MINDING WHAT IS NOT YOURS

                        

                        I believe that many of us have lent someone something that belongs to us, a book for example,  

                        and when it is returned to us (if it ever gets returned at all) it is not quite in the same

                        original pristine condition.            
                        I remember there was a time when text books were passed 
                        down from one sibling to another. 

                       We took great care of them because we knew someone else would be using them. 

                       My sister was in primary six when my cousin who was in primary five wanted to borrow 

                        her textbooks for the following  academic year. 

                       Because I was in primary four and had no need of the books yet, my mother decided 

                       that my cousin could use the textbooks. However, when the cousin finally returned 

                       the books to us, we were aghast that most of the pages were scribbled all over

                       and had dog ears. There was also a strange musty smell reeking from the pages. 

                       

                       We agreed never to lend any more textbooks to that particular cousin. 

                       

                       Well, I have just experienced this again.

                       This time it is not a textbook but one of my favourite craft books and it certainly is not

                        cheap. To say that my heart bled when my book came back bedraggled and beyond

                        recognition is indeed an understatement. I never expected that from an adult.

                        

                       It baffles me why people fail to mind what is not theirs. It is to know how to appreciate,

                       to recognize and to take care of what belongs to others. It is an example of good stewardship 

                       over things that are put in our custody. That is integrity and respect. 

                       People are careless about things that belong to others when they are not taught accountability.

                       It is never too late to learn that there are negative consequences for negative actions. Imagine 

                       if a child breaks something that does not belong to them and the parent pays for the damage. 

                      I would not be surprised if the child grows into an adult who always looks for a 

                      get- out- of- jail- free card. 

                                    

                      Teach the child to treat the things that belong to others exactly as they would like their things 

                      to be treated. Requiring the child to pay for any items damaged due to lack of respect will teach 

                      him to think twice about not respecting another person's things. Unfortunately with families getting

                      more financially affluent and parents having fewer kids by  choice, getting children to face and pay 

                     for their misdeeds might seem quite barbaric indeed. 

                             

                      And it is not only the lack of consideration for things alone that irks me.

                       If I may stretch the concept further, the same scene confronts us daily when we see how people 

                      will keep their own homes spotless and yet litter parks, playgrounds and roads.  

                      Most public amenities are a sorry sight especially toilets. We see people walking their dogs without

                      picking up after them and others getting drunk at night and littering the sidewalks with empty

                      beer bottles. The golden rule is to leave everything a bit better than when you found it. 

                      I once had an apartment that was rented out to a student. When he finally vacated the building, 

                      I found the marble furniture broken. In addition, the wardrobe had missing hinges, the bedclothes 

                      and  walls were scribbled all over with permanent ink and the place was immensely filthy. 

                      And all this happened within six months. After all the repairs, I decided to sell the apartment to 

                      avoid further heartache.  

       

                      How many times have we also felt our space and peace being invaded?

                      We hear bawling children in restaurants just when we want to have a decent meal. We have to put

                      up with loud voices and unruly children in places of worship. We have to suffer the kicking of feet 

                     against our seats  in the cinema or on the plane.  We have to bear with the loud conversations 

                     over someone else’s mobile phone when we use public transport. We have to entertain visitors
                     who come with their boisterous brood who make it their business to tear down the house with  

                     their rambunctious acts and all their parents do is to smile proudly at their angelic children 

                     and blame it all on the disease called hyperactivity. 

                     So back to my book which is in a sorry state.  

                     If I pointed it out to her, she might go all apologetic and make me feel bad for bringing it up in the 

                     first place. Or she might not speak to me again, the way things go with overly 

                     sensitive people and then I would lose a friend who can be rather nice in other areas. 

                     There is no win-win situation but one thing I am very sure of is:

                      I will not lend her any more books in future.

                       THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES       19/4/2015 
                          http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150419nstnews/index.html#/23/

       

The Joy of Travelling Comes in Many Forms

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

Ah…the joy of travelling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.