On the Kindness of Strangers....

When temperatures are dropping and it is freezing cold, who do you call? The fuel man of course …. the one who delivers oil, coal, wood and turf …or practically anything that burns to give heat and forgive the pun but burning a hole in the pocket as well.

So I have strangers traipsing in and out of my house and making a mess especially if it is a ‘soft’ day. (typical Irish weather: Cloudy with soft mist or drizzle)  Muddy shoes are a bane of my existence so the clever thing to do is to arrange for them to come on the day when I clean the house. I can never get used to the idea of people walking into my house with shoes on.

While waiting for the oil tank to fill, we made small talk.

Small talk is made all the more interesting when the person is from another country and another culture. So a barrage of questions would follow: Why are you here? How long have you been here? Can you stand the cold? Do you miss home? How often do you go home? Do you have friends?

I then suddenly find myself an ambassador of my culture and country by default. Whatever I say opens up a new world and a new perspective because quite a number of them have not discovered all the 32 counties in Ireland, let alone the Far East.

Then the question that takes the prize is, ‘Now what is that?’

‘That’, would refer to a small creature scurrying in a huge cage, the chinchilla of course. Apparently many people here have never seen such a creature and couldn’t quite make out whether it is a rabbit or a guinea pig.

So out came the facts and the trivia of Peru (which is the native country of the chinchilla ) and the evils of the fur trade and that angry animal lovers once splashed red paint on windows and signs at Capilano Furs, Speiser Furs, Snowflake Canada and Pappas Furs? Such is the beauty of random knowledge, a result of surfing the internet when I have nothing else to do.

The next thing I knew, one of the workers asked me whether he could bring his little girl to have a look at that very exotic animal.

Generally, the friendliness of perfect strangers makes everyone feel at ease.

Initially I found it very strange that everyone would be saluting everyone else they meet while driving. I wondered how they knew every random person on the road.  Now I do the same. I have learnt that when I am driving on narrow country roads, and the other driver pulls in spots to give way, I would then lift the right hand or the index finger above the steering wheel in polite recognition.

Then on another occasion, the road where I live was blocked because the workers were installing water meters. I had to choose that day to shop for groceries and I had three bags full of them in my car boot.

So with big soft eyes like those of Puss in Boots’ in Shrek, I asked one of the workmen whether he could remove the barrier so I could drive down and park? The kind soul could not say ‘No’ to those eyes.

With the wintry winds settling in, I feel sorry for the senior citizens who stand in the cold outside the post office waiting to collect their pension, so I sometimes invite them in for some warmth. I cannot imagine my mother or father having to stand in the cold waiting for the post office door to open.

Just the other day, while walking the dog, the husband spotted a man living in a makeshift tent in the winter cold. I suggested to him that the next time he sees the man, do ask him to come by our house for a cup of hot piping tea.

Who knows one day I might turn our home into a soup kitchen or something.

This article was originally published by New Straits Times 25 January 2015.

LIVE FOR YOURSELF, NOT OTHERS

I was reading some inspirational material the other day and came away absolutely convinced that we owe it to ourselves to make the decision to live. Not just any kind of living but to live loved, to live focussed and to live beyond borders in 2015.

There are many non-government organisations here that give hope and direction to the community. In a very small way, I’m involved with ADAPT house which runs the largest refuge centre providing emergency accommodation for women and children who have to leave their homes because of domestic abuse. .  One in five women experiences domestic abuse in Ireland but it is the most under reported crime here.

Domestic abuse is not only physical abuse but it can be emotional, verbal, sexual or financial abuse. Physical abuse may be backed up by medical reports but other types of abuse unfortunately are difficult to categorise or to prove ‘logically’ and ‘systematically’. The victims themselves may not even be aware that they have been subjected to such abuse and may have erroneously believe that it is part of living.

There are some things that we hold sacrosanct. But against the best of intentions, what is perfect can become imperfect and what is hoped for can disappoint. It is then time to be brave enough to step back and recognise the lone struggling at odds and the desperation of the plight. There are many marriages that have passed their sell-by date and yet married people remain living in the same family home as strangers for reasons best known to themselves.

In any circumstance, country or culture, it is not uncommon that we find ourselves breathing but not living. It sounds strange but if we look around us examples abound. If we are honest with ourselves, we are victims too.

To live with an idea of where we are heading to is like a captain in control of her ship. Unless we know what we want and work towards achieving that, the ship will be tossed about by the waves and plans keep changing.

What is it that drives us? Have we forgotten the dreams that we had oh, so many years ago? Have we made so many compromises along the way for the common good that we have gone off-tangent for far too long?

I have befriended so many people who had dreams once. Dreams to succeed, dreams to do something significant, dreams to be somebody. The same people who would have liked to walk on the moon sometime in their lives now feel inadequate, insecure, and feel that life out there is for others, not for themselves. The same people who were attractive, clever and ambitious once, are now dowdy and have allowed others and even their own children to trample all over them
.

To live beyond borders is to believe in yourself and to enjoy what is new, what is good and what is different. It is to break away from what is routine and what is comfortable and to take on a task that you have always feared you were neither good nor clever enough for. It could be a skill that you want to learn or a hobby that you have always wanted to take up but was afraid to do so because of the fear of failure.

I cannot say enough about the feeling of satisfaction and achievement when I have done something that I was afraid to do. It reminds me that I am made of more. I also cannot say enough about the humility of knowing that I have tried to do some things and yet have not achieved what I had intended. It reminds me that I’m human.

It is the beginning of a new year and a very good time to make decisions and to take the bull by its horns. Whatever has been nagging, deal with it. Whatever has been hurting, resolve it and whatever has been uplifting embrace it and move forward.

It is time to decide that we want to live loved, to live focussed and to live beyond borders.

Life is too short to be wasted on regrets


This article was originally published by New Straits Times. You can read the original article here - http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150111nstnews/index.html#/19/

TICKING OFF THE YEAR'S LIST OF REGRETS

Before the year runs out, I need to tidy the garden and let it rest. This is literally putting the garden ‘to bed’ as a thorough clean up means a healthy and vital garden next spring. The declining light and dropping temperatures inhibit plant growth and once most of the crops are harvested, a layer of mulch or compost is added before the beds are covered.

It feels so strange that 2014 is drawing to a close as it feels like only yesterday when we were making resolutions as we ushered the year in. I am awash in a spirit of sentimentality as I reflect on the events that left me happy, sad, shocked or amused.

Churches in Malaysia usually have  a watch night service on 31 December where we share about the blessings that we have received throughout the year or the trials that we have undergone and overcome. I remember never missing one. Even when the children were young, we would go armed with pillows and comforters, until the clock struck 12 and the countdown to another year began.

With the new year just around the corner, it is a time of reflection.

What have I done? What have I not done? What should I have done? How could I have avoided that mistake made? How could I have prevented that relationship fallout?

It is that moment in time where I step back and honestly say ‘Did I contribute to that situation? Was I party to the crime?’

In any difficult situation, we always feel that we have been wronged against. In a group meeting which I facilitated on pride and humility, each of us had a checklist. All of us ticked yes to the many times we felt that someone owed us an apology or a word of thanks. We ticked yes to the times when we felt that we were not given due recognition or the times when we thought we deserved more.

While there are many who appreciate us, there are people who rub us the wrong way and bring out the worst in us. Ignorance and fear of the unfamiliar gives rise to prejudice and judgement.

Recently I was invited to a baby shower and that was both a challenge and an eye opener. We are used to the culture and people that we grow up with but we really do not know what to expect when we are in another community or in the midst of others from a different nationality. I find it strange to feel that way especially when I have lived in a multicultural society all my life. Yet whatever is new can be rather scary.

So I went with an open mind and an open heart.

I have not seen so much food served and how relaxed, hospitable and amiable everyone was. When we are among friends, beneath a different skin colour is a heart of warmth and generosity. I felt I was back in Malaysia among Malaysians.

Nicholas Copernicus (1473 –1543) believed that the earth moves round the sun and not the other way round as his contemporaries did. He believed that the centre of the earth is not the centre of the universe. His beliefs did not go down well with the society of his day and drew the ire of religious bodies and the like.

Likewise, if we remove ourselves from the elevated position of being in the centre of everything, it helps us to understand others better and have a ‘bigger’ heart and mind. We will not be overly sensitive and think that everyone else is talking bad about us and wanting to hurt us. We will learn how to step out of our comfort zone and embrace another culture, another person, another perspective.

Mark Twain said, "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

Life is not all about me. It is about what matters most.

Roll on 2015.

This article was originally published by New Straits Times. You can  read the original article here .:http://www.nst.com.my/node/66609

The Spirit of Caring

I never imagined myself saying this but my recent visit to Nenagh General Hospital in County Tipperary was a pleasant one. I do not think anyone fancies going to a hospital unless she really has to. Other than the happy occasion of welcoming a new born baby, most of us associate hospitals with emergency cases, blood and all its gore.

This time round I went for a routine colonscopy on a Wednesday morning and the anxiety drama started on the Monday prior to that because I had to go on a soft diet followed by a liquid fast. Then on Tuesday I had to drink two litres of Moviprep and one litre of water. It wasn’t exactly the most fantastic drink but the flavour had improved greatly since the last time I took it.

When the day came, I was surrounded by lovely and very friendly hospital staff – right from the admissions desk to the day ward. Nurses like Peggy, Helena and Dierdre and Aine fussed around me and made me forget what I was in there for.

That is what I call the human touch.

What a difference good bedside manners make. You are surrounded by total strangers and yet they treat you so well, as if they have known you for some time or you are the next-of-kin.

There were a number of elderly patients around me and I observed that the staff spoke very nicely to them and cared for them with great respect. Although respecting the elderly is a golden rule, to actually see younger people putting that to practice is something else.

A far cry from what I used to experience in hospitals before.

I had nurses shouting at me in both private and public hospitals.

When I was at a private hospital delivering my first born, a nurse made snide and uncouth remarks when I was writhing with labour pains. Because it was so traumatic, I can still hear those remarks even though my daughter is well in her adulthood.

Then on another occasion, the daughter was sick with croup and had to be hospitalised in a public hospital known for its state-of-the-art facilities for a week. She was four at that time. As I could not take time off from my lectures, I had to sit by her bedside and prepare my lessons while she slept only to be sarcastically told off by a nurse that the children’s ward is not a market where I could bring in my ‘wares’ and do my work there.

Often times we blame it on the environment, on the lack of staff or on staff being overworked. I guess when we want to find something to blame, there is always something to blame.

Dealing with humans is a calling. There are those in people-related professions, medical or otherwise, who should not have been there in the first place. We also hear of awful stories of carers who abuse their senior patients who are not in the position to fend for themselves. In the absence of the closed circuit television which can reveal the horrors of abuse, I wonder how many patients are silently suffering for fear of retribution?

So back to my experience at the Nenagh General Hospital day ward. When I finally woke up after the procedure, there was no lack of attention either. I was given a can of seven-up, followed by a pot of hot piping tea and two slices of toast with butter and marmalade. (Just like Paddington bear, marmalade is my favourite jam)

I felt like it was home away from home.

                          A blessed Christmas to one and all

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/node/62289

Getting a Kick in Taking what's not OURS!

Now that December is here, all the Christmas street decorations are up and what a sight to behold indeed. This reminds me of a 60ft inflatable snowman that vanished from a shop roof overnight in November 2012. Officials at Wicklow town issued a public appeal for the safe return of ‘Snowy’.  Snowy was one of the centre pieces of Victorian Wicklow but it disappeared less than 48 hours after the launch of the Christmas festival. A few days later, the Gardai (Police) got an anonymous call to say that Snowy was in Wicklow Fitzwilliam Square. It was a much deflated Snowy that was recovered alongside a note which said ‘sorry’. In another unrelated event, a drunk was caught stealing an inflatable reindeer and walking with it about town.

Then there was this other report that a college graduate, had sent a box of 80 toilet rolls to repay the school for loot taken from a dormitory. Eastern New Mexico University says it received the gift box and a written apology. The box contained five packs of 16 rolls of two-ply, septic-safe tissue for a total of 80 rolls.

I honestly do not know whether to be amused or horrified

Call it a prank or a theft but sometimes we just cannot resist flicking a few cute and irresistible ‘souvenirs’. Some guests do it because it offers “mere access to a great product that’s hard to get.” If we think about it, most of us are culprits ourselves some point in time even though we are well able to purchase them if we had wanted to.

Examples abound: Flight passengers are known to smuggle out cutlery. I know a friend who even smuggled out a pillow from an aeroplane. Others steal floor mats from rented cars. Diners throw in sachets of sugar and tubs of marmalade into their Louis Vuitton  bags.

It is common knowledge that hotel guests steal towels, shampoo bottles, bathrobes and slippers. By stuffing the suitcase with as many hotel ‘goodies’ as possible they justify paying hefty hotel prices. While most hotels do not mind parting with their toiletries or stationery, there is a fine line when it comes to towels and such.

Apparently one woman in Nigeria was sentenced to three months in prison for stealing two towels from the Transcorp Hilton Abjua Hotel. Someone also wheeled out of reception a grand piano and someone’s pet dog.

TripAdvisor’s travel survey conducted in June-July 2013 reveals that 65% of global travellers and 69% of Malaysians admit to taking something from a hotel following their stay. Toiletries are the most popular pilfered items. 59% global hoteliers report that their guests often take a variety of items when they leave.

Apparently the reasons for stealing can be rather convoluted: some do it for fame, some for social justice (think Robin  Hood), some for the thrill of transgression, some as a dare and some even for a desire to be caught!

Actually, if we like to take the little tubes home, all we need to do is to ask, and far often than not, the management will give us the little tubes and even complimentary sachets of coffee and tea notwithstanding.

While some take things that do not belong to them, there are others who return what do not belong to them.

Sometime in May this year, three roommates in New York bought an old and smelly sofa from a charity shop for USD $20 only to discover approximately USD $40000 in cash stashed inside. Finders keepers would have been their justification should they choose to split the loot among themselves. But they chose to return it to the rightful owner and each was rewarded with USD $1K which was still a bit of a windfall to a student especially.

In another incident in Las Vegas, a taxi driver returned USD$300K that was left in the back seat of his taxi, to the rightful owner.

Unfortunately these are isolated incidents rather than the norm and we can say that most of us have lost our prized possessions and have never got them back.

SOURCE: http://www.nst.com.my/node/57779

Wearing My Heart on My Sleeve

With Michael Harding as he autographed his first book, Staring at Lakes

I love to read. Correction – I love to read books that are engaging. Not too short that all the significant bits are glossed over and not too long where after arriving at page 459, the end is no where near, and I have forgotten who is who in the plot. Certainly at this time of my life I am not going to read a book because I have to (as in book clubs and reading lists) but because I want to.

So having heard the news that ‘Hanging with the Elephant’ by Michael Harding has hit the bookshops, I rushed down to Limerick to get two copies – two because the bookshop was offering a deal of ‘buy the second book at half the price’ . Since I could not resist a good offer and I knew of other like-minded people who would appreciate it as a gift, I made the cashier a happier woman that day.

I enjoy memoirs. Having said that,  any drama, musical or film that is based on a true story will certainly hold my attention. In fact I once thought that Forrest Gump was real because I enjoyed the movie that much.

Harding’s style is fluid and I like it that there is no linear path to follow. This is perfectly logical as the mind is overwhelmed with thoughts of the past, present and future that are intricately intertwined and to trace and speak about them as if they are carefully arranged in an orderly manner is to do them great injustice. We are near enough to see the soul of the man and yet not that near as to rob him of his essence. We can read his thoughts and devour the book but yet we leave him intact at the end

of it.

Some say that writers are the custodians of memories but yet when I think of writing my own memoir, the greatest challenge is: would I dare to wear my heart on my sleeve? Would I dare to call a spade a spade and lay bare the traumas of my soul? Would my readers, especially if they can recognise themselves in the memoir be generous towards my writing or would they take me to court over something that I have written which displeases them? My perception of truth could be totally different from theirs.

Too often memories die with their owner. Our brain cells can only remember that much, so we forget the stories our parents had told us and wish there is some form of record that we can go back to. My father left me a pen and my mother her portrait. Both of which I treasure. But how lovely it would have been if my parents had left me their memoirs.

                                                           Map of South East Asia

My father was just a teenager when he left China in the 1900 for Malaysia. I can imagine how perilous the journey at sea would have been or how hungry he was that he had to sneak into the cargo area to scavenge for anything edible. What was it like when he first felt the scorching heat and the heavy humidity on his skin when he landed in the new country he would call home for the rest of his life?

My parents

In those days marriages were arranged. What was it like for my mother to have married a man she had never met before? How did she survive living in poverty in a wooden shack in the jungle surrounded by tigers and other wild beasts? She did tell me that she saw tiger paw prints surrounding the house. Although they narrated these stories to their children, it is strange how we remember bits and pieces but never the whole. Stranger still when different children remember different bits and pieces. And there is no one to tell us if our memories are fictional or real.

At one stage or another, some of us have toyed with the idea of writing something about ourselves and getting it printed. In the meantime, we keep journal entries that are privy to our eyes alone. We even keep public and private blogs. We write articles, poems and short stories and make someone else the protagonist.

It is always safer to create a character to speak for us, to provide the voice for what we think or feel. We hide behind the security that the stories we write are based on our experiences but we are not the story per se. Another nagging worry is would anyone be interested in our lives and are we not being presumptuous that there is a whole community out there just dying to know our story? After all, we are just living everyday lives and we have neither walked on the moon nor discovered penicillin.

Maybe I would wait until I am 60 to write my memoir. Maybe I never will. But in the meantime, I would wait for Michael Harding to come to the nearest city so I could get my book autographed.

This is as good as it gets.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/node/53320

STATUS UPDATE: FEELING LOVED

Facebook has enhanced its status update product, which allows users to share what they are doing or how they are feeling in a structured and visual way. This is the most basic kind of sharing because it only requires the use of words or emoticons to express ourselves, our thoughts and opinions.

We have feeling excited, bored, happy, amused, sick and many more. I have not counted them but there must be hundreds of them and my personal favourite is feeling loved.

To me, it is the small things that make us feel loved and I found lots of small things at a recent festival that we went to.

I love animals in general and could not resist being up close and personal with the four-legged kind. It is not everyday that one could sneak up to a Friesian cow and look at her lovely eyelashes or give a horse some sugar lumps. Rural Ireland has its charms and against spectacular scenery, there are woolly sheep grazing and  Friesian cows unabashedly chewing their cud. 

So I look forward to farming related festivals especially the annual National Ploughing Championships.  The only problem is the weather as there could be practically four seasons in an ordinary Irish day. Even if the sun is out, there could be strong winds and it is safer to bring along an umbrella, just in case.

I need not have feared because we started out with the sun shining brightly as we made our way to Stradbally in County Laois recently. As the festival ground was a distance from the car park, we had to stand on a trailer that was towed by a tractor. The feeling of being ‘herded’ into the fair made me feel more connected than ever with the animals in the field.

There were over 1400 exhibitors and well over 200,000 visitors. After all it is Europe’s largest outdoor exhibition and agricultural trade show. In order to attract customers most of the stalls have loads of food and drink samples and freebies. A bit of cheese here and a small cup of spaghetti there could really fill one up and I am not talking about the free buns, cakes and cookies. They were giving out free car ice-scrapers as well even though winter has not yet arrived. Very generous indeed.

There was a band stand and just watching endearing old couples waltzing and jiving made me go all soft inside : farmers with their flat caps and tweed jackets and senior ladies in long skirts, red lipstick and pearls. Everyone came to revel in the festive mood – the young, the old, the babies, the disabled – and there were facilities for all.

A reflection of a society that cares.

Out of curiosity, I sauntered towards the Irish beekeeper’s stand. It was interesting to observe a glass casing which showcased live bees and the honeycomb. The joy of being educated about nature’s secrets! A tall man painstakingly explained to me what the bees were doing and added ‘If you wait a little longer and look closely enough, you can see the Queen bee.’ Feigning innocence I quipped, ‘And should I be looking out for the one that wears the crown?’ to which he responded with a loud guffaw.

When I spotted a life-sized cardboard Friesian cow with a cut out where the face should be, I could not resist resting my chin there. It was great fun watching mascots walking around in animal suits and swishing their tails and baring their teeth. I could not resist taking ‘selfies’ with them either.

A great necessity at any trade show is the toilet. Not particularly fond of visiting public toilets, I asked the person-in-charge whether it was clean. So he did me a personal service and cleaned it for me and even sprayed a huge cloud of air-freshener.

“There you are, a great strawberry fragrance for you and mind yourself now…” he said.

It is indeed the little things that make your mood – the good weather, the tractor-trailer experience, the freebies, the dancing free-spirit, the banter, the childlike antics of being a cardboard cow or hugging a mascot and the clean toilet created especially for you.

Status Update: Feeling loved.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/node/48611