age while others remain at 40, year after year.  We gasp at the first strand of grey hair and the onset of wrinkles. It is like going to bed and feeling like you are 21, and then waking up to discover that you are 60. Where did the years go?

Towards the end of her life, Audrey Hepburn was asked about her beauty secrets. She replied most graciously, ‘

‘For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day. People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed. Never throw out anybody. The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows.’

Beautifully said.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 6 MARCH 2016 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/03/131264/plastic-beauty-just-doesnt-cut-it

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 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 TRUE BURDEN OF HANDBAGS

I can abstain from most things but there is one thing that I cannot do without. The handbag. Not just one handbag, but I must unabashedly confess, a closet full of them.

The only way to get rid of some is to give them away but then after doing that, I crave for more to fill that gaping void and so the cycle of buying and giving away repeats itself. It used to be shoes but since corns, blisters and bunions appeared, I’ve resigned myself to sensible ones, which sad to say are certainly not the trendiest looking shoes.

Even as a child I love to toggle a little handbag across my arm when I went shopping with my mother. It was the perfect place to house the occasional treat or the handkerchief for the runny nose. (Yes, in those days we used embroidered handkerchiefs that were neatly ironed)

The fact that a handbag can be used to keep almost anything is also fodder for spoofs.

In the return of Mr Bean Episode Two, we see the infamous funny man at a restaurant. First, he writes his own birthday card, and orders a ‘Steak Ta-ta’. He finds he doesn’t quite enjoy the steak and so secretly disposes of it in the ashtray, the vase, the bun, the sugar bowl, the violinist’s trousers and yes, in another diner’s handbag!

Sometimes I wonder what people carry in their very big handbags. Maybe a big handbag is like Doraemon’s  front pocket that houses everything imaginable. Or it may be like Felix the Cat’s magic bag of wonders.

If clothes maketh the man, then handbags maketh the lady.

I would like to think that what we have in our bags reveal a lot about who we are. The usual stuff that we carry would be the purse, tissues, spectacles, pen, notebook and lipstick for a start.

The contents of bags we carry reflect the responsibilities we hold. A graduate school student’s oversized satchel contains her laptop and notes and a young mother on her day out with the baby probably has disposable diapers in her bag as well. When I was doing free lance reporting, I even had a pair of beautiful shoes in the bag as I hopped from bus to train in my trainers.

The mind associates the things that we see lacking in our surroundings with the things that we must provide for ourselves. For example, I can hardly find regular chilli sauce nor toothpicks at the café tables here.  So, before I leave the house, I find myself putting strange stuff into my bag - sachets of chilli sauce, toothpicks, dental floss and other unmentionable things. Sometimes the things that I put into my bag are not for myself  alone but for the others that I’m going out with, just in case that friend, that child or the beloved has forgotten to bring. An extra pack of tissues always comes in handy.

So what goes into the handbag often spells practicality and multi tasking.

Just the other day I was out at lunch when I found that I simply could not finish the copious amounts of food in front of me. Needless to say, my eyes were bigger than my belly when I saw the menu. In most places here, diners do not bring home leftovers. Whatever is left on the plate goes into the bin. That certainly would be a no-no for me so out came a container from the handbag.

The beloved said I had to do it discreetly but I said I have lived long enough to do necessary things covertly without a shade of shame.

Apparently the average handbag weighs  1 – 2 kg even though some may weigh a bit more. The trend now is to have a little bag for essential stuff so that the little bag can be taken out and transferred into any other bag. Small is the new big according to fashion gurus. Sometimes it is not just one small bag but a few smaller bags in a big bag as women opt for the modular approach.

To turn all philosophical, what we put into our handbag can be an object lesson in itself. When we actually give the contents of our bag a good look, we can repack it. Throw out the unnecessary stuff so that we are not carrying a burden but a thing of beauty instead.

That is what is going to take us ahead, not weigh us down. 

Source:THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  25 October 2015  http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/10/true-burden-handbags

FEAR IS LIKE THE MARAUDING VIKING

Looking at an actual Viking ship in the Viking Museum in Oslo is perhaps the most awesome experience I’ve experienced this year. Never before had I seen such a magnificent ship up close.

On 8 August 1903, a farmer visited professor Gabriel Gustafson of the University's Collection of National Antiquities in Oslo. The farmer called Knut Rom was from the Lille Oseberg farm in Slagen in Vestfold.  Rom had dug into a large burial mound on his farm and had discovered something spectacular. Thus began a long and demanding work - the excavation itself took less than three months, but it took 21 years to prepare and restore the ship and most of the finds. 

Vikings are among Norway’s most salient cultural icons and the Viking Age (800 – 1050AD)  in Scandinavia saw the height of warfare, trade and exploration. If the bulwarks of the ship could speak, I am sure we would learn so much more of the secrets and intrigues of an ancient world.

But imagine if I were standing by the shore centuries ago and suddenly I saw a fleet of menacing looking ships heading towards me? What would be the overwhelming emotion?

Fear.

With fear came panic, havoc and utter destruction.

We may not be attacked or raided by seafaring looters today, but then again fear comes in many forms and I am not talking about the ghouls and skeletons of the upcoming Halloween.

In  ‘Our 21 day into Minimalism’ Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus  wrote about the Fear of Loss: Loss of things. Loss of acceptance.  Loss of friends. Loss of love.

If we take a good look at our wardrobe or storeroom or attic or shed, we can see many things that we no longer need. Yet, the irony is that they are just sitting there because we are afraid to give them up. The reasons being: that fashion will return; that spare-part might be needed; that thing doesn’t belong to me so I can’t throw it out.

The loss of acceptance has a strong grip on our conscience and subsequently our actions. A phrase that I hear regularly is ‘What will people say? What will they think?’ Taken positively, we avoid doing reckless things because we want to be accepted. But when we become overly paranoid about what people think about us and our actions, we become slaves to our fear of not being accepted.

We can’t stop people from gossiping. We can’t stop people from spreading lies about us. But we can be in-charge of our own responses. If we let ourselves be upset by malicious gossiping, then we have become the victim.

I have been brought up to decide and be brave and accountable for my life choices. That I have my parents to thank for. One advice that they left me was, ‘Even if the whole town talks about you, if you know you are doing the right thing, then do it. It is your life after all.’

Fear is a choice – we can choose to be afraid and we can choose to live without fear. That is a conscious decision and it comes with practice. Every time something challenging confronts me, then it is time to ask myself: What am I afraid of? What am I afraid to give up?

Then only can I move on to live a meaningful life that I am meant to have.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 11 October 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/10/fear-marauding-viking

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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/


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LITTLE TREATS WITH BIG REWARDS

Sometime ago, I told myself to do something brave whenever I turned a year older. I am not talking about bungee jumping or climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, as I would not have a heart or mind strong enough for either. Instead it is one of the little treats that you have always wanted to pamper yourself with but never got around to it.

So I went to the hair salon.

Normally I would just nip in and out for a quick trim but this time I sat there patiently for three hours armed with a good book and a small flask of hot Ipoh White coffee.

Ah, treats! The joy of having one. Truth be told, the woman  usually puts others first before themselves – the husband, the child, the mother or the father. So for a change, she is doing something for herself. It is lovely when the carer is being cared for.

Parents are strange creatures.

Maybe not all, but I am certainly one who has no qualms about saving and spending millions on my children’s education or well being but when it comes to having an occasional splash on myself, I think twice or even thrice. I evaluate and re-evaluate. I find excel spread sheets, the law of diminishing returns and a whole gamut of economic theories flash before my eyes all at one go. Now that the children are grown, I have learnt to go ahead and do that something for myself or buy something that might cost a little.

That got me thinking, when was the last time we treated ourselves to something flippant and harmless, something that we had been thinking about for a while?

Like buying a whole 8 inch pavlova with summer fruits and eating it up all by yourself over a few days? I did just that once and felt so greedily good (although I did promise myself to go the gym after that and whether I went or not did not matter).

Little treats act as good therapy. I certainly recommend this and it beats paying money to lying on the couch and having someone listen to your problems, that is, if he is actually listening at all.

An Irish writer whom I met once said he decided to see a therapist because he was feeling low. He divulged all his problems and the therapist answered with words like…….Umm, Ahh, I see and What do you think you should do? The writer went away thinking that it would have been better if he had remained home, kept the money and talked to the mirror instead. I thought that was funny.

So back to the hair salon.

In between sipping the coffee and poring over the pages, I observed the other customers.

Everyone seemed to know everyone. Regulars, I thought. They had their hair cut, teased, blown, washed and shaped in curlers, clips and some other contraptions.

I found myself having to sit for a short while under a hot dome-like hair dryer, like a potato being roasted to perfection, but I did not mind at all, because I knew in the hands of a professional, I would turn out, well, perfect!

The things that ladies go through for the sake of beauty.

When it was all done, I walked home feeling a million bucks. Then I waited for the beloved’s reaction. He looked. He stared. And then he finally let go of one word,

Wow.

Not too bad for a flaming red head, I thought.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES : 5 JULY 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/09/little-treats-big-rewards

 http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150705nstnews/index.html#/23/

MINDING WHAT IS NOT YOURS

                        

                        I believe that many of us have lent someone something that belongs to us, a book for example,  

                        and when it is returned to us (if it ever gets returned at all) it is not quite in the same

                        original pristine condition.            
                        I remember there was a time when text books were passed 
                        down from one sibling to another. 

                       We took great care of them because we knew someone else would be using them. 

                       My sister was in primary six when my cousin who was in primary five wanted to borrow 

                        her textbooks for the following  academic year. 

                       Because I was in primary four and had no need of the books yet, my mother decided 

                       that my cousin could use the textbooks. However, when the cousin finally returned 

                       the books to us, we were aghast that most of the pages were scribbled all over

                       and had dog ears. There was also a strange musty smell reeking from the pages. 

                       

                       We agreed never to lend any more textbooks to that particular cousin. 

                       

                       Well, I have just experienced this again.

                       This time it is not a textbook but one of my favourite craft books and it certainly is not

                        cheap. To say that my heart bled when my book came back bedraggled and beyond

                        recognition is indeed an understatement. I never expected that from an adult.

                        

                       It baffles me why people fail to mind what is not theirs. It is to know how to appreciate,

                       to recognize and to take care of what belongs to others. It is an example of good stewardship 

                       over things that are put in our custody. That is integrity and respect. 

                       People are careless about things that belong to others when they are not taught accountability.

                       It is never too late to learn that there are negative consequences for negative actions. Imagine 

                       if a child breaks something that does not belong to them and the parent pays for the damage. 

                      I would not be surprised if the child grows into an adult who always looks for a 

                      get- out- of- jail- free card. 

                                    

                      Teach the child to treat the things that belong to others exactly as they would like their things 

                      to be treated. Requiring the child to pay for any items damaged due to lack of respect will teach 

                      him to think twice about not respecting another person's things. Unfortunately with families getting

                      more financially affluent and parents having fewer kids by  choice, getting children to face and pay 

                     for their misdeeds might seem quite barbaric indeed. 

                             

                      And it is not only the lack of consideration for things alone that irks me.

                       If I may stretch the concept further, the same scene confronts us daily when we see how people 

                      will keep their own homes spotless and yet litter parks, playgrounds and roads.  

                      Most public amenities are a sorry sight especially toilets. We see people walking their dogs without

                      picking up after them and others getting drunk at night and littering the sidewalks with empty

                      beer bottles. The golden rule is to leave everything a bit better than when you found it. 

                      I once had an apartment that was rented out to a student. When he finally vacated the building, 

                      I found the marble furniture broken. In addition, the wardrobe had missing hinges, the bedclothes 

                      and  walls were scribbled all over with permanent ink and the place was immensely filthy. 

                      And all this happened within six months. After all the repairs, I decided to sell the apartment to 

                      avoid further heartache.  

       

                      How many times have we also felt our space and peace being invaded?

                      We hear bawling children in restaurants just when we want to have a decent meal. We have to put

                      up with loud voices and unruly children in places of worship. We have to suffer the kicking of feet 

                     against our seats  in the cinema or on the plane.  We have to bear with the loud conversations 

                     over someone else’s mobile phone when we use public transport. We have to entertain visitors
                     who come with their boisterous brood who make it their business to tear down the house with  

                     their rambunctious acts and all their parents do is to smile proudly at their angelic children 

                     and blame it all on the disease called hyperactivity. 

                     So back to my book which is in a sorry state.  

                     If I pointed it out to her, she might go all apologetic and make me feel bad for bringing it up in the 

                     first place. Or she might not speak to me again, the way things go with overly 

                     sensitive people and then I would lose a friend who can be rather nice in other areas. 

                     There is no win-win situation but one thing I am very sure of is:

                      I will not lend her any more books in future.

                       THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES       19/4/2015 
                          http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150419nstnews/index.html#/23/