Stepping Into Retirement Zone

If there is anything more lovely, it would be to see two dancers doing the tango. Tango scenes with "Por una Cabeza" appear in movies like The Scent of a Woman, True Lies, Frida and Schindler’s List. When done professionally, the dance is seamless, the movements effortless. The difference between amateurs and professionals is practice, practice, practice.

Just like retirement.

To live retirement the way it is intended is to learn to dance through the sunshine and the rain. There’s a sign in a coffee shop in Chicago which reads ‘As you wander through life brother, whatever be your goal. Keep your eye upon the doughnut and not upon the hole.’

And this requires lots of practice.

The beginning of a year is about the best time to focus on how we would like the rest of the year to be. Just as many are entering the workforce for the first time, a great number are also leaving it. I am surrounded by friends who are retiring and rumours of others retiring.

Retirement can be a very frightening phenomenon for some. It is stepping into a completely different zone where you are not defined by your work or your achievements. I know of some who feel completely lost and fall into a state of depression because they are no longer surrounded by the familiar. Slowly but surely, they let themselves go – their  physical appearance, their mental development and their social networking.

If gaining perfection in dancing means practice, feeling empowered during retirement means attitude change,

Most of us had a number of ambitions when we were younger, but finally settled for one profession.  I was no different. I wanted to go to art school. I also wanted to become a journalist. But most of all I wanted to be a full time home maker. Along the way, I became a lecturer and loved what I did.

Now that I have retired, I find myself enrolling in art classes, writing for the papers and magazines and enjoying the life of a full time home maker. It’s strange how I have come full circle and am loving every bit of it because it is learning everything all over again without the stress and the worry.

I was reading a letter in the Aunt Agony column in a local paper where a retired person sought advice for a more meaningful life. I was surprised that Aunt Agony advised her to mind her grandchildren full time so she could feel ‘useful’ again. Nothing wrong with baby-sitting now and again but how sad when having gone through the toil of bringing up her own children, according to Aunt Agony, that seemed to be the only possible avenue for her to seek happiness! Surely, she had a right to develop her new-found identity and enjoy the spoils of her labour.

One of the greatest challenges facing the retired person is the fear of stepping out. When a student leaves school, there is a fear of stepping out to a new world, be it tertiary education or the working world. But what gives her a sense of stability is the guarantee that there will be new people in college or the workplace that she can be friends with.

The person who retires from the office leaves behind her colleagues or friends and unless she has some form of a social life, she has to muster all her energy to break into new groups. There is a great number of senior citizens where I live and there are many ladies who have outlived their husbands. So springs a great variety clubs and organisations and charitable bodies where they can get involved in.

A merry heart is good medicine. When we listen, there are many things that can make us smile. 

One of my friends once lamented that the hedgehogs did not go to her garden anymore to which another lady cheekily suggested that she should make a little door with a sign post ‘Hedgehogs Welcome’. In another instance, I asked a lady whether she was on-line because I wanted to email her some photos. She said, ‘No dear, I’m not online. I’m off-line and most times I’m out of line and hanging on a line.’

I systematically spring clean. By now most of my office-related materials have gone to the recycling bin.The only tangible reminder of the days when I used to go to office is my planner. I may have retired but my planner is still choc-full of appealing activities and I’m learning something new every day.

So, although the spring and summer years are gone, I regret nothing nor hanker after what is lost and what could have been. Instead I keep my eye on the beauty of autumn and winter and learn to dance amidst the falling leaves and icy snowflakes.

In short, I keep my eye upon the doughnut and not upon the hole.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  22/3/2015 :

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150322nstnews/index.html#/21/

Like Frogs We Can't Skip Our Past

My friend bought a house with a pond but decided that she did not want the pond. So she had it transformed into something else, not realising that she was about to face another problem.

The pond was once home to a bunch of happy frogs. Even after the pond was drained, to her horror, she discovered a mass of dead tadpoles lying there.

Apparently, frogs go back to the pond where they were born to spawn. It is probably that they use magnetoreception to locate the general position of their home ground.

At some point or another we are also interested in our roots.

In Ireland ancestry tracing is big time. We have television programmes like ‘Who do you think you are?’ Every week, a popular personality traces his roots. This journey through generations of ordinary lives reveals extraordinary stories. 

Since I was back in Malaysia recently, I went back to my hometown which had become almost unrecognizable. The roads that I once cycled on had become very busy one-way streets as cars zoomed noisily on them. The schools that I went to all looked so different. There used to be a rubber estate next to my primary school and in our school uniforms, we would excitedly look for birds’ nests and such during recess time. There was also a stream where we could wash our palettes and brushes after art class. A housing estate now stands in its place and the school is fenced in with barb wire.

Tengku Mariam Primary School

Temenggong Ibrahim Girls' School (secondary)

Batu Pahat High School (Form 6 )

I miss the old.

As it was the school break, there was no one around. So I sneaked into a classroom and sat on a small wooden chair and relived the moments of my primary school days.

I could actually hear the ‘ghost of teacher-past’ telling me about Amsterdam and cheese and clogs. Geography was one of my favourite subjects and that planted the ‘I must see the world’ seed in me. If only I could tell the teacher that I have visited Amsterdam, tasted the cheese and worn the clogs.

I used to be very afraid of entering the school toilet because of all the ghost stories associated with it. So I purposely made a trip into one, to confront my fears.

Next was a visit to my favourite haunts. Somehow everything was magnified through the eyes of a child. The hawker stalls seemed more varied then and the food I thought was the food of gods, failed to convince. However, visiting the houses that I once lived in and the town park where my father brought me in a trishaw to play, brought back irreplaceable memories and pride.

I could not trace my ancestral line beyond my parents. Although I have no affinity towards any living relations, it would be rather interesting to see the village in China where my father had lived as a child.

As I savoured the local coffee served in a porcelain cup and saucer (complete with a small porcelain spoon to stir the coffee) I felt that taking a trip down memory lane is a trip of affirmation. It affirms my perception of life – the familiar and the unfamiliar. The town of one’s childhood has a lot of say about who we are and what we have become. In fact, many great people have come from my town – the respectable and the bohemian.

It is a lovely thing to go back to where we were born.

So why should I be surprised if frogs go back to the same place to spawn?

The last I heard of it, my friend has decided to reopen the pond for the frogs.

If you can’t beat them, join them.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS  15 March 2015 TIMES http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150315nstnews/index.html#/19/

MEANINGFUL TRADITIONS OF THE LUNAR NEW YEAR

The thing about festive celebrations is you basically want them to go on and on. It is not only about the onset of the festival but the days or months leading up to it.

For us who live faraway, we start booking flight, bus or train tickets  home at the earliest date possible. I remember when I was studying in Kuala Lumpur, I would rush to the bus station to secure coach tickets once the counters were open. There was no on-line booking then.

I had to buy several tickets for all the short journeys that would eventually take me back to my hometown in Batu Pahat because the direct-link bus tickets were all sold out. There was no griping or complaining because the heart and the head were all in unison with the idea of going home, however long it took.

Certain areas like Petaling Street or Chinatown would be a buzzed about the festival. I used to make a few trips there just to feel the atmosphere, smell the roasted chestnuts and to listen to the Chinese new year songs being blared from the loud speakers. I haven’t been to Petaling Street for some time now and I wonder if it is still the same?

Today is the fourth day of the Chinese New Year and there are 11 more days of celebration to go. To the child that is sheer happiness and although I am a child no longer, I still feel a strange sort of excitement this time of the year.

Like any Malaysian, I am preoccupied with food. I enjoy eating and the adventures associated with the preparation of food or the searching for eating joints that serve mouth watering food. In fact, any dish that is well cooked and garnished bids to be photographed. So I have picture albums dedicated to food alone or to people sitting round a table laden with food. It is not unusual to see me cooking any time of the day or night.

Three types of delicacies that I enjoy which are synonymous to the Chinese New Year festival are yee sang (vegetable and fish salad),  ningko (sticky glutinous rice cake) and mandarin oranges.

Since I belong to the Teochew clan, I’m proud to say that yee sang is a Teochew-style raw fish salad which consists of raw fish and shredded vegetables. Eating yee sang is a cultural activity where all diners at the table stand up and on cue, proceed to toss the shredded ingredients into the air with chopsticks while voicing out auspicious wishes. The higher the tossing, the greater the diner’s increase in abundance and fortune.

Next on the list is ningko or the sticky glutinous rice cake. I love it steamed and rolled in coconut or sandwiched between slices of yam and sweet potato and fried in batter. The story behind the sticky glutinous rice cake is one of human’s cunning. This sticky sweet snack is believed to be an offering to the Kitchen God, so that he can't badmouth the human family in front of the Jade Emperor as his mouth will be stuck with the sticky cake.

Then there are the mandarin oranges that are considered traditional symbols of abundance and good fortune.

When we waddle away after a good meal with family and friends, I believe there is a great release of endorphins. It could be because the meal was gastronomically satisfying or because of the company that we were with.  Or better still, it could be a combination of both. Scientists have named it ingestion analgesia which is the good feeling after eating.

Finally, Chinese New Year may last for 15 days but the wonderful thing is, it comes around every year. There are 12 zodiac animals in the Chinese tradition and each zodiac animal appears once every 12 years., 2015 being the year of the goat.

           

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 22/2/2015 :
http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150222nstnews/index.html#/18/

WE WERE ALL YOUNG ONCE

The first television set that my parents bought was a 17 inch black and white with antennae that we called rabbit ears. Most days reception was excellent but just when my favourite movies like The Brady Bunch (sitcom) and The Virginian (western) were on, the screen, as if it had a personal vendetta, would go fuzzy.

When football matches with Soh Chin Aun  alongside the late Mokhtar Dahari and R. Arumugam were on, I would see stripes on the television screen instead of the football field - vertical stripes that became diagonal stripes depending on where the wind blew. And I would soldier on, glued to the idiot box, praying for a miracle to happen.

Indeed those were the days when we had simple faith and entertainment was very, very basic.

Nowadays, with so many channels to choose from, we can literally sit and flick the remote control to find one that suits. It was in this manner one evening, that I chanced upon ‘Reeling in the Years’ on Sky Arts and the featured band was The Hollies from Manchester with ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother’.

A name as archaic as the hills now, but during my teenage years, they were the bee's knees, at least to me anyway. I remember wishing for the Hollies to stage a concert at Stadium Negara and how I would save up to go see them if they ever came. But only after overcoming the initial hurdle – my parents. Like most parents at that time, pop bands from the West were all wild and a bad influence for their daughters.

I had posters of my favourite bands, poster boys like David Cassidy, advertisements of Wrangler and Texwood jeans all plastered on the walls of my room. Sometimes when no one was looking, I would even kiss the paper images and imagine myself being the girlfriend of one of them.

Deep down, many of us wanted to marry a Westerner.

Somehow Westerners seemed to be more handsome, more understanding and more romantic. After all the westerners that we were exposed to were mainly Hollywood or British stars at their best so the local boys down the street pale in contrast.

We would also sing the songs, having memorised every word. If my parents were within ear shot I would just hum those parts that had references to love or sex just in case they might understand those words although they spoke no English. The words in question of course were very mild and innocent compared to the outright and crude lyrics of some of  today’s pop songs.

We would imitate the way our pop idols look. For the boys, polo neck sweaters and bell-bottom trousers and long hair. 

For the girls, bob or curly hairstyle and mini skirts and jeans. I was one of the earliest to wear jeans in my town and after receiving a fair share of wolf whistles from total strangers, my parents deemed it was improper for a girl to wear jeans. There was a family conference with my mum threatening to cut the jeans and my dad wanting to keep them away from me forever. There were lots of protests and tears from the angry teen who thought life was not fair at all.

I never saw the jeans again until about five years later when almost every girl was wearing jeans in the town. By then jeans were a thing of the past and being a trend setter, I had moved on to something else.

With Valentine’s day around the corner, I am reminded of another event.

Just like old songs, a certain fragrance can also evoke a gamut of memories. It was also during that era that ‘Brut’ a line of men's grooming and fragrance products first launched in 1964 by Fabergé was the fragrance that men identified by.

I had my first valentine card when I was 13. The card measured 14 inches by 10 inches and was hand made by a student studying art in Toronto. Inside the card was a small piece of tissue soaked in Brut. I kept the tissue under my pillow for a very long time.

Such is the beauty of memories.

We were young once.


THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 8/2/2015 :

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150208nstnews/index.html#/21/

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