LIFE IS A BEAUTIFUL GIFT

When I was a child I would often accompany my parents to the cinema.

There were basically 4 cinemas in the town – Odeon, Sultanah, Rex and Cathay. Rex and Cathay were relatively far away, so we had to take a trishaw when we wanted to see a movie. Sultanah was old and the seats were infested with bugs. I remember to our horror that the bugs followed us home and my mother went through a rampage killing them off with DDT. Odeon was the best because it was near our house.

Going to the cinema was a treat especially when my father went along. There were no tickets for children, so if the cinema was fully packed, I had to sit on my father’s knee. I could also have a bar of chocolate or a slice of apple. The apple was especially nice as it was placed on a block of ice and had a skewer pierced through it. We did not have a refrigerator then, so anything that was cold was a novelty. The apple was also salty as the hawker had dipped it in salt to prevent oxidisation. However, when my mother brought us to the cinema, we were not allowed to buy chocolates or fruit because they were imported and expensive. Instead we had a bag of melon seeds which would go a long way through the show.

Movies in those days were not rated.

I practically watched anything that my parents wanted to watch, from horror movies to Shakespeare’s plays like Macbeth and Taming of the Shrew. My mother loved  ‘Oliver!’ a 1968 British musical drama film directed by Carol Reed. She particularly liked Ron Moody who played Fagin because she thought he was a brilliant actor. She read the Mandarin subtitles while I enjoyed looking at the costumes, the scenery as well as the handsome actors and actresses. That was the beginning of my love for English literature although much of the dialogue would have been lost on me because of the thick British accent.

There was one particular movie that I never quite understood and found it terribly boring. All I remembered was a man walking up and down the sea shore, reminiscing.

It was David Copperfield, the 1969 version, directed by Delbert Mann and starred Robin Phillips in the title role and Ralph Richardson as Micawber.

So I watched it again on Youtube and it was really nostalgic especially when infused with the memory of me sleeping through the movie and my mother having to carry me home.

These are the lovely things of our childhood.

 It is a pity the human mind cannot remember all the good stuff of the past. It would be quite a journey if I could go through the diaries that I had written or the stuff that I had made from popsicle sticks and match boxes. All lost because of the moving of houses.

There were also very few photographs then because to own a camera or to go to the photo studio was quite a big thing.

It is strange how time creeps up on you – going through childhood, then the teenage years before becoming an adult and then having a family of your own. Sometimes we forget how fast time flies until it hits us that we have actually gone through so many days, weeks and years.

For some there is a favourite segment to call ‘the best years of my life’. It is difficult for me to identify which years are better because with every season, there are precious memories. I thought my childhood was wonderful until I experienced the excitement of being a teen. Then I thought my university years were the best, only to realise that nothing beats the joy of being a mother. Now that the children are adults themselves, I wonder what new things will I experience next?

Ray Bradbury in Dandelion Wine says, “I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired, now, let me feel tired. I mustn't forget, I'm alive, I know I'm alive, I mustn't forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that.” 

If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you using  Emile Zola’s words:  I came to live out loud. It is to stay true to my principles, to live and give passionately and to experience new things. Most of all it is to be at peace and to love my oldest friend, someone who has been with me since birth, someone who has walked with me in my shoes, someone whom I call, ‘Myself’.

This is the beginning of a new year. I have lived through many ‘new’ years and I will not take for granted that I’m going to live many more. I have experienced love and sadness, joy and pain and as long as there is breath, I will be awash with emotions and feelings and thoughts and memories.

Life is a beautiful gift. 

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 8 JANUARY 2017

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2017/01/202682/life-beautiful-thing

SAILING INTO THE NEW YEAR

With cold winds and possibly snow threatening to make an entrance, it was a rare fine day to see 12 swans swimming with cygnets in tow. Watching nature is a lovely past time and you just can’t go wrong there.

The adult swans (cobs and pens) in the flock were making loud honking noises, piercing the quietude of the air. Whooper swans are winter visitors to wetlands throughout Ireland from October to April. It was a treat to behold and the fact that there was no one in sight except Hachi, my Labrador and I made it all the more special.

It reminds me of The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White.

This is a story about a special friendship between Sam Beaver, an 11 year old boy and a mute swan called Louis. To overcome his disadvantage, Louis learns to read and write but he still could not communicate with other swans because the rest are illiterate. Louis tries to woo Serena, a beautiful pen, but cannot attract her attention because he has no voice. Louis’s father purposefully crashes into a music store in Billings, Montana to steal a brass trumpet on a cord to give to his son so he can play taps, reveille and mess call. Louis even composes a love song for Serena and goes so far as to persuade Sam to split one of his webbed feet with a razor blade, making "fingers," so he can play more notes. 

This may be just a story but isn’t it beautiful to see how we try to overcome all odds?

There is a lovely poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on the journey of life and the strong resolve of a determined soul.

“One ship sails East and another West,
By the self-same winds that blow,
Tis the set of the sails, and not the gales,
That tells the way we go. 

“Like the winds of the sea are the waves of time,
As we journey along through life,
Tis the set of the soul, that determines the goal,
And not the calm or the strife.”

Far too often we quench the fire within before it can even be played out. We blame it on fate or destiny for things happening not the way we wish for. I admire people who set attainable goals and know how to reach them. I admire people who are at peace with themselves because they are thankful and they have overcome many insecurities.

But how do we reach the state where we no longer strife? Why do we have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in our hearts?

When we have worked very hard for the most parts of our lives, then we must treasure the days that we no longer need to go to the office. I have so many people coming up to me suggesting that I commercialise my hobby crafts. At what expense? I treasure the pleasure and the freedom of a stress free life. No one ever says ‘I have enough money’. Maybe the fear of not having enough money is the trap that keeps us running on the wheel like a hamster.

As we come to the close of another year, it is the perfect time of the year to look back and see what we have done right this year and where we have gone wrong. Just like garden beds being put to rest, quiet moments spent going through our thoughts provide unexplainable strength and calm. It is the time to re-affirm ourselves, take note of our good points and plan how we can give more than receive. We can also look at our list of  friends and acquaintances – keeping some and letting some go.

Far too often pay more attention to things and people who do not matter as much. It takes a lot of planning to make sure that our days are well-lived and the people we love know that they are loved. After a while the planning becomes so natural, it becomes a part of you. We need to be replenished, to be rejuvenated. I always tell the beloved before I sleep that I look forward to tomorrow because I know today has been well spent and tomorrow promises more.

Back to E.B. White’s story about the swan. When Sam Beaver is about 20 years old, he is again camping in Canada, and hears Louis playing taps to his children. He writes in his journal: Tonight I heard Louis's horn. My father heard it, too. The wind was right, and I could hear the notes of taps, just as darkness fell. There is nothing in all the world I like better than the trumpet of the swan.

Like Sam Beaver, there is nothing in all the world I like better than to be thankful for the moment.

Have a happy new year.

This article was published in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA on 1 January 2017.

THE ART OF ASKING MANNERLY QUESTIONS

Asking mannerly questions is becoming a lost art. There is a fine line between being concerned and being outright nosy and overbearing. I have met countless people who just don't know when to stop asking personal questions to my face.

I am very tempted to say that it has to do with culture or upbringing as I've experienced loads of it among Asians particularly.

There are safe topics like the weather and general well-being. Even when asking about families, we need to be careful how we phrase our questions especially among strangers or acquaintances.

We live in a world where relationship dynamics have changed. There are parents who are not necessarily married and siblings who have different mothers or fathers. Single-hood and being childless can be a life choice. Childlessness does not mean that the couple concerned is not trying to have children.  I cringe when people assume too much and ask awkward questions about relationships and such.

I remember once when I was a speaker at a conference. It was during my morning swim at the pool when a participant who was a perfect stranger asked me what my salary was! If it was his idea of making small talk, it surely lacked decorum and sensitivity.  He did not realise that he was also encroaching on my  me-time, as I was no longer on the stage.

On another occasion I was on coach tour with a group of Asians. I joined them in Dubai en route to another country. Out of friendliness or curiosity they asked me a barrage of questions that I myself would blush to ask. I find the questions inappropriate, intrusive or downright rude. So I told them directly that I did not wish to discuss certain topics. To me, they were perfect strangers, thrown together on a trip and I probably will not meet again in the near future. They were quite shocked but bothered me no more. However, I saw them bothering others. And if they could not get the answers they would ask other people who knew those who would not tell them.

There are also others who are terribly competitive. You know that from the way they ask their questions. They are actually checking out whether you have achieved more than them in their lives. Usually they measure such achievements by the amount of money you have, the car you drive, the job you hold and the academic qualifications you have earned. As if that is not enough, they want to know how your children are doing, not because they are concerned, but because they can't wait to tell you about their own high achieving kids. So far no one has compared their grandparents yet, for that I'm thankful.

You know when a person is asking questions out of a caring attitude. These are real friends who do not invade into your personal space. In fact, they don't have to ask at all. Friendship is such that when we have earned the trust of the person, she will share in our own time. There is no need to probe. It is not our business to pry.

I have made many good friends since living in Ireland. When you make time to be with them, they know you can be trusted with their innermost experiences and feelings.

Trust has be earned.  You can detect sincerity or nosiness immediately. There was an acquaintance who having engaged in a conversation with me, decided to ask something personal. She said, ‘I hope you don’t mind if I ask you…..’ Actually that phrase is just for formality because she was dying to know the details. When I said, ‘Oh yes, I do mind….’ there was shock written all over her face and she hastily retreated in embarrassment.

Many of us are brought up not to offend, especially when the person who is  asking is older or if she is a relative. So we answer her questions that seem to be never ending. And after the interrogation is over, we feel cheated of our privacy.

So what are the general guidelines to asking questions?  This is a list that I have compiled

1. Listen more, ask less.

2. Stay clear of topics related to age, wage, weight, religion or political associations.

3. Be concerned but do not interrogate. You are not writing a newspaper report.

4. Be honest with yourself. Why do you want to know? Is it to connect? Is it to compare? Is it fodder for your thirst to gossip?

5. Be thoughtful. Give the person some peace and privacy. Don't make the other person uncomfortable.

6. No one is obliged to feed your curiosity.

7. Don't ask the questions that you do not want others to ask of you.

And suffice to say, this list is not exhaustive.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 11 December 2016

digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/nstnews/2016/20161211nstnews/index.html#/23/

CHANGING INTERESTS

I like the word proclivity. I don’t hear it often enough but it explains so many things all at once. According to the Merriam-Webster thesaurus, it is synonymous with affection, affinity, aptitude, bent, bias, disposition, leaning, partiality, penchant, inclination, and tendency.

I used to be able to read anytime, anywhere. Not any more. When I bring a book with me to bed, I only manage to finish a few pages before my fingers reach out for the bedside lamp and I float off to dreamland. This routine is repeated the next night, the only difference being I would have forgotten who is who in the book, how they are related and why they are all gathered in the country manor house in the first place. Re-reading to find the connections is arduous.

I thought that with retirement I would be able to read War and Peace, cover to cover, several times over. How strange that getting past the daily newspaper or the occasional magazine has become a great achievement.

I am surrounded by a reading culture. The library is nearby and the helpful librarian will bring in the books that I request if they are not on the shelves. The charity shops and flea markets are overflowing with pre-loved books.

As a child I would re-read my favourite books. So recently, I purposed myself to set aside every Sunday to read a novel before I miss all the good stuff that is trapped between the pages. It is the chance to reclaim something pleasurable.

Firstly I re-visited Roald Dahl’s books. 2016 marks 100 years since the birth of the story teller. Running though his books are the themes of loneliness, abuse, friendship and kindness. The child in me identifies with the unlikely hero or heroine. My favourite is Matilda.

But what next?

I find that my interest in fiction has waned. I’m no longer captivated by plots of mystery or love. I tear through best sellers and they have come up short. In fact the first ten pages can tell you how the book will end and how the characters are all related. There is a lack of originality in the themes.  There is a lack of depth as sense that these writers are trying to squeeze in too many modern day concerns between the covers. These modern day popular writers are a poor comparison to yesteryear’s Charles Dickens or the Bronte sisters.

So I’m more attracted to non-fiction particularly memoirs, culture and history.

My latest favourite is Elie Wiesel’s Night. All 116 pages of it.

The same can be said of television programmes. Gone are the days when I would wait for serial episodes and the like. Now I mainly record documentaries or travel pieces and watch them at my leisure, fast-forwarding all the advertisements in between. As for movies, nothing beats the big screen whether it is Disney’s Polynesian princess Moana carving out her adventure trail in 3 D or Tom Hanks following a trail of clues connected to Dante.

Even the taste for food differs. Sweets and chocolates used to entice me as a teen but now I prefer anything home-cooked and the more authentic the recipe the better. I re-discovered an old recipe that I had written down for savoury pumpkin cake where ingredients were measured in katis and tahils! Needless to say, I quickly harvested the pumpkins from my garden. I never understood why my mother liked the miserable looking bittergourd either but now I can snack through crispy bittergourd fries (pavakkai varuval) with relish!

My taste for clothes too changes with the seasons. Wouldn’t it be nice to have four wardrobes, one for each season?

With time, our proclivities and prerogatives change and I’m ok with that.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES, MALAYSIA
13 NOVEMBER 2016

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/nstnews/2016/20161113nstnews/index.html#/23/

THE PRESENCE OF PRESENTS

There’s this humourous quote that I saw ‘Forget about the Past, you can’t change it. Forget about the Future, you can’t predict it. Forget about the Present, you didn’t get one.’

Well, there was a time when I loved holding the gift wrapped box, shaking it to guess its contents and then ripping the wrapping paper apart. Everything boils down  to the mystery and excitement of receiving a gift.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love receiving presents.

But.

It is grammatically wrong to let a conjunction stand by itself. Yet, ‘but’ is so appropriate here because it creates a pregnant pause for dramatic effect. It conveys a whole lot of reasons why the spirit towards receiving presents could be different altogether.

The culprit must be the cupboard that stands in the room.

Yes, a cupboard full of presents that we have no use for or can’t find a corner in the house to be placed. Most of us have this shelf, drawer or trunk where we keep the presents that we have received, to be recycled. Recycling seems a harsh word, so we say to ourselves we’ll give the presents away to someone else or to charity.

Birthday gifts - When the children were young, we used to organise birthday parties for them. Somehow half of the presents would be gorgeous teddy bears. Now, how many gorgeous teddy bears can a child bring to bed with him?

Wedding gifts - Among the many presents we had were 10 dinner sets and 6 electric irons. We only needed one dinner set and one iron at any one time, if you catch my drift. They have this service nowadays called the ‘Wedding and Gift Registry’ at some department stores to help your friends and family buy the perfect gift for you but I don’t think that will work for all the guests that you invite.

Christmas gifts - Suddenly the drawers are over taken by reindeer socks, snowmen candles, Christmas ornaments, toiletries, jewellery, cook books and more cook books. Now I won’t even go there.

Just the other day, I saw a sweet elderly lady buying a garish piece of jewellery which cost her an arm and a leg. The cashier asked if she was buying it for herself or for someone else. She said she was giving it to a friend. I hope her friend likes garish jewellery.

I find that cosmetics, perfume, clothes and toiletries are very personal choices. I use a certain range of skincare products, perfume and toiletries. It will be rather difficult to convince me to use any other. We tend to buy for others what we would like to buy for ourselves. But you can’t get  more wrong than that. For example, I love the smell of lavender but my beautician hates it, so if I get her a lavender scented gift it would most likely end up being recycled.

When an acquaintance asked me what she should get for her teenage grandson’s birthday, I said cash is best. He can buy something he likes with the money. But the doting granny recoiled in horror and said cash is too impersonal. The last I heard was she was going to knit him a jumper. I think I’ve heard enough jokes about young people receiving jumpers from senior relatives each year and what they do with them.

After so many years of giving and receiving presents, I’ve narrowed my choices down to cash, dining vouchers, departmental vouchers, holiday vouchers and the occasional handmade quilt. I find all these very practical and altogether delightful for myself and for any age group. Sensible things like disposables for a new born or a few bags of coal for a wintry night are all very welcome.

Meanwhile, I have to clear that cupboard of presents and hopefully it won’t be restocked any time soon.

This article was originally published in the New Straits Times, Malaysia on 26 June 2016

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/06/154711/presence-presents

ALL SET TO START GARDENING IN MY NEW GREENHOUSE

When we go for rides, I love to look at houses. The first to get my approval are those with neat gardens and thatched roofs. Clean pavements, tidy yards and good colour combination all get the thumbs up. With the days fast leading up to Christmas, many proud  houseowners will decorate their houses to the max with strings of lights complete with reindeer and sleigh in the garden as well.

Buying a house is a big step. Making it a home is another.  

Some might prefer getting professionals to do the interior decoration but personally I like to decorate it myself as every splash of colour and picture put up on the wall reflects individuality. So much so that one of my friends quipped that the beloved must keep on moving or I’ll paint him too.

I bought my first apartment when I was 28. It was on the top most floor because of my preference for great view and privacy. For those who have lived in apartments, they come with a peculiar set of problems and so I moved out of the apartment when I bought my second property in my 30s, this time a landed property and one that was nearer my workplace.

With every home, I had great joy putting my mark on it.

As I am the sort who cannot be idle, most things are handmade…from cushions to curtains to furniture. Now that there are no more corners in the house for me to indulge my creativity, I have moved on to the garden instead - my greenhouse.

It took me 6 years to decide to buy a greenhouse because it is quite an investment and I do not want it to be just a fad. I have seen so many greenhouses standing empty in my neighbourhood. Because the weather in Ireland is wet, wet and wet, I needed to learn how to turn the garden to my advantage.

So I enrolled for horticulture workshops and learnt about planting according to the seasons. These workshops were always a delight to attend because the teachers were very knowledgeable and I made lots of like-minded friends.

Every keen gardener has her fair share of success and failure stories. It is wonderful to know that you are not alone in your experiments with seed and soil and that you are not crazy to put in more capital then you can reap from your harvests. We all share the dogged determination to find pleasure in gardening. Somehow that forked carrot or mottled cucumber tastes so much sweeter than the perfect ones that you buy from the market. There is something magical about going out to the garden to harvest the greens, to unearth the spuds and to pick the apples and berries.

I debated whether to get a polytunnel or a greenhouse.  The sliding door window in my room opens up to the garden. When I look out I can see the flowers, the birds, the bees, the butterflies and the trees. I see rainbows very often and can hear the church bells pealing. Somehow glass gleaming in the sun is something that plastic can never deliver.I want to be greeted by something beautiful and yet practical. I decided to buy a greenhouse.

So we went hunting for the perfect greenhouse - checking online sites as well as visiting the suppliers. I decided to buy a good-size Eden Blockley model.

Finally, the greenhouse arrived. The truck driver was pretty friendly and burly. He had been driving the whole day - from Gloucester to the ferry terminal to Dublin and then to me. He carried the flat packed glass, piece by piece. Then he carried the frame and all the smaller parts. He subsequently left to return to the UK. I closed the door and looked at the array of equipment on the floor and felt that heaven had landed.

My greenhouse is up now and it is as exciting as a child waiting for her friends to come celebrate her birthday party. Yes, it is a birthday party after all - the birth of a new gardening experience. I have made a few stained glass and mosaic pieces to hang in the greenhouse. These sun catchers give the greenhouse a me-feel. The seedlings are in their plugs and I want to try and grow crops for all the four seasons.

Even when the slugs come and the frost falls, I will toil in delight. I live in hope.

After all, this is my Eden.

This article was originally printed in The New Straits Times Malaysia 30 October 2016

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/nstnews/2016/20161030nstnews/index.html#/23/

THOSE UNATTAINABLE CRUSHES

The story of  A loves B but B loves C plagues Aunt Agony’s column. I am often tempted to think that this is a modern day heartache among teenagers but alas it is as ancient as the hills. The French call it La Douleur Exquise - the heart wrenching pain of wanting someone who is unattainable.

I used to wonder why poets would subject themselves to bouts of melancholy because of unrequited love. Sir Thomas Wyatt  (1503 - 1542) was one. He was a famous poet and ambassador at the court of Henry VIII and he was one of Anne Boleyn’s suitors but his love was unrequited. In his poem “Whoso List to Hunt”, we read about a deer (Anne) being hunted down (by Henry VII) and being out of the poet’s reach because she says “Caesar’s I am”. 

 
Unrequited love or one-sided love is love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the intended. The intended may be oblivious to the admirer’s attraction, or may consciously reject it. 

Even in the comic strip, ‘Peanuts’, we see elements of unrequited love. Schroeder the pianist feels nothing for Lucy despite Lucy’s constant declarations of her love for him. Charles M. Schulz, its creator says, ‘Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.’ 

I was in Copenhagen recently and saw The Little Mermaid, a bronze statue by Edvard Eriksen. Before I went there I had re-read the fable by Hans Christian Andersen, so as to refresh my memory about the ill-fated mermaid who swam up to the surface of the sea on her 15th birthday just to have a glimpse of the human world. 

 
There was a storm and the prince was shipwrecked and the mermaid rescued him but he was not aware of who his rescuer was. She wanted to be near the prince and so exchanged her voice for a pair of legs. Only the sea witch could do that and every step she took felt like a knife cutting through her legs. The ultimate test was for the prince to marry her, otherwise in the morning after the prince had married another, she would become sea foam. 

Fast forward to the end of the story- the prince married another and the mermaid became sea foam. Some readers argue that the mermaid wanted to have a soul and she could only have that if she were to become human. 

But yet the theme about unrequited love and subsequently paying a huge sacrifice for it rings loud and clear. 

I wonder why people put themselves through situations such as this? Is it self delusion or are they being hopeful? Granted some people who carry on the waiting and hoping game do finally get their prize. These are few and far between but at what cost? 

Adele captures this hopelessness in ‘Chasing Pavements’ where she sings about flying around in circles leading nowhere when love is unrequited. 

 
It is easy for someone on the outside looking in to see how futile unrequited love is.I think most of us would have at least a friend who has been in that situation. We certainly deserve more than pining for someone who is unattainable 

After endless days of listening and advising a friend of ‘letting him go’, you see her still trying to establish links with the said party - stalking him online, texting and following him on social media. Pretty much a waste of time and energy. There’s this quote that goes, ‘I’m 99% sure that he doesn’t love me but it’s that 1% that keeps me going.’

 
Psychologists say that the way to get out of the misery is to acknowledge the injury done to yourself and the need to take care of yourself. Take comfort in the fact that many had gone through the same situation and emerged stronger. The biggest challenge is to give up the quest of chasing someone who doesn’t return your affections.

 
Only then will there be closure.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 16 OCTOBER 2016...http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/10/180594/those-unattainable-crushes