A LOVE THAT KNOWS NO BOUNDS

NEXT Sunday is Mothers Day. Now, that is one good reason to send a card, buy a present, visit or call that special lady who has sacrificed much for us.

In Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II, Juliet says, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet..." I find this so appropriate, especially when I am a mother. Call me mum, momma, mumsie or any affectionate title, the name will just be as sweet.

It is a journey of choice for me to have three children, a journey with no prescribed handbook and no predestined dock to anchor. A mother's role is never done. Even as the three are well into adulthood, I am still sailing, so to speak, through calm waters and through storms, trusting that when I turn the rudder of the ship, it will be in the right direction.

A recent research carried out by Tesco mobile shows that the average mother around the country performs tasks from 12 different occupations during their day-to-day work, from cleaner (82 per cent) to counsellor (73 per cent). In fact, 76 per cent of mothers perform the duties of chef, 77 per cent are stock controllers ensuring the cupboard does not go empty, 60 per cent take on the role of travel agent in the stressful task or organising a family holiday, and the list goes on.

If I can say that worrying is a task, then I am sure the job of "official worrier" will top a mother's list. From the moment a child is born, we worry. We can hide our worries under different facades -- being the cool mum, the detached mum, the professional mum -- but deep down, we still worry. We worry when they catch a fever, when they misbehave, when they do badly in school, when they are unemployed, when they are employed, when they marry and when they have children of their own.

Worrying is exacerbated by separation.

If we could have our way, we would want our children to be near us even when they are all grown up and working, with families of their own. Because I live 10,971km away from Malaysia, a hiccup in the lives of my children in Malaysia becomes a tsunami by the time it reaches me. Even with Facebook, phone calls, text messages and email, it is not the same as hearing the voices of your children talking to you, sharing their joys and their pain. My bedroom in Malaysia was also my office and my children would come in and out just to talk to me, from the silliest stuff to the most serious.

I made it a point to immediately put down whatever I was doing on the computer as soon as a child sat on my bed and said, "Mom, you know what?..." It became a habit and they continued to do it well into their adult years. Sometimes when they were too busy, I would go into their rooms instead to listen to them. My son's room had luminous star stickers all over the ceiling and it was always very special to lie down on the bed, look at all the stars shining down on us and talk. New mothers usually document their babies' milestones -- the first step, the first word.

But, to me, everyday brings new milestones. Separation is missing out on those milestones. Even for myself, sometimes I wish my mother were here to share with me her wisdom and advise me on how to negotiate the bends in my life.

I believe in authoritative parenting skills and I am not afraid to correct or voice my displeasure over rude or out of line character, whatever the age of the child. I believe in giving my children a great start in life by teaching them independence and accountability.

Having said that, I also believe in affirmation. It is never out of place to tell a child what he means to you under any circumstance, even if he has done a great wrong. To me, it is the deed that is wrong, but my love for the child does not change and he must know that.

I remember I posted a random picture on my daughter's Facebook "My daughter is super awesome and I'm the lucky one who gets to be her momma" and she replied "lawl, so ghetto-sounding momma" and that really made me laugh.

In Ireland, Mothers Day is celebrated on March 10, so I get to celebrate it twice a year. It is not exactly the same thing when you do not have all the children with you but I will have to settle for that till the time comes when we can all be together again.

Read more: A love that knows no bounds - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-love-that-knows-no-bounds-1.271554#ixzz2SP00xAaW

Buds of Spring and the Fading Glory

When I was a child, I loved to walk with my mother because she was the embodiment of what a wonderful mother should be – nurturing, encouraging and supportive. But most of all I felt proud because she looked young for her age and friends and strangers would always admire her and the secret to her youthful countenance was well kept. She would sometimes fear the day when she would look very old and she told me she intended to hide away in a small town so that people would always  remember her as the one who had consumed the elixir of youth.

Wrinkles and sagging skin are not welcomed friends but like it or not, they are here to stay. Since the beginning of time the race against ageing and the effects of gravity on the body seem to preoccupy the human brain. This has resulted in the widespread use of  miracle creams, botox, quick-fix formulas and cosmetic surgery when we are no longer comfortable in our own skin.

I overheard a man who had just turned 40 lamenting that the end of his youth had arrived and I wondered how he would react when he turned 50. The last time I was in Kuala Lumpur, I was amused to see that the young were everywhere – in the shopping malls, amusement parks, on the roads and in colleges. I wondered what happened to the not-so-young and the responses to my query were: the not so young were out working hard for the young or were staying at home minding the children of the young.

Having lived in the Irish countryside for a while now I find that the demographic profile is certainly very different. We have young parents, school children and a huge matured crowd of people within the age range of 40 – 99. The interesting thing is that there is a plethora of  activities and clubs that cater for the more matured crowd. There are singing, acting, voice training and painting classes. There are clubs for trekking, knitting, sewing, cooking and reading. Then there are ladies clubs that organise movie trips and outings while the men go fishing.

As women have the tendency to outlive men, I see elderly ladies hobbling along to supermarkets and to parks all very independently with minds as sound as a bell. Every time I talk to them I am amazed at their memory power and their keenness for details! The men who have retired offer their services in the DIY department for a fee. So it is not surprising to see a former fireman turn chimney sweep and a former manager turn electrician.

So why are we upset about the ageing process when it happens the moment we are born?

One of the first instances when we realise that we have crossed over to the more senior side is when others start calling us uncle or aunty or mak cik or pak cik. It is when our nieces and nephews have shot up and we seem to have shrunk in comparison.

Sure, it is a nuisance to have to constantly touch up the annoying grey hair roots. It is unpleasant to have diminished eyesight, aches and pains and  temporary amnesia which we call ‘senior moments’. It is embarrassing to not being able to find the things that you could have sworn you did keep them safely away. It’s all a bit sad, isn’t it?

Hilary Clinton in dealing with ageing says, ‘ I feel so  relieved to be at the stage I’m at in my life right now. Because you know if I want to wear my glasses I’m wearing my glasses. If I want to wear my hair back I’m pulling my hair back. You know at some point it’s just not something that deserves a lot of time and attention. And if others want to worry about it, I let them do the worrying for a change.’

We can learn much from the seasons. Winter is almost gone now and the buds of spring are starting to show. Ageing is like winter, another season of our lives. Ageing in the wisdom of our experiences and achievements is an earned privilege which is more than a glowing complexion or a body that makes heads turn. It is waking up knowing that despite an increasing waist line or droopy bat wings, I am still alive and  my brain is ticking.

And as I celebrate my birthday next week I know this is the springtime of my life.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/buds-of-spring-and-the-fading-glory-1.260462

The rewards of delayed gratification

For the whole of March, I enjoyed looking at the confectionery aisle in any supermarket. Why? Because the shelves were literally filled with chocolate bunnies, chocolate chicks and chocolate eggs in anticipation of the mad rush to purchase them for the Easter celebration. There were chocolate eggs of various sizes, all prettily wrapped in foil. Some were filled with marzipan or crème. I could not take my eyes off a giant 10kg chocolate egg that was the ultimate prize for a raffle draw. Truth be told, I never saw or tasted huge chocolate eggs or chicks till I was well into adulthood, mainly because there were none sold during those days. I could only read about them in Enid Blyton’s books and they sounded scrumptious.

The earliest memory of a chicken and egg experience was when I was seven. I remember my father coming back from a night market and telling me excitedly that he had seen this toy chicken that clucked, pushed a pram of chicks and laid eggs simultaneously. Talk about the female sex multi tasking even in those days.

The metal chicken was run by batteries and once activated it could go round and round or walked in a straight line. The way my father described the RM6.00 toy was as if it was the greatest invention that had finally landed in clockwork town.

The next day, my father brought me to the same peddler. I had to see it for myself and I knew I must have the chicken. My father said the chicken was too expensive and I could have a packet of ‘kuaci’ (dried melon seeds eaten as a snack) instead.  However, he went on to say that if I could secure any of the top three positions in the upcoming final exam, then the chicken would be mine. If I achieved the fourth or fifth position, then the reward would be a RM2 story book from Radin Bookstore on Jalan Rahmat in Batu Pahat. There would be no rewards for any other position after that.

Thinking back, what my father had inculcated in me was a semblance of delayed gratification. Delayed gratification is the ability to resist the temptation for an immediate reward and to wait for a later and usually better reward. I was basically brought up to live within my means, to buy only with cash for all items except a house and a car, to buy first hand goods because they last longer and finally whatever I yearned for but could not afford was not necessary.

Interestingly enough, a growing body of literature has linked the ability to delay gratification to a host of other positive outcomes, including academic success, physical health, psychological health and social competence.

The Stanford Marshmallow experiment (1972) led by psychologist Walter Mischel found that children who were able to wait 15 minutes for two small rewards (a marshmallow and a pretzel or cookie) rather than taking one small reward (a marshmallow) immediately tended to have better life outcomes as measured by SAT scores, academic success, body mass index and other life measures. The ability to delay gratification also relates to other similar skills like patience, impulse control, determination and will power.

Yet, when I look around me now, I see scores of children and teenagers with I-phones, I-pads and the latest gizmos. The order of the day seems to be: ‘I want this, get it for me now’ and before long you will see doting parents or guardians rushing to buy the latest gadget in the market for the child even though his birthday is months away. The irony is some of these parents had an impoverished childhood themselves but not wanting to see the child suffer like they did, begin to over-indulge instead, and pander to the child’s every whim and fancy. I know a father who lives a simple life as a security guard with two good shirts but his son wears designer shirts and shoes.

To me, nothing beats the satisfaction of delayed gratification. Knowing that you want something very badly, working towards achieving it and finally getting it is great fulfilment. When someone buys something for you, you get a gift. When you work hard for a gift, you get character and a gift.

So I remember very well those evenings where I would just lie flat with my tummy on the linoleum covered floor for a good many hour and watch my chicken push her pram, lay eggs and cluck merrily in the process.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-rewards-of-delayed-gratification-1.249926

Badger and wisdom of the Serenity Prayer

When I drive along country roads what disturbs me most is seeing dead badgers, the victims of road-kill. Sometime it is a large badger and at other times it is a wee baby badger. As a lover of animals, both wild and tame, it breaks my heart to see the black and white fur of the lifeless body flying in the wind. So I went on to research about the badger and found a host of delightful information. Unlike most other animals that scamper away upon seeing an on-coming vehicle, the badger because of its primal instinct to defend chooses to fight the approaching enemy instead, in this case the approaching vehicle. Native American’s keynote description of the badger is aggressiveness and she is symbolic of bold self reliance and self expression. The badger’s other characteristics are confidence and wisdom. Because it is protective and defensive. folklore has it that when threatened the badger will bite and will not let go of its grip until it hears the victim’s bone snap. In short, the badger is a fighter. Like the badger, we are fighters. We all have what we call our personal battles and some will go to the death bed disgruntled, disappointed and unhappy because there is no closure to the battles. We have also encountered promises made and promises broken over and over again. Have you wondered why the battered wife keeps returning to the violent husband? Or why the husband keeps paying for his wife’s gambling debts? Not forgetting the countless times a parent has to cover up for his child’s errant ways by making excuses for him? We continue to fight, wishing that things will change and become better. We cling on to the hope that everything will be alright in the end and this can take many years of our lives until we have no more strength to fight anymore and our confidence and motivation begin to slowly slip away. A situation can be rebuilt or it can fall apart. Some things will change and become better, but some things will never change nor become better. We imagine that every person is a diamond in the rough. Some of us have been advised erroneously that overtime we can ‘change’ a person if we are patient and forgiving. But to me, we cannot change another person’s mindset or behaviour. Any change that needs to be done has to come from the person himself. This is where the wisdom of the Serenity Prayer comes in. This prayer by American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr has been adopted by Alcoholic Anonymous and other twelve-step programmes used to address substance abuse and dependency problems. The best known form of the prayer is: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. Ah, for that kind of wisdom. To accept the things I cannot change is to see things as they are and to act upon reality. When I accept the things that I cannot change, then only can I let go of the struggle and move on. I can decide what I want to do in that situation without being clouded by my own wishing for things that will not happen. This is like the badger that will fight until it is time to let go. Some things just will not work no matter how badly I wish them to. It has been often quoted that we cannot change the past but we can change the present. And the choices we make in the present will determine the outcome of the future. To change the things that I can change is to be able to make decisions about how I want to live: finding a new job, moving to another city, ending an unhealthy relationship or changing my own mindset are some examples. I enjoy Raymond Briggs’ hand drawn children’s literature because his drawings encapsulate life as it is with no trimmings. Instead of being pushed up against the wall when his wife Jean Taprell Clark was diagnosed as schizophrenic and died of leukaemia, he wrote movingly: "Schizophrenics are inspiring people. Her feelings about nature and experiences of life were very intense." This is perhaps an illustration of accepting what we cannot change and having the courage to let go. If something starts to crumble, know when to put it down and let it be. It does not require blame or justification. Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/badger-and-wisdom-of-the-serenity-prayer-

IT'S HARD TO SAY I'M SORRY

We were in New York on vacation and as holidays go, before long we had to catch the plane back to Ireland. So we made our way to the subway station. There were five of us with ages ranging from 18 – 56. The 18 year old had conscientiously researched and studied the routes in and out of New York whether by subway or by bus. Reaching the subway station, she announced that we had to take the Uptown train to Jamaica station in order to get to the JFK airport. Protesting vehemently the 56 year old said that we had to take the Downtown train instead. Since it is not in Asian culture to argue with an older and usually more experienced person, the 18 year old kept quiet. We would probably be heading downtown if not for a helpful American who had been observing our perplexed looks and approached us. He said, ‘To go to JFK airport, you have to go uptown. Follow me, I’m heading that way myself.’ Just before we boarded the train, I heard the 56 year say in a strong voice to the 18 year old, ‘I owe you an apology….’. I thought that was pretty cool because I seldom hear of older people apologising to younger ones especially in a parent-child relationship. In fact I have never heard my parents apologising to any of their children even if they were in the wrong. Saying sorry seems to be the hardest thing to do. Why even Elton John recorded the song ‘Sorry seems to be the hardest word’’ in 1976 and Chicago, an American rock group had a number one hit ballad in 1982 entitled ‘Hard to Say I’m Sorry’. When someone sincerely says he is sorry, I go all weak and immediately forgive the person. There is an almost instant release of a huge blockage in my soul and it is the first step towards mending the relationship. This is because I am the recipient of the apology, one of true remorse. Now the reverse is totally different when I have to apologise because it is admitting that I have made a mistake. The funny thing is we all know that we are not perfect and we make mistakes. Is it a sign of weakness when we apologise? Are we afraid that the other person may not accept our apology? Worse still, the person can accuse you of making a fake apology and there is no way you can convince him otherwise if he chooses to think so. There are also those who want you to remember the number of times you have apologised because they cannot remember if you had ever done so. There are those that feel that as long as they do not apologise they are not at fault. It is like the scene at a car accident where you have been advised not to admit that you are in the wrong even if you are the offender. Those who refuse to apologise prefer to stay in denial. They rationalise that if there is no admission of fault, then there is no need to take responsibility. You ‘lose’ if you apologise and you ‘win’ if the other person apologises. We hide behind a veneer of pride and because we lack empathy we have a hard time understanding another person’s feelings or viewpoint. Giving an apology is akin to baring the soul. We become vulnerable. Like many other learnt behaviour, apologising becomes easier through practice. When we say we are sorry, it shows that the person who has been hurt by our actions or remarks means something special to us. It means that you want to get over this obstacle that is impeding the progress of the relationship. It is being aware of your own shortcomings and taking responsibility for what you have done wrong. It is knowing that setting things right is far more important than feeling that you are right. While we wait to be convinced that we should apologise or we wait for the other person to apologise, the clock is ticking. It is the seconds, the minutes, the hours and the days that are lost while we are still nursing the hurt or struggling with our pride. I have known of people who wait for years for that apology and they are still waiting. The maxim ‘Do not let the sun go down with your anger’ is so true as how many sleepless nights are lost to those who lie on the bed fuming over callous words and who are still waiting for an apology. The sad part is that while we are still struggling to apologise, we may find the person gone the next day and we have missed out on the opportunity to say ‘I am sorry.’ Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/it-is-hard-to-say-i-am-sorry-1.231894

THE COMFORTING WORLD OF ROMANCE NOVELS

I have just finished reading Blue Jasmine by Violet Winspear (1969) out of curiosity and all I can say is how on earth did I find the book so mesmerizing when I was a teen? I even recommended the book to my friends and boldly declared that it was the best book ever written. But then again, it was oh, so many years ago and the book I am talking about is one of the books by Mills & Boon, a British publisher of romance novels that left me and millions of others across the globe entranced once upon a time. The characters are unreal – the heroine has such a small waist that could be easily broken by a strong arm; the hero is usually dark, handsome, rich and hails from a desert or somewhere exotic. The plot is predictable – girl meets boy, girl hates boy, girl goes through turmoil and girl realises she loves boy or vice versa. For example, standing by an oasis hoping to be carried away on a horse by a rich Bedouin, better still the heir to the empire, seems to be part of normalcy. The text is repetitive – lengthy descriptions of the physique, cyclical highs and lows and of course detailed and procedural take of the long and passionate kiss. Yet, such soppy sweetness makes the books successful. It took me quite a while to read the book although there were only 187 pages., the reason being I could not get past the first chapter and kept dozing off. So I resolved to plough through the book and I finally did it one lazy morning when I refused to get out of bed as it was still raining and it was better to be in the bed room looking out at the rain than to be in the rain looking into the bedroom. What is real about this genre is that yes there is romance and yes it is fiction; thus making it romance fiction. The growth of romance fiction hit an all time high in the 1930s to meet the growing appetite for escapism during the Depression years. I guess it is great fun to be able to escape into another world when we are younger, especially when we come from all girls’ schools. It is like a world that we carve for ourselves, to read the books in secret if authorities frown upon them and to stretch our imagination where nothing is impossible. Taken at face value, the books are light entertainment and generally harmless. But some critics have accused the writers for being misogynistic and promote poor sexual health. The more recent books I hear have sub-genres which can be more explicit in their setting and style, but nothing near E.L. James ‘50 shades of grey’, I suspect. I wonder why people enjoy romance fiction. There is no right or wrong answer. Usually it is for personal enjoyment and because there are perfect endings where true love survives all odds. With all the hard knocks that the world dishes out, it is comforting to have something secure and familiar in the corner, in this case a romance novel. Some people think that romance novels are only for the single and dateless but I do know of some readers who are well into their senior years and are very married. Some of us have recently celebrated Valentine’s Day and there was the usual hate it or love it attitude with lots of questions in between. Was it is a money churning day, to prosper some and to make paupers of others? If you love someone, why should you show it only on Valentine’s Day? If you love someone why should you not show it on Valentine’s Day? Would it not be more economical and practical to buy plastic roses instead of fresh ones? Would you be accused of being a miser and a cheapskate if you had bought plastic roses? All said and done, love and romance do not have to remain as fiction only. Like tango partners both should go hand in hand and not flourish independently. I used to see girls putting more effort into the ‘romantic’ part of a relationship but now I see that guys are doing their share too. It is not so much the gender but rather the person – how the person has been brought up and the individual’s temperament that determines how responsible, caring or loving the person is. SOURCE: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-comforting-world-of-romance-novels-1.223723?

IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR BRIMMING WITH NOSTALGIA

JOYFUL OCCASION: Chinese New Year always brings back fond memories of childhood THIS is my third year celebrating Chinese New Year away from the familiar. It is strange, but with each Chinese New Year I am reminded of the days of my childhood where it was certainly a very significant event. Somehow festivals are more spectacular through the eyes of a child.

I remember the new clothes, the abundance of food and most of all the fireworks. On the eve of the new year, my mum would be particularly busy cooking in the kitchen or cleaning up the house. There would be no sweeping of the house on the first day of the new year to avoid sweeping off all the luck as well. I would wait excitedly for my brothers and sisters to come home for the family reunion dinner. My eldest sister-in-law would always buy new clothes for me and I liked that because she had great taste. I could not wait to try them with my new Bata shoes, socks, matching hair clips and even underwear on the first day of the Lunar New Year. Clothes were usually brightly coloured, red being the favourite as it is an auspicious colour. There was always a lot of noise and merriment within the house and on the streets as well. I lived in a shophouse smack in the middle of town. There were two shops facing each other that sold music records and competitively they blasted a continuous stream of songs from the moment they opened the doors till closing time.

The array of food was amazing -- both sweet and savoury. There were tins of biscuits and the top favourites were the pineapple jam tarts, the kuih bangkit and the love letters or kuih kapit. These were not bought from any ordinary shop, but were specially ordered from the best nyonya homemakers weeks before the new year. My dad would buy crates and crates of Frasers and Neave orange squash and he would tie a bottle cap opener to the side of one of the wooden crates because the fizzy drinks came in glass bottles. I would collect the bottle caps for a game similar to the boardgame of carom. The empty bottles had to be returned to the shop. There was also ample servings of nian-gao which is the sticky rice cake (kuih bulan) that tasted lovely when steamed and rolled in coconut or fried in an egg batter. I remember watching my mum cutting it up into slices with a string instead of a knife before steaming or frying because it was soft and gooey. As for the savoury delicacies, there was a lovely array of assorted meats and vegetables. Whatever was left over from the family reunion dinner was reheated and somehow the latter tasted better. There were yearly treats like braised abalone (New Moon brand), thick succulent mushrooms, waxed duck and sausages. Dessert was usually canned longans or lychees. Sometimes I had sweet creamed taro or pumpkin, a typical Teochew dessert. The fireworks or firecrackers were amazing. I would rush to the window to see my neighbours hanging out long strings of firecrackers tied to bamboo poles. To a child, if the length of the firecrackers was very long, it meant that the family was rich. I enjoyed the explosion part when the last part of the firecrackers was fired, signifying the end of it all. There were torrents of visitors especially when my sister was a teacher. My sisters and I had great fun ogling the teenage male students who came to our open house, especially if they were handsome. We would also go visit our friends, usually in a group and the agenda for the day was to eat, talk and collect ang-pows. The best part was the ang pows that I received or red paper packets with money inside. As long as I was not married I was entitled to ang pows from my parents and relatives. Then I would plan to spend a bit of the money and keep the rest. Along the way we might catch lion dance performances and we would stop to watch the agile lions prance around and be mesmerised by the drums and cymbals clashing in unison. Most of all I enjoyed all the chatting. When the sisters and brothers got together, there was a never ending stream of topics to discuss. We could also get away with mischief because parents were not supposed to scold their children, at least for the first day. The television would be continuously on as well as my parents liked to watch Hong Kong or Taiwanese entertainment shows that featured new year songs. Normally by the fourth day of Chinese New Year I would have to go back to school. As I cycled to school, the major roads in town would be crimson red as they were covered with paper bits from the firecrackers. In my school bag, there would be pineapple jam tarts and Frasers and Neave orange squash. Then we would ask each other how much ang pow we had received and we could not wait for school to be over so we could rush back home again to continue the celebrations. Chinese New Year lasts for 15 days and to a child that is heaven. Happy Chinese New Year to one and all.

Source: It's that time of the year brimming with nostalgia - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/it-s-that-time-of-the-year-brimming-with-nostalgia-1.215917#ixzz2KTsKD8Dy