WELCOMING THE YEAR OF THE ROOSTER IN IRELAND

Yesterday was the last day of the Chinese New Year and the Rooster is a Chinese symbol of honesty, as well as physical and moral fortitude.

This is the second time we celebrated this glorious occasion in Dublin, 6769 miles away from our home in Malaysia.

What is it like celebrating a very special occasion away from that land that you were born in and away from the air of festivity that you were accustomed to?

Prior to the New Year, I managed to buy some arrowroot bulbs from the Asian supermarket and turned them into crisps. This was my first try and they didn’t turn out exactly like the store bought ones, but they were tasty nevertheless. I wanted to make the special New Year cake (niangao or kuih bakul) but couldn’t find the necessary ingredients. So I managed to buy two imported from London Chinatown for 10euro a piece.

Next was shopping for clothes. I didn’t need an excuse for that but an excuse made shopping for the quintessential red dress all the more fun.

Then came the question of cards. Unless you order them online, it was impossible to buy any. So I made some for friends and for some Chinese shop keepers or restaurateurs whom I know.

Before I knew it, I was invited to give a short talk about Chinese New Year to the Irish Countrywomen’s Association (Castletroy Guild). I managed to borrow ornamental firecrackers and paper cuttings with auspicious words from my friends from Mainland China. I don’t know who enjoyed it more – the audience or myself giving the talk! I slipped into the lecturer-presentation mood seamlessly and the adrenalin rush was immense when I talked about something close to my heart.

The opening ceremony of the Dublin Chinese New Year Festival (DCNYF) took place on the eve of the New Year at  Templebar’s Meeting House Square. Temple Bar is the cultural quarter on the south bank of the River Liffey in central Dublin. The whole square was filled with tourists and locals alike and it was wonderful to see children dressed in traditional clothes.

The two-week programme was varied: photography and art exhibition, symphony orchestra, Chinese cooking demonstration, ping pong challenge with Chinese nibbles, Chinese movies, lantern making, tea ceremony and even Guinness Storehouse tours in Mandarin!

We went for Yan Wang Preston’s Mother River Photography talk and exhibition at the Gallery of Photography as well as the Chester Beatty Library’s Chinese Collection. Then we had a grand Lunar feast at Lao Chinese and Korean BBQ Restaurant on Parnell Street.

I remember the first time we stood in Temple Bar in 2012 surrounded by many pop up stalls selling hot Asian snacks as well as toys like paper dragons and watching the dragon prance on the stage in the freezing cold. The dragon was clothed in green, white and cold – colours of the Irish flag – and the well built dragon dancers were Irish. Even the guys beating the drums or clanging the cymbals were Irish.

The nostalgia, the memories and of course, the separation from loved ones and friends and the feeling of being a stranger trying so hard to make sense and fit into another land welled up within me and I burst into tears.

But this time round it didn’t feel that painful as I watched the lion dance on the street.  Like the rooster, it is all about honesty as well as physical and moral fortitude.

I am surrounded by more loved ones and many good friends. I am honest with myself and know that without sacrifice there can be no victory. I also received one solitary Chinese New Year Card from a friend, a plate of hot piping noodles from a restaurateur, half a durian from a friendly shopkeeper (incidentally  one fresh durian would cost 35 euro per kg.) and lots of well wishes from family and friends.

All these little gestures made all the difference.

This article was originally printed in the New Straits Times Malaysia 12 February 2017
http://www.nst.com.my/news/2017/02/211554/welcoming-year-rooster-ireland

THE WONDERS OF BEES

I am afraid of bees, many of us are, partly because of ignorance or bad experiences with that insect with the sting.

When the Irish Countrywomen’s Association (Castletroy Guild) invited Gerry Ryan to give a talk on beekeeping, I was amazed at the wonder of the humble bee. Gerry Ryan and his wife Mary run the local ‘Ryan’s Fancy’ honey enterprise in Gortussa, Dundrum.

Every cell in the honeycomb is a perfect hexagon, meaning all six sides are of equal length. A masterpiece in engineering. This compact structure provides maximum storage space for honey and is more economical because it uses less wax for holding the cells together as compared to other shapes. Because of the perfect fit, the bees work simultaneously to put the cells together and there is no wastage of time. Every bee is industrious and has a unified vision.

I can’t help comparing this to a work situation where progress is halted because someone is holding the others up. That is terribly annoying especially in group work and far often enough there is that one person who doesn’t quite deliver.

There are 30,000 to 60,000 bees in each of Gerry’s hives every summer. Yet the bees do not attack each other or their own kind– only outsiders like mice, snakes or lizards who enter their hive and pose a threat. Sadly, humans are quite the opposite. There’s nothing that tastes better with a cup of tea like a good gossip. I often think that these people lead sad lives if they need to relish in talking about other people’s affairs.

It takes over a thousand bees to visit around four million flowers in order to make a kilo of honey. This honey is not only for present day consumption but also for their young. This reminds me of both short term and long term planning. One aspect of Asian culture which is like bee culture is that we learn the importance of saving from a young age. I am most surprised to hear that many young people here do not have savings and even if they have, it is short term saving to buy something. Maybe in a welfare state, the idea of saving is eclipsed by the expectation of handouts. With Christmas just over and children having received cash from doting relatives, I wonder if any child will put away some of it in the post office or bank?

It is interesting to note that flowers are colourful so that bees are attracted to them for their nectar and in turn their pollen will be distributed. Imagine a world without the need for pollination by bees. Then flowers do not have to be colourful and we will be living on a drab and grey earth instead!

Adaptation is key in the life of a bee. Bees communicate very well, using vibrations and pheromones. I think it is extremely important to belong to a community, to learn the culture and to be part of it. In almost all of the community and interest groups that I am in, I can safely say that I am the only Malaysian.

I am constantly surrounded by pockets of people who originated from other countries but now call Ireland their home - be they immigrants, refugees, students or working professionals - moving in their own little circles.  It is of course more convenient to huddle with people from the same country and speak in your native tongue, but we actually learn much more and become better people when we immerse ourselves in the lives of others who are not like us.

Beekeeping calls for respect and interdependency. I often wonder if man is robbing the bees of their honey, what will the bees and their brood feed on?  Because bee keepers provide the bees with a well protected home, the bees produce more honey than they need. This respect for nature seems to be lacking in so many human endeavours like indiscriminate tree felling or deep sea fishing.

The Federation of Irish Beekeepers’ Associations runs a one week summer course in Gormanston College for all levels of experience. However, many local associations also have beginners’ courses over the winter.

Beekeeping is an ancient craft and I am tempted to don that white bee keeper’s suit and add it to my list of hobbies.

But first I must overcome my fear of busy bees buzzing.

This article was originally printed in THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 22 JANUARY 2017

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/nstnews/2017/20170122nstnews/index.html#/23/

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