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/

What's In a Willow?

My first willow basket

The first time I heard the mention of the word  ‘willow’ was from a sentimental British favourite, The Wind in the Willows written by Kenneth Grahame. It is a story steeped in nostalgia, much inspired by a father’s love for his only son.

If anything, willow reminds me of  things past. Like the abovementioned story, it evokes a sense of nostalgia, of earthliness, of humble beginnings. Willow trees are prevalent in folklore and myths. In the ‘Secret of Salix Babylonicus,’ a story of healing and hope by Timothy Matthew Slemmons,  the willow is a symbol of perseverance. 

I was sauntering along the walkway leading to the Sunday market when I saw a fine display of willow baskets and wigwams. Every piece had a character of its own and being handmade it had an aura of artisan craftsmanship. I may be biased but the shades and textures of willow far surpass cane or bamboo.

                                               Pete showing me how to weave

There are many things that I have learned and can learn on-line, but weaving is certainly something that I would have to learn hands-on. I needed someone to teach me and imagine my delight when I discovered that I could sign up for classes in this ancient craft under the guidance of an expert basket maker, Pete. 

Without hesitation, I did just that and found myself spending a whole day learning how to weave baskets out of willow rods. Even as I held the rods in my hands I could see the many similarities about life’s truths between the willow and us.

                                                 Willow, dried and steamed 

                                                  Surrounded by willow at Mount Shannon

Willows are often planted on the borders of streams so their interlacing roots may protect the bank against the action of the water. There is this symbiotic relationship of two natural elements that is of ecological importance. It speaks to me of the geographical location that we are in – why are we placed in a certain town or city or country? Do our lives make a difference to the setting that we are in or are we so preoccupied with my own wants and needs that we do not go beyond the four walls of our home?

From the master weaver, I learnt that willow rods are soaked and heated in a steam box to make them pliant and easy to handle. Like the willow rods, we have undergone many of life’s experiences that have moulded us into who we are and hopefully better beings.

In the process of weaving, I used some tools like a pair of secateurs and a bodkin.

The secatuers are used to trim the rod ends, to cut off unnecessary parts of the rods and also to split rods. The bodkin on the other hand is a pointed tool used for separating the weave, to produce a gap between the rods so that another rod can go through. At intermittent intervals, I also used a mallet to hammer down the woven parts so that the basket will be more compact and strong.

The final test for a good and sturdy basket is to actually stand on it. If the basket collapses, that means it was not properly woven in the first place.

Pete testing my willow basket

Imagine our characters being ‘trimmed’ and ‘prodded’ by secatuers and bodkins and ‘hammered’ down by a mallet before being ‘stepped upon’ like the basket.

Can we stand the honing process and are we made of more?

It is said that age generally mellows a person but having said that, there are people who have grown old and yet remain nasty.

I find that the kindest and most humble people are those who have experienced great difficulties in life and survived. These are the people who have ridden on the waves of storms and emerged strong.

The process is painful but the end product is rather admirable. When we undergo difficult moments ourselves, then only can we empathise with those who are in similar situations.

Now that I have learnt how to make willow baskets, I will never look at a basket the same way again.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  21.6. 2015
 http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150621nstnews/index.html#/23/

William Butler Yeats and I

When I was in Innisfree, County Sligo, I was determined to have a peek at the lake made famous by William Butler Yeats in his poem the ‘Lake Isle at Innisfree’.

Now I have this sudden urge to visit the same county again, oftentimes known as Yeats Country because this summer marks 150 years since Yeats was born.

                                             Lake Isle of Innisfree in the background

As is befitting a legend and a Nobel Prize winner for literature in 1923, this commemorative year boasts of nationwide events with the highlight being Yeats day (June 11 – 14). On the international arena for this year, his works are also enjoyed and shared in Moscow, London, Washington, Rio and Beijing.

For us who love literature and poetry, this celebrative extravaganza is a sure delight.

How many of us have aspired to write a novel or have a poem immortalised on a wall of fame? Alas, in my search for similarities between Yeats and I,  I find great humour in the trivial.

Take for example, when Yeats cooked sausages to celebrate the news that he had won the Nobel Prize. The Full Irish breakfast is not the same without sausages. I have heard of elderly ladies  smuggling sausages across international borders (when on vacation) for their loved ones just like how some of us would also do the same for Malaysian delicacies. Frying sausages for breakfast is something of an enjoyable routine to me. The whole kitchen being awashed with the fragrance of hot piping sausages bursting through the skin is something to die for. Unlike Yeats, I don’t think I’ll ever get that infamous ‘You’ve won the Nobel Prize’ phone call.

There were also several people who fired Yeats’ passion.

His ideology about life took several different turns as he grew older. I guess that happens to us as well. It would be most strange to find static characters whose mindsets have not been challenged or developed. His poems too became more symbolic and complex as the years went on. I remember having had a hard time as an undergraduate comprehending ‘Second Coming’ and answering questions on his concepts of the supernatural and eternity. The fact that his poems also carried political themes did not help as we would need to be well acquainted with Irish politics.

Yeats also mentioned the ‘nine bean rows’ that he would have on the Lake Isle of Innisfree. The last time I counted I had six bean rows in my garden. Whether Yeats ever had a penchant for gardening, I do not know. What I know is he did mention beans in that poem and that is as good as saying that we are both into beans.

I am empowered by one of Yeats’ quotes - “think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people”. I have never been so immersed in a society as I do now…..mixing with people from all walks of life. Prior to coming to Ireland, my circle of friends comprised  mainly of the academia and the church. I would surely need the wisdom of Solomon to make sense of this present mingling.

Yeats also had a close circle of friends and family members as well as creative people who impacted his life. I would like to think that I too have the same. It is so true that iron sharpens iron and like minds nourish each other. Great friends are those that you make at any stage of your life and keep them.

Yeats died on January 28, 1939 in a room overlooking the Mediterranean at Cap Martin on the French Riviera. It took almost a decade and two funerals (with  the Second World War in – between) before his remains were finally brought back to Ireland. Rumours have it that it might not have been his body either, possibly Alfred Hollis, an Englishman who died around the same time and was buried beside him in the same French cemetery.

Great people do have a touch of mystery that sets them apart, even in death.

 

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  7.6. 2015  http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150607nstnews/index.html#/23/

Oh, To Be Young Again! (Or Not)

When I asked a little girl how old she was, she said ten and a half. I smiled knowing that at one time too, halves and three quarters made all the difference to our ages. Somehow we could not wait to grow up, in short to be an adult. Even the song Sixteen Going On Seventeen in the Sound of Music soundtrack echoes the same desire.

It is all very confusing.

Children can’t wait to become teens. Then you have the awkward age where you are neither a child nor a teen and you become  a ‘tween’. We also have teens who can’t wait to become adults and will try to dress and behave like their pop idols.

Through the eyes of a child, the teenage or adult world certainly seems more fun : staying up late, less parental supervision, being heard , going places or maybe even experimenting with make up. Certainly there are many things that an adult can do but a child can’t.

And then the birthdays roll by.

Before long people stop asking you how old you are because that has become a sensitive area. We no longer put numerous candles on the birthday cake. In fact, every year we just have one symbolic candle.

In a classic movie called Big starring Tom Hanks, a 12 year old boy made a wish at a carnival machine and became a 30 year old overnight. As movies go, he managed to become 12 again before the reel ran out. Near the end of the movie, there was a scene where he asked his girlfriend in the adult world whether she would like to go back in time with him to being a 12 year old again. 

Her answer was “No. I've been there before.  It's hard enough the first time.”

My sentiments exactly.

If a fairy godmother gave me a wish to be ten, twenty or thirty years younger, I would politely decline the offer even if that meant an 18 inch waist and flawless porcelain skin.

We evolve from being teased as the sweet young thing or the most desirable hunk to being called ma’am, aunty, uncle or ‘pak cik’ and ‘mak cik’. We are secretly happy when the shop keeper calls us ‘langloi’ (pretty lady) or ‘langchai’ (handsome guy), terms usually reserved for the younger set, even though we are aware that he uses the same term for almost any potential customer in order to get the person to buy something from his stall.

So, what age is the best age for living?

I feel that it is the time of your life where you feel very contented with yourself. You can be the child with all the attention focussed on you. There is the baby book when every milestone is recorded: the first step, the first haircut, the first word.

You can be the promising young adult whose school year book has a brilliant display of photos that highlight amazing feats: the school sports champion, the national orator, the best academic performance.

You can be the professional who has just landed on a great job and has bought a house or a car.

Or it can be that age when you feel secure because you are proud of who you are. You no longer need to compare yourself with others and are not worried about what others think about you. It is when you know the difference between what really matters and what seems to matter and you make choices and stand by them.

When I visited my friend Sarita on her birthday, I found her sitting most resplendently in her beautiful and well manicured garden. I think every birthday is special because it reminds us that the beauty of living is that you have lived and are still living life to the fullest.

Every moment counts. There is nothing like living in the now.

 THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES   http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150524nstnews/index.html#/22/    24/5/2015 

Feeling like I'm at Home Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These little touches make all the difference.

I am left feeling that I am home again.

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

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/

       

The Joy of Travelling Comes in Many Forms

There was one evening when we had nothing to do (which seems to be getting more frequent these days) that we went on the balcony and did some plane spotting. There was a perfectly clear sky and the number of planes that were criss crossing the airspace was amazing. We could track where the planes were flying from and where they were going with the mobile phone. It was indeed a very pleasurable activity.

Ah…the joy of travelling.

‘Which city would you like to visit?’ would be one of my ice breakers when facilitating a group discussion.

Paris, Rome, London…usually far away places and hardly any mention of a city in the same country that they live in.

So we get a job that takes us places or we work hard, save and with that little bit of extra on the side we travel. Family money or old money is handy and I could do with plenty of that but nothing gives me greater pleasure than to enjoy one’s success or the fruit of one’s labour.

Travelling is a strange thing. There are some who choose to travel and have little savings. There are others who have money but will not travel.

The daughter did a voluntary teaching stint in Poland last summer, after which she travelled on Eurail pass to five different cities in Europe before returning to home base. As for lodging, she couch surfed. Now that is one way to see the world.

Couch surfing is something novel to me but is apparently the rage these days. As of summer 2011, there are nearly 2.9 million couch surfing members in 246 countries and more than 80,000 cities on all seven continents (yes, there is even a woman at McMurdo research station in Antarctica). The median age is people in their twenties—though there are more than 610,000 in their thirties, 21,500 in their sixties, and more than 520 octogenarians. As with all types of travelling, there are the usual security measures to take. 

I have long given up on itinerary-driven tours that span over a few countries. I prefer relaxed trips with time to visit the places that I want to see and breathe at the same time. The same goes for ‘rent-a-car’ travelling. Why get stressed over new routes, driving on a different side of the road when it is usually more convenient to take public transport?

I find that when we are busy pushing new frontiers, making friends, enjoying new food and most of all giving our bodies and minds a good and needed rest, we are rejuvenated. I love the challenge of browsing through city maps, making mistakes, getting lost, seeking help and finding my bearings again. There is a certain level of achievement and satisfaction that beats a level attained in Candy Crush.

Just when I have settled down to some routine, the mind gets busy and the feet get restless and it is time to pack those bags again.

When one of my friends wanted to visit me the other day, she asked whether I was at home, I said ‘yes’.

So another friend quipped, ‘When are you ever at home?’

My answer was ‘once in a blue moon’ and the last time I checked the moon was quite blue, by my standards anyway.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  5/4/2015 :http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150405nstnews/index.html#/25/