SERENITY NOW!

Aurora Borealis from space.

2012-01-31T14:42:00.001+01:00

Bedtime Ping Pong

2012-01-30T00:44:00.001+01:00

Isn’t it amazing how kids have 1001 requests just before bedtime? Yes, we get those very often in this house too.

EJ: Mama, can I please borrow your laptop? I want to search for a song on Youtube.

Me: It’s bedtime. Do it tomorrow.

I continued cleaning up in the kitchen while Little Missy was running around in the living room pretending she was a fairy, able to change everything and everybody. DH and Spike were on the sofa talking geography.

EJ: Mom, can I please borrow your hp then?

Me: No, enough multimedia. Get ready to go to bed, please.

EJ: I can’t go to sleep unless I listen to that song once.

Me: (ignore! ignore! ignore! stand firm! It’s bedtime!)

EJ: Maaaa …

Me: Oh God! … tell me the song and I’ll sing it for you! (I immediately regretted saying that)

EJ: …errr …

Me: Tell me! I’ll sing it for you!

EJ: It’s called …‘Devil May Cry’ …???? *raised eyebrows and looked smugly at me*

I laughed my head off although I was at the same time making a mental note that EJ should really be given a computer-ban for at least a year!

Missy: Mommy! Mommy! can you please adjust my wings. They’re a bit ‘senget’ …

Me: Now, THIS is something I’m VERY good at … *raised eyebrows while looking at EJ*

Spike: Mom, do we have more kebab leftovers?

Sooner or later, I will get naturally Ziana-Zain eyebrows! Ta daaaaa! :D

The Guest House – Rumi.

2012-01-26T11:14:00.001+01:00

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

The sky, from my living room at 0930 yesterday.

Pe’ah kembali lagi!

2012-01-19T23:36:00.001+01:00

Dah lama jugak tak sembang sembang tang ni. Bukannya apa … Pe’ah ssiiiiiibuk sungguh la ni. Tapi dalam duk sibuk sibuk tu dan lah jugak duk jengok jengok facebook dalam sepuluh kali sejam, duk mengusik oghang tu oghang ni. Dalam duk sibuk tu pun sempat jugak tengok Ombak Rindu dua kali! Nak buat macamana kan, kita kena ikut perkembangan semasa. Disebabkan Pe’ah ni ‘dasar kampungan’, tiap kali tengok mesti lah habih tisu sekotak.

Cakap pasai perkembangan, Pe’ah la ni kiranya ghajin la jugak duk pi gym. Niat nak kughuih ni tiap tiap tahun duk di mulut tapi tak kughuih kughuih pun. Oghang tulih nama kat list, kita pun tulih nama kat list. Tengok tengok kena list yang 3 jam gedebum gedebam lompat tak ingat dunia.

Nama dah ada dlm list, Pe’ah pun dah duk berdighi depan pintu gelanggang. Nak buat macamana? Oghang panggey masuk, Pe’ah pun masuk lah walaupun kaki ghasa beghat ya amat. Bila masuk saja, tengok-tengok ghamai lagi mek-mek salleh yang Alhamdulillah … tiba tiba ghasa ‘eeeee kughuihnya aku’….hahaha! Tapi jangan buat main, mek-mek viking ni walaupun ada yang Alhamdulillah tapi tangkaih tangkaih belaka.

Nasib Pe’ah tak beghapa baik haghi pertama tu, duk belakang soghang mek yang sangat hyper. Dah la kughuih, tinggi macam galah. Bila dia melompat menaghi Zumba, tangan dia terkelepiaq-kelepiaq macam dengan tak dak sendi. Terpaksalah Pe’ah gelak, kan? Benda-benda ni mana boleh tahan tahan. Tak baguih untuk sistem!

Masuk jam ke dua, jantung Pe’ah dah ghasa macam nak jatuh ke lantai. Yang mengajaq tu baru 20 tahun. Dia melompat macam kerkebel***. Baru saja kita nak rest sat, dia dah tiup wisel.

*Masuk gelanggang!Masuk! Masuk!* dia duk keghiyau keghiyau. Saja tau dia ni …

Sambung dengan Tabata - Dengaq ke nama, ingatkan senaman cool cool yang macam oghang Jepun duk buat tu. Ghupa ghupanya macam dengan training askar. Sambey duk fokus buat apa oghang duk buat, dalam hati terbayang lah jumlah jumlah kilo yang bedebuk debuk jatuh ataih lantai. Uih! lagi Pe’ah bayang, lagi sakan Pe’ah lompat!

Tiba tiba, telinga Pe’ah mula berdengung. Alamak! nak pitam ka ni? Habih! Habih! Habih! Malu! Malu! Malu! Dengan penuh keanggunan (yang nyata dibuat buat!), Pe’ah jalan pi kat tepi tingkap yang terbukak luas tu, buat buat kipas kipas sikit dengan tangan dan sengaja huloq kepala keluar macam dengan tak cukup angin nak sedut masuk. Dalam hati duk mula nampak tajuk muka depan sughat habaq esok pagi:

WANITA ASIA GEDIK SAMPAI PENGSAN

Oh tidak! Neyhi…neyhi….neeeeeeyyyyhiiiiiii!

Bila dah ghasa OK sikit, Pe’ah sambung balik. Baghu kita nak syok, dah semua beghemba-ghemba keluaq pi capai basikal spinning pulak soghang satu. Kami pun kayuh la ghamai ghamai. Mulanya tu, Pe’ah lah antagha yang paling bersemangat. Makin lama, makin pelan … makin pelan … makin pelan … makin Pe’ah terbayang beca Tok Din di Aloq Staq. Oghang lain kayuh sakan ikut lagu rancak, Pe’ah yang duk sebelah tepi sempat lagi duk byebye byebye kat kawan di luaq…hahaha!

Preeeeeet! *Semua masuk gelanggang balik! Jom! Jom! Jom!*

Pe’ah tughun dari basikal tapi tak boleh ghasa ada kaki langsung. Teghuih tersepok ataih lantai. Maka masuklah adegan kedua … buat buat taghik nafas, stretch tangan kighi kanan ataih kepala, stretch dan picit picit kaki yang dah hilang entah ke mana. Bila semua oghang dah keluaq baru Pe’ah berpaut kat tingkap dan mangkit berdighi pelan pelan.

Preeeeeet! *Masuk gelanggang!*

Oih! tak dak kesian kesian punya. Ini boot camp ka apa?! Maka Pe’ah pun laghi laghi masuk sambey buat buat minum ayaq dan lap peluh.

Betapa leganya Pe’ah bila setengah jam yang akhir tu hanya untuk stretching. Ingatkan boleh la chong-chong sedikit sebanyak tapi mata instructor macam dengan apa lagi. Ghasanya dia ni dulu askar Norway reject sebab terlampau hyper. La ni duk mai buat kalut kat gym saja lah kerja dia … kot!

Pagi esoknya tu, Pe’ah mangkit saja dah keghaih satu badan. Jalan macam robot. Nak turun tangga pun ghasa perit. Kalau boleh gelungsoq tughun, Pe’ah dah gelungsoq tughun dah!

Anak anak tanya *Awat mama jalan lagu tu?*

Mama senyum kelat padahal dalam hati ghasa macam nak ghenggah teghiak:

HUWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Sejak haghi tu, Pe’ah dah mula jadi budak baik dah. Tambah tambah lah bila ingat duit gaji yang kena potong tiap tiap bulan untuk bayaq yuran gym. Niat nak kughuih dah buang jauh jauh. Tak pasai pasai duk menambah stress … tak sapa sughuh! La ni pi gym cuma pasai nak jaga kesihatan saja. Nak tengok anak anak ni membesaq. Dan bila dah selesai semua tanggungjawab nanti, nak jalan jalan caghi pasai dengan kanda --- hahahaha!

***kerkebel = kera kena belacan :D

Nineteen

2012-01-16T10:48:00.002+01:00

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, T!

Wo Ai Te Ni

2012-01-07T02:41:00.001+01:00

Next to my childhood home is a Chinese temple. The two storey building was often quiet and peaceful. The people who frequented it, discreet and polite. They always greet my parents with ‘Selamat Petang, Haji … How are you?’ and ‘Cikgu … sudah makan ka?’ – Never mind the fact that my mother had never been a teacher all her life!

The serene atmosphere at the temple in the early morning with a group of people doing tai-chi in the courtyard stayed like a treasured photograph in my mind. Sometimes the wind took the pleasant whiff of incense right into our home.

The setting could not have been more 1Malaysia, for the temple lay nestled among Malay houses and manned by an Indian caretaker. The caretaker lived in a small room in the annex and was unfortunately uninterested in people, in general. During the years that he was there, he did not make any contact with anybody nor did he get visits from anybody. Therefore, for a large part of my childhood, I thought he was simply a deaf mute.

Besides being a place of worship, the temple also doubled as a clubhouse. In the afternoons, middle-aged nyonyas with their permed hair, glasses and well manicured nails would gather to play mahjong. I remember being amazed with how many words came out simultaneously from the mouth of all the ladies. Language is one fantastic tool! They chattered on as we gawked, trying to make sense of the logic of the bricks. I guess those were the early days of distance learning.

Occasionally, social events took place at the temple/clubhouse. There would be a lot of commotion from very early in the morning. The banging of pots and pans in the early morning in our neighbourhood did not signal a matrimonial crisis but rather foretold the ‘happy hours’ coming up later in the day. In the late afternoon, the smell of chicken soup and other typical Chinese dishes started to spread in the neighbourhood, but not strong enough to rival the aroma of my mother’s Gulai Siam in our kitchen!

When the sound engineer (!) started his *testing…testing…1 2 3* in all sorts of style and tone, I imagined him to be a DJ look-alike complete with bell bottom pants and unbuttoned shirt revealing a hairy chest. Reality can sometimes be quite sad! He sang bits and pieces of Chinese evergreens. It was his moment. One year, he discovered the echo button and the *1,2,3…testing…testing* became a lengthy one man show.

Guests started arriving in all their glitz and glamour. Dressing up was a must for such an occasion and that would include sequins, feathers, high heels, and well made up face and hairdo. It was very festive. With never ending flow of food and bubblies, such event would also entail a lot of ‘Yaaaammmmm Seng!’ until way past midnight. Entertainment in the form of karaoke involved guests of all ages. (Yes, many utilized the echo effect to an alarming rate!).

Thinking about it now, one song came to my mind. It was apparently one of the top hits then. Having listened to it so often, I managed to sing the first verse pretty well. (The following verses were in gibberish Chinese. Well, at least I thought it sounded Chinese!).

The party often went on until way past midnight. Once the guests had gone home, the cleaning up and tidying up created even more noise. Still, none of us in the neighbourhood complained. It was OK. It was acceptable.

The morning after, there were often many beer bottles and caps in our driveway. It was something that the Management was never happy about. As the caretaker cleared up, I stood on the swing singing *Wo ai te ni* at the top of my voice, not knowing what it meant. I repeated the same verse for what must have seemed like a thousand times to him :D

Over the years, the temple/clubhouse was painted in different colours, renovated and the annex too grew as the caretaker got married and started a family.

As more and more people prefer to use hotels and fancy restaurants as the venue for their parties, the temple/club house is now most of the time housing an exhibition of porcelain from China. Things have changed there too. No more ladies meeting up for a mahjong. There were no more friendly exchanges of greetings over the fence.

Our neighbourhood is quiet with the sounds of lively parties at the Chinese temple now. Instead there is the noise of a busy main street and the clanking and knocking sounds across the road of another rapid construction project. I shudder to think that the noises of a thriving neighbourhood may have gone quiet for good.

Penutup untuk 2011 :) *Salam Tahun Baru untuk semua**

2011-12-31T14:32:00.001+01:00

A no-rush weekend - 111211

2011-12-12T01:31:00.001+01:00

We were in Loen again on Saturday. And so were ten million other families! Well, it felt like it. Missy and I went to the outdoor pool for some peace and quiet. It was warm and nice although our ears froze. So it helped to have a mother daughter race to and fro many times and to compete on who could hold her breath underwater longer. Having lost her two front teeth, Missy really looked like a little vampire when she grinned at me after every round that she won.

The boys were with their daddy most of the time, doing what boys do best-. We were among the last ones to leave that night. The 2 hours’ ride home was very peaceful, thanks to some Apes entertaining our kids in the back seat.

While the kids initially thought that they would be left to have a free and easy Sunday, we dragged them out to the mountain. There was no mercy! It was totally white on Kvalheimsfjellet and there were more snow there than on the other side of the island where we live. It was tough for the two small ones to wade in the thigh-high snow and by the time we reached the lake,

Still, children have fantastic ability to bounce back. After a lot of rolling, hopping and digging, they managed to get to the other side of the world. We must never under-estimated our children’s abilities ;D

Although the days are short and our outing today was not accompanied by any sunshine at all, the light at the sea cliff was still very special.

I think it was good for all to have a break and have a proper weekend. It was good to know that while others were busy with their Christmas shopping, we were splashing around in the pool and rolling around in the snow.

errr … Our rush will come later, when everybody else is at home enjoying their Gløgg (hi-hi!). But then again, we thrive on adrenaline rush.

(yeah! right)

Seattle.

2011-12-07T00:33:00.001+01:00

Prior to my arrival, I have to admit that I knew very little of Seattle. I did know that quite a few successful Norwegian companies are based in the pacific north west, which partly contributed to the sizeable Norwegian population there, but little else. When I was told of some of the big names that originated from Seattle (Boeing, Microsoft, Amazon, Starbucks, Jimi Hendrix(!) to name a few), I was pleasantly surprised.

The 7 hours flight from Keflavik to Seattle was rather uneventful. I was dreading the first dinner that would take place half an hour after we arrived. Even for a low maintenance, close to makeup-free person like me, the thirty minutes to get ready was rather stretching it quite a bit! I imagined myself turning up with oily hair, looking dishevelled and smelling of hydrogen sulphide from a whole day of gallivanting in volcano country !

J was already waiting for us at Tacoma and the drive up to Seattle was one of the slowest that I have been on. It was beginning to rain and we were caught in the rush hour. Driving through from Tacoma to Seattle is pretty much like taking a trip along the social strata: from shabby, rickety houses in working class areas to the more affluent apartment blocks and residential area downtown.

Checking in at one of the hotels at Lake Union was very brief and within 20 minutes we were back in the lobby all freshened up and ready to head out and meet up with the others who were representing various companies. With my head spinning and eyelids that felt as if they had a ton of lead hanging on each of them, I dug into dinner and networked. The nine hours’ time difference, the jet lag and the waiters’ attentiveness to fill up my glass of water ALL the time made it possible for me to feel ‘high’ on plain water all night!

I did get some time to look around Downtown Seattle while I was there. Seattle has many different ‘flavours’. One of the Norwegian delegates was informing me how he reacted on his first visit to the States several years ago. He said it was like finally seeing the sitcoms coming to life. I smiled at his reflection and thought ‘yeah! right’ … until I ventured downtown, did some people-watching and saw the colours of life. The gangs hanging around on Third Avenue, the woman shouting on the phone ‘I DON’T have a JOB!’ next to a bus, the scores of nicely dressed career people rushing around to each their destinations, the cheeky roadside sweeper who sent me two blocks away in the wrong direction, the tourists who placed themselves in front of different landmarks to get their picture taken doing the V-sign and so on and so forth.

Sitting down in Starbucks (where else!), I watched people going about their business and thought how different it is from the quiet island where I came from. I was jolted out from my thought by a man knocking on the glass wall.

I smiled and shook my head. Instead of cursing me, he smiled back and shouted:

“Have a good day, Ma’am!”

I personally find the locals to be polite and very friendly. From those on the streets, to the various services providers and to those new acquaintances that I made --- they were all so … so … so American. Their cheerful and extrovert way of being was, plain and simple, contagious.

During one of the dinners, I started discussing about exactly this, thinking that perhaps I have broken the code and figured out the psyche of the everyday American. Our Ms. Seattle, seated next to Mrs. Halifax exchanged look and broke into a chorus:

“NOOOOooooooooo… It’s just Seattle. Just Seattle. Go to New York and you’ll find that it’s a different case altogether there”

Out of respect to my local hosts, I smiled politely and left it at that. I would rather go to New York and make my own conclusion. In the mean time, I will have to rely on first hand observations of my few good friends in New York.

How would I summarise my gastronomic experience? Abundance - in variety and portion. Especially portion! Coupled that with enthusiastic waiters who almost burst with passion when they presented the food to the table, the possibility of being a beached whale by the end of each meal was rather higher than normal.

A visit to at least one museum is a must for me no matter what town I find myself in. The Seattle Art Museum (SAM) was a welcome break from the daily routines.

The exhibition in the Native American wing featured totem poles, ceremonial masks and many other cultural objects. Although I would have liked to have the kids there with me, walking around on my own (for once!) was a very special experience. Thus, when I saw a mother patiently explaining why the moon features very often in Native American’s art, I felt I could have taken my hat off for her. I spent about 3 hours at the SAM.

There were exhibitions of Australian aboriginal art (including the sculpture connected to bereavement, known as Sorry Business), African masks (including the Ligbi masks, used to celebrate the end of Ramadan), European renaissance paintings, Asian watercolours and a collection of porcelain dinnerware from around the world.

Seattle has more or less the same kind of climate as we do in Vestlandet – plenty of rain. We were lucky to just get a drizzle on one single day while we were there. On most days, it was sunny in the morning , gloomy in the late afternoons. Walking around downtown in the evening was a lively experience. The price level of goods and services in Seattle was in general a lot lower than that of Norway. Along Pine and Pike Street alone one could find all high-end branded goods costing less than what we pay at the H&M, Lindex, Kappahl, Zara chain-stores in Norway.

Although I enjoyed walking around, checking out the good deals there, I was more attracted to the Pike Market because I feel that that is where the soul of Seattle is. At the Pike Market, one can go completely crazy (and one definitely did!). There were surprises in every corner you take, on every level you go. For the record - due to its location- I dropped by almost every day! Be it for the food, the photo motives, the atmosphere or the shopping, Pike Market was one magnetic place. At least, for me.

(pictures above from www.pikeplacefish.com)

While friendly fishmongers threw fish to one another to the delight of customers and onlookers, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm donuts/cakes pulled you to the opposite direction. This is definitely not a place to even try to think of dieting!

There were bouquets of flowers in all the colours of the rainbow, lavender goods, ceramics , French crepes, herbs, various types of tea/coffee/chocolate (PS: their raspberry chocolate drink – to die for!) and many many more. In a hidden corner, a shop smelling of sandalwood offered everything spiritual and supernatural from far away lands. It was indeed a feast for the senses. I especially liked the beautifully arranged chillies, that could either be used or left to dry up as pretty kitchen decorations.

The laid back humour was what attracted me most to this place (and to Seattle, in general!). One magic shop in the lower level knew that it was probably going to attract a lot of kids with all its thingamajigs, and had put this note on the entrance door!

Seattle has left me with many good memories and impressions. And yes, another thing happened while I was in Seattle. I turned 43! :)

There are more to see in Seattle and I guess a return trip (with the kids) is due sooner or later. As much as I enjoyed seeing new places, I looked forward to returning to my kids, to the usual routines, to work, to rain … and yes, to Sushi too! :)

Bayangkanlah

2011-12-04T03:34:00.001+01:00

Pejamkan mata

Bayangkan segala yang indah indah

Mimpikan apa yang kau citakan masa depan

Bayangkanlah

Lalu kau langkahkan kaki …

by DH

Bukan Kerana Nama ...

2011-11-28T17:45:00.000+01:00

Sunny Road – Emiliana Torrini

2011-11-28T14:11:00.001+01:00

Iceland - Like a jungle drum

2011-11-25T11:18:00.001+01:00

I was on a trip again last week. This time with one exception – no kids. It was a good opportunity for me to widen my horizon, following the Dalai Lama’s suggestion of one new place every year. This trip was going to take me to two new places!

Leaving the kids are never easy, especially when the one who will be in charge is their elderly grandmother. Even when I have prepared absolutely everything for them, bad conscience and jitters were under every step I took away from our home that morning. I have never in my life as a mother left my kids in the hand of others for as long as I was about to then. I comforted myself with the thought that I have taught them to be independent enough, not to cause a lot of extra work for their grandmother. I told myself to ‘tawakkal’ and that they were in very good hands.

Our travel that morning began with a cab, followed by a catamaran and a domestic flight (in one of those tiny planes) before we finally were out of the country. Had it been a Malay classic, I would have had enough time to cook rice five to six times!

The two hours flight from Oslo to Keflavik was in itself a good introduction to the country. The Icelandic Tourism Board must have been allocated a good deal of funding for their work to promote Iceland. I like the concept because they promote Icelandic authenticity, not one that has been tuned to fit the popular market. In the business class, the seats were named after the Viking gods and goddesses. I guess it was limited to the business class because there were not enough gods and goddesses to cover the economy class too! However, all head rests bear Icelandic daily expressions that travellers might find useful.

Even the napkins became a topic of discussion between me and my significant other, which is rather typical us. It was quite an attractive campaign, I thought.

But the validity of the claim is highly debatable where contemporary Norwegians are concerned. Within ten minutes, we had our first coffee spill and let me tell you - it was not me! :D

Half an hour into the flight, a stewardess walked past us and casually waved a bunch of pamphlets asking:

“Visitors to Iceland? Visitors to Iceland?”

Thinking that it was a document that I had to fill in, I asked for one. It turned out to be a small pamphlet informing me of my new Icelandic identity. I was about to go local! Let it be known that my Icelandic name is DEW. I was born in Þingvellir, loves snowmobiling and that my favourite word is bílastæðavorður(means - parking attendant!) :D

We arrived late in the afternoon and were told that it has been raining all day in Keflavik. Coming from Vestlandet, we felt immediately at home. Once out from the airport, my first impression of Keflavik was that it was like ‘padang jarak padang tekukur’ -- a much, much colder version, perhaps. The drive to Reykjavik took about thirty minutes and I was amazed to see how clean and well planned the infrastructures were in Iceland. There was nothing that could indicate that this was a land under financial crisis and one that recently experienced a natural disaster. Non-obtrusive modern buildings blend beautifully into the landscape. As we drove along, it was difficult to find a single shabby object. Iceland was, in short, very spic-and-span.

By the time we checked in, it was already time for dinner. Icelandic Air unfortunately did not offer Nasi Lemak Pak Nasir and our taste buds had somehow sought refuge in the much cherished Malay corner that day. But then again, why travel to a foreign land and limit your taste buds to the usual. It is all a part of the experience, we thought. So without further ado, we went and had a meal consisting of a minke whale!

Seeing that the night was still young, we decided to head for World Class, a gym and a spa reputed to be in a class by itself. Again, looks can be deceiving. The non-obtrusive facade hid an ultra modern interior, filled with fit and hip-looking adults: both the young-s and the not so young-s.

Entrance was made possible only via the obligatory retinal scan. It was all very Jason Bourne, really. Once done, we basically have access to a lot of different facilities. It is not often that I get flabbergasted upon entering a spa but the Laugar Spa truly took the cake. With seven different saunas, types of showers hot and cold, hot tubs, foot tubs, and God knows what more, I went instantaneously quiet and totally ‘deep’. For once, I thought the no-children policy of the spa was definitely a good idea!

Iceland has many outlets like this. The dark winter days are not seen as a problem by Icelanders but just another great opportunity to use all the natural and man-made facilities around them. They gave me the impression of being a very health-conscious nation. Icelanders are indeed well taken care of, both by nature and by the power that be.

After two hours of roasting, soaking, toasting, steaming, inhaling lemon, eucalyptus and exposing ourselves alternately to cold and hot shower, it was time to unwind. It has been a tough day, after all. In the final room, there were scores of leather recliners arranged around a fireplace. Only the crackling of fire was heard in there as no talking is allowed. I closed my eyes and my thoughts wondered to my kids at home and eventually to my parents who I doubt had ever dreamt about coming to Iceland! I could imagine what each of them would have said had they had the chance to experience what I was experiencing. I always tend to have this sense of sweet sorrow when I think of my parents and the crackling from the fireplace somehow enhanced the thoughts I had in my mind and the feelings that I had in my heart.

Melancholy aside … When I suddenly found myself on top of a tree, though, I knew it was time to climb down before I start sawing the branches!

The next morning turned out to be just as gloomy but I was fixed on the idea that I should cover the Golden Triangle before I hop on the plane for my next destination. The mild temperature was accompanied by dark, threatening clouds that were perhaps telling us that whatever we decide to do, we ought to hurry up!

A calculation was made and with the aid of Lady GPS, we set out towards inland. Lady GPS must have spent too long in the sauna last night that she kept telling us to:

‘after 1.3km, take the third exit … turn right, then turn right … turn right, then turn right … turn right, then turn right!’

…time and time again. Had we followed her, we would have ended up in various ditches or in the least, driving in circles!

With a population of about 350000 and the great majority concentrated in the Reykjavik area, we found ourselves driving for miles and miles and miles without meeting a single soul.

The sun peeped through on and off, waking us up to the possibility of taking some very good pictures. With time constraints, though, there was little to do but to just continue stepping on the gas. We drove pass Þingvallavatn, the largest natural lake in Iceland. Þingvellir is a site of historical, cultural and geological importance. It is one of those places that make you forget the fact that you are still on earth!

I was so excited when we finally arrived at the Geysir. Already from the parking area, I could see steam gushing out from the soil at various spots. Finally, what was once just something I learnt in geography lessons at school was now in front of me!

It was fascinating to see them and I automatically thought of the kids. DH had the same thoughts and we told ourselves that we will have to return to Iceland with the kids soon.

We joined the increasing number of people who were gathering around a bigger pool. Within a couple of minutes, there was a huge spray of water from the geysir. It was simply amazing to see the progression from the time it starts to bubble, explode and then got sucked in all over again. Because the waiting time was very short, we stayed on and saw 4 more ‘explosions’.

By the end of it I was as giddy as a schoolgirl!

Our next destination was Gulfoss (Golden Waterfall), where the river Hvitá ends in two 32 m cascades. It was beginning to rain and the extremely cold wind was not conducive for outdoor escapades that last longer than fifteen minutes. A bunch of Chinese elderly tourists took turn to pose in front of the waterfall, grinning from ear to ear while making the ‘V’ sign :)

Considering the extra hours we had, we took the chance to drive down to the Blue Lagoon. By this time, Lady GPS had been snoring for a couple of hours. We thought the nap would help but she was recalculating distance and routes all the time, while sending us into various one way roads with oncoming traffic!

Iceland is truly a heaven for anybody interested in geology. Volcanic activities have caused strange rock formations to dominate the landscape. To me, it seemed rather unreal.

Our eyes were attracted to the blue-ness of the river flowing next to the main road. The mind is programmed to associate blue water with tropical (or sub-tropical) climate.

We tested the water and it was icy cold! But what a sight it was …

The rather industrial looking building half-sunk into the landscape look threateningly warm and I was told that that was the famous Blue Lagoon.

The Blue Lagoon spa is a place where guests could bathe in 5000 m²geo-thermal sea water (37-39°C). With different areas for treatment and leisure, it offers buckets of silica mud (free of charge next to the pool but at a high price in the spa’s own souvenir shop) with which guests could cover their body with and resurfaced later with absolutely soft and healthy looking skin. It was easy to forget the stress from everyday life there :)

After the trip to the Blue Lagoon, we sacked Lady GPS on the way to the airport. For good!

I love the vast, open space in Iceland and I also find the self-contained and self-sufficient Reykjavik very attractive. There were light-hearted talk on the way to the airport between DH and I, playing with the thought of relocating to Reykjavik. I almost convinced myself that that was what I wanted :D

Checking in at Keflavik Airport was very quick as like many other things in Iceland, things do function and they do so smoothly. We called the kids to say good night, reminded them of what was expected from them while we were away and as usual ended it with a mutual ‘mwah! mwah!I love you!’. Little Missy insisted that she now speaks French too. Indeed a lot of things had taken place in the course of the 36 hours we were away!

On the plane, I was convinced that Iceland is a place that will play its jungle drums to tantalize me for a return trip. Next time it will be longer and it will be with the kids on tow. Despite being tired, I was not able to sleep. My thoughts hopped from one thing to another and when I looked out the window, I saw beautiful Greenland.

Tiny lights flickering down below signalling ‘life’. It was humbling to realise that human beings have been trying to make a living in the most remote of places on this earth and quite amazing too to think that at that very moment I was flying above their heads, a small family of five could have been sitting around the table having their supper, exchanging news of what they have been doing that day … just like what we normally do at home, with our kids.

With that, I hugged my pillow and closed my eyes. I had five hours to go still before the plane landed at my next destination …

Paris – Part 2

2011-11-10T23:16:00.001+01:00

Missy woke up that morning convinced that she will never part with her Mickey ears ever. Eyes barely opened, hair in a mess, she reached out for it and put it on. The child in me would have done the same thing if it was not for the fact that it would have caused great anxiety to my other half!

The distance from Marne-la-Vallée to Paris central is about 30 minutes by train. A trip made easy by a self-appointed young map reader. She took great pleasure in planning our route to the various tourist spots that we’re planning to go to that day.

At the same time, a man with his accordion got on our coach and started playing. That was when I told Missy to put her map down, look out the window and listen to the music. I know she will remember that for years to come. The morning sun shining brightly, the chugging of the train, the rather untidy suburbia, the ‘strange’ language and the music.

Our first stop was at the Notre-dame. The almost 850 years old cathedral (debatable, depending on which part one is actually referring to) stood majestically and admired by hundreds of people every day. I would have liked to take the children in and show them the gothic architecture and the beautiful stained glass windows but alas, the queues were so long that it put me off. If we were to join the queue to get in, it would mean less time for everything else that day. Therefore, instead of going in, we walked around it and admired the intricacies from outside.

While sitting on a bench to look at the looming gargoyles, we were approached by four teenage girls carrying a plastic bag containing lollipop. Somehow it did not make sense to see young ladies with perfect make up and effortless chic dressing totting around a bag of lollipops.

/Wuudd euww leik e lellipep?/

My lips automatically pouted as I listened to them speaking English with their oh-so-attractive French accent. Turns out they were collecting money for some school project and yes, they were only 14. As I travelled only with my card, I could not contribute that day. So no ‘lellipep’ for me.

Instead of taking the subway, we decided to walk along the Seine. I decided to give the beloved half-century-old ice cream parlour Berthillon a miss as it was on the opposite direction of where we were heading. Fortunately, I had not said a word to the kids about it. It was a beautiful day and my two small ones wanted so much to see at least one street performance. Luckily, on the bridge not far away from the ND, a young man was setting his ‘stage’. Armed with one small loud speaker that shrieked more than amplified, he entertained passers-by -- many of whom did not even noticed that he was there. The thought ‘He is someone’s son’ crossed my mind and I immediately felt sorry for him.

Walking along the Seine, our steps got gradually slower and we found ourselves having to stop and wait many times. The reason being EJ, who had to stop and study the various drawings and prints on sale. I only wished we had more time than we did.

They say that in Paris, love is in the air. I have clearly forgotten that bit. It is either that or I have grown prudent after years in relatively conservative Norway. There is something corny too especially when I realise that tourists are more prone to living it out. I had to queue with Missy at the public toilet – one of those that look like a not fully-grown flying saucer. There were 6 people before us and the Asian couple right in front of us took the opportunity to kill some time with extracurricular activities that involved a lot of socially unacceptable sound effects. Missy discreetly joined her brothers photographing bugs on a tree trunk (!). And me? I took the picture below and called it ‘Squirm’.

Travelling with kids tend to limit you to a certain extent. With time constraints in addition, we had to be realistic and pick just a few landmarks to take them to and hope that it will create in them an interest to travel and explore even more later.

How refreshing it was to see them discovering and creating their own memory of Paris. This picture was taken from a series of photos taken by Spike of his two younger siblings.

They thought the Eiffel Tower was very impressive but no less impressive was the wall near Quai Branly, which was covered with vegetation. The landscaping was gorgeously set up but it also meant that the whole wall and the pavement were permanently wet. Missy immediately considered setting up a wall like that at home. I could vividly imagine myself wading in the bog that my garden would turn into with all that water!

After many hours of walking, the smiles were beginning to turn rather stiff. We bought tickets for the double-decker Les Cars Rouges. Since they did not have any family discount, the driver looked at Missy and said:

“Let’s just say you’re 5”

Missy being Missy immediately turned to EJ and said:

“Remember now … I am 5, not 7!”

We arrived at the Louvre half an hour later. The kids were totally amazed to learn how old the whole complex was. Entering the complex could not have been a grander experience for us that day when a street musician sitting under the arch started playing his cello. The warm evening sun cast a beautiful warm tone on the historical building. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and knew that that particular atmosphere will stay with me for years to come.

Spike was quiet and observant. While he was observing the surroundings, taking in the impressions, I was observing him. How fast time flies. I had to smile when I thought about how he managed to make us watch Inspector Gadget at least a thousand times when he was small and be equally excited every time we came across a cement-mixer! The perks of being an only child in those days.

The square was like a huge playground to the two small ones. They ran around, climbed and jumped over and over again until I asked them why they think that some of the statues were covered with white cloth. After a few minutes of thinking, the best ‘answer’ was:

“ … because it is almost Halloween?”

The queue to get in was extremely long. Of all the things to take note of, the kids started giggling when I discreetly pointed out what a few adults were doing, standing on each their elevated platform, taking turns to be photographed ‘cupping/holding/leaning on’ the Louvre Pyramid. Spike said one word that I have not heard for a while: PULUN!

Missy of course wanted one of her ‘pushing’ the pyramid while Spike preferred to lift the whole thing up with his thumb and index finger.

EJ? Well, he just could not believe his eyes when he saw the extent to which adults would go to get that picture taken! :D

Getting around Paris was relatively easy, regardless of the type of transportation chosen. It all came at a cost, of course. While the metro is cheap, it is rather shabby and you don’t get to see anything. Driving requires the swiftness of Flash Gordon and the patience of a saint. Traffic accidents were aplenty. More than what we would have seen in a period of 5 years on our island! :D

We walked a lot in Paris but had to give in to the double decker that took us to all the must-see spots while we nursed the throbbing feet. Typical tourist mode of transport of course but with kids on tow, it is God sent. When they felt like going down, we would go down. Otherwise, we left them alone to form their own opinion of Paris.

Paris is Eiffel tower, Monalisa at the Louvre, colourful macarons, people dressing in effortless chic, warm crepes on a chilly autumn evening and busy traffic. Paris is also that guy in the colourful sweater dancing with his puppet, the other one roasting a handful of chestnuts on a makeshift stove next to the Seine and the Japanese woman busy gesticulating to catch the attention of her tour group. Everybody has a story to tell. Life is like that. It is all about loving, living and hoping.

Travelling opens the eyes, the mind and the heart. I want my kids to experience the places that I could only imagine of going as a child their age and I want them to always remember that in the eyes of God, we are all the same. We are all trying to survive, trying to make the best out of the situations we are in. Perhaps the most important is the fact that the more we travel, the more we come to see that it’s a small world, after all.

Emillia Contessa's Hitam Manis

2011-11-03T13:06:00.003+01:00

Our autumn break in Paris – Part 1

2011-10-28T13:34:00.001+02:00

Unlike me who like to give surprises with that confetti-effect on the very day of departure, DH believes in the calm version, one in which the receivers calmly digest the good news and continue having something to look forward to, going to bed with warm feelings in their hearts every night leading to the departure day. The down side of his method is that one has to have tons of patience to endure the never ending enthusiastic questions that follows … for days.

The flight to Paris took two hours. I finally felt the tiredness that has been lurking for weeks. It was like my body finally gave in. I slept like a log and woke up to the trumpet blowing onboard, signalling that we have landed. I was happy and felt that I have now made a full circle. It has been 23 years since I was last in Paris. I was single, a student lugging her rucksack across various borders with one mission – to discover. This time I returned with a husband, three kids and a sturdy suitcase.

Paris Vatry is said to be the closest airport to Disneyland - relative term that meant a further 2 hours’ journey by bus. Tickets were bought and we asked the bus driver when it was leaving considering we were already 5 minutes late. His replies were in French and naturally at TGV’s speed. We sat patiently in our seats. We waited and we waited. Calls of mother nature were answered with our hearts in our throat: what if he suddenly left without us?! We waited. For 1.5 hours. It was not according to the schedule at the ticketing office. Children and babies started crying, parents gradually got aggravated and the bus finally began to move. Slow and steady on the highway of the Champagne district.

Checking in at the resort was truly a moment to cherish. Entering the front door, we were welcomed by a scent that could be summarised as bubble gum, bakery and fruit all mixed into one, nicely blended to knock you back into your childhood instantaneously. Magical music in the air and friendly employees in various colourful costumes were the cherries on the cake. It was definitely an in-your-face Disney welcome. Just the way I like it! The lobby of the hotel consists of various playrooms, play-stations and game machines for ‘children’ of all ages.

We went to sleep that night in a room that was made to look like a circus arena :)

The days that followed were packed with various activities for the kids. Sticking to doing it with style, I had my first breakfast with La Joconde. Time has changed and she insisted on Coco-pops that morning!

It was absolutely priceless to see the kids’ reactions when we first walked into the Disney park area. I thought of how I could only dream of visiting such a place when I was myself a small kid. In those days, the closest I got to the Disney experience was to watch the Disney movies and cartoons on Hari Raya, New Year’s day and Christmas mornings.

One of the first shops that we walked in was the candy store. It was funny to see that both Missy and EJ automatically walked with their hands on their back. It was like they were trying to control themselves from spontaneous scooping of goodies. There were indeed so much sugar and calories in that store alone that you could easily get a toothache by just hanging around!

Alas, the sales resistance was pretty low and what is one to do? The answer is - when the going gets tough, the tough gets scooping :D

(PS: This is one place where parents are prohibited from giving a speech on common sense even at 10 in the morning!)

The kids were excited to see the various buildings. Their eagerness was so contagious that we adults stopped thinking of the actual investment in setting up the park and basically went with the flow. That was when DH whispered to me that we are so lucky to have small kids still. At the same time, a procession walked passed us consisting of Jaafar, Cruella Deville and the likes. Cruella took one sharp look at Missy and let out a 'Hummph!'. Instead of being insulted, Missy jumped up and down and clapped her hands. At that point I made a mental note to start behaving like Cruella at home!

The bilingual outdoor show was rather average –in my opinion- until the main person (the man in tall hat and purple vest) in all his over-exaggerated stunts stumbled over Cruella’s little Dalmations and almost fell flat on the stage. (No, I do not think it is a part of the act and yes, I know it is sadistic, but it IS Disneyland and adults are allowed to have some fun too, right?)

After the show, the green-faced witch walked around looking a tad evil and disinterested handing out Halloween fruit gums to all kids. My kids were not bothered to queue for the goodies because *Mama and Papa can buy some later and with Mama and Papa, we can choose what we would like to have*. Hmm.

In the tower of the main castle, everything was just Disney-perfect. The stained glass panels depicting the life story of the Sleeping Beauty were as bright and cheerful as they should be. I had the pleasure of being told the full story of Sleeping Beauty by Missy. It was as if I have never heard of it before and that it was the best story she knew. As I looked at her big eyes, I knew that I will always remember that very tender moment between us.

While the boys were geared on Nautilus and other typical boys’ rides, Missy went weak in the knees at the thought of all the princesses. We had to queue for close to half an hour to get her picture taken with Ariel and Rapunzel. It was worth all the waiting because the moment they asked her what her name was, my little Missy looked as if she could have fainted on the spot. Priceless! :D

We had a wonderful time at the park although we did not take all the rides. The queues were too long for some but still, there were a few un-miss-able ones. Spike and DH took the Space Mountain while I had the alibi to stay behind with the two small ones who were a few centimetres too short to pass. The two guys came out 15 minutes later grinning and telling me that it was good that I did not go in for Disneyland may not be the same if it were to bear witness to all my shouting! Well aware of my tendency to get verbally out of control on such rides, I restrict myself to the ‘soft’ activities. (DH has still not got over what he heard when he dragged me onto The Hammer a few years ago!)

The cups rotated gently round and round to a typical Disney tune. I was feeling calm and Disney remained Disney! :D The kids had fun going on various rides and crossing them out on the map. The maze was good fun too until my kids spotted the Queen who suddenly popped out and likened her to *Mama in the morning!*

Revenge was sweet. I dragged them into the dungeon of the Pirates of the Caribbean and was tempted to leave them there a night or two!

We searched high and low for Indiana Jones’ roller coaster ride (tak serik serik!) but unfortunately it was not operating this season. Upon seeing a 4WD, DH ordered the two small ones to go and pose. They immediately knew what to do.

The nagging level was low and the kids were equally happy to sit in the sun as they were running around or queuing up for rides. We were lucky with the weather. The dark clouds came and went and the temperature remained mild.

When we got to the Wild West Frontierland, the kids got excited to see things that they have seen in the LHOTP series that they love so much. My feet were getting tired, so I suggested that we took the train ride instead. The thought was to see everything in High Chapparal and say Hello to Woody while giving my feet a break. So we queued and the queue went around the explosives room, down the winding stairs and there … a few seconds before we were supposed to embark, I realised that that was not a normal, friendly choo choo train. Gulp!

Missy freaked out but there was no turning back. We sat down, buckled up and off we went down a dark underwater tunnel and resurfaced on the Big Thunder Mountain. It was a roller coaster ride that Missy will always remember! And it was not called Big Thunder for nothing.

After the ride, Daddy has to carry his little girl on his shoulders. It took a bit of reversed psychology from Mommy and Missy was soon exclaiming what a great ride it was! :D

We walked on and were invited to enter the Phantom Manor. Once in the big hall, Missy freaked out again because she has seen *what happened once the lift door is closed* on Youtube (!). So DH stayed out with her while the boys and I joined the rest of the visitors. It turned out to be quite ordinary with ghosts flying around while the rest were wailing and enjoying themselves at a supernatural get-together. It was everyday stuff for us (!) and towards the end of the ‘journey’, we turned into hantu-s ourselves.

At closing time, I reminded the kids that perhaps they wanted to get something as a souvenir. Spike said that it is all ‘here’ (pointed to his head) and the two small ones too did not want anything. I got something for each of them anyway to remind them of that Disney-magic and the fact that we, as a family, had had a real good time together there in Autumn 2011.

Beautiful autumn weekend

2011-10-06T00:28:00.001+02:00

The past couple of months have been so hectic, leaving me with not much time to blog or do anything else but work, work, work and more work! The same goes for DH with his work and the kids with their extra curricular activities. So we decided to keep the weekend totally free and take the time to catch our breaths and sharpen our axes. As if they read my mind, sixteen butterflies landed on the bush near the door at work just as I was about to walk out. After many weeks of non stop rain, the small bout of sunshine that day and the sight of beautiful butterflies elegantly resting on a flowering bush soon attracted a lot of admirers.

In this household of ours, most thing starts with a ‘bang!’. So did our weekend. PSQ came home on Friday evening with a catch. It was already the third time she came home with a peace offering after staying out the whole night. I don’t think much about these episodes, preferring to conclude that she meant well. She is a cat.

The trip to Ålesund on Saturday provided that much-needed RT therapy. The kids are growing so fast that most of the clothes bought in the summer is already a bit on the small side for them. With DH and kids all too happy to wait for me at the cafe and enjoy their ice cream, I had plenty of time to feast my eyes on the autumn collection. An RT trip is not an RT trip without a stop at my two favourite shops - both selling interior decor and furnishings. Of all things, I found this, which became a hit among my FB friends:

We stopped by at the Asian shop to stock up on herbs and spices but it was very disappointing. The shelves were not as well-stocked as usual. Missy saw a box of mooncake and wanted to know how it tasted. She thought that it was imported from the moon and was curious to see whether its taste was cheesy. At 350 crowns a box (consisting of two tiny mooncakes), I thought Missy could keep her fantasy and I would rather order a few from Ah Seng, my Mak’s kind grocer!

The next day’s trip to the fruit farm was quite nice too. We drove to the fjord area feeling happy because it was finally a sunny day. Fifteen minutes later, we had the pleasure to knock on the farmer’s front door on a … errrk … Sunday. She came out smiling anyway and we got our crates of apples and pears. Unfortunately my favourite Summer Red was not ready for picking for another two weeks. It has been a very wet year that many of their apples are destroyed.

We took a long detour home to a place called Salt. A sleepy little village that welcomed us with its rows of rose hip bushes. Not a single soul to be seen as they tend to keep their Sundays sacred here. Even the spider was unaffected by my presence.

There is something about nature in autumn that makes me feel somewhat melancholic. Perhaps it is the idea of having said goodbye to summer and anticipating the return of cold winter. Or perhaps it is the sheer beauty of nature transformed into a huge aquarelle painting that stretches far into the horizon.

The landscape talks to me every time I go for my walks. It helps put things into perspective, clears the mind and recharge the ‘battery’. The kids thrive best outdoor in all sorts of weather. After weeks of rain, we were lucky to get some sunshine. Apparently, we were not the only one out enjoying the mild weather!

The kids always thank us for the trips and declare that ‘This is the best trip that we’ve ever had in our whole life!’ every time we get into the car to drive home again.

I live for such moments.

I will be a hummingbird. (R.I.P Wangari Maathai)

2011-10-02T13:26:00.000+02:00

Priceless images...

2011-09-28T12:54:00.000+02:00

There’s no business like hair business.

2011-09-15T23:43:00.001+02:00

When in Malaysia and if short of time, I would drive the boys straight to the barber shop near the stadium. I would park the car right in front of the shop lot and in went the two boys. Ten minutes later, out came two little cadets reeking with the strong smell of hair tonic and all white around the collar from the powder used to clean away bits of hair.

At other times, I would just gather all my kids (sounds like I have a dozen of them!) and take them to my usual hairdresser at one of the local malls. I have one that I frequented since Spike was small. The stylist’s name is Ken. A very talented guy who knows exactly what needs to be done and delivers. One glitch is perhaps his name for it means ‘to urinate’ in Malay. A very unfortunate glitch considering he paid a lot for the shop lot and the signboard.

My kids are used to having free hands when it comes to choosing hair styles. Spike went around with a Superman hair do as a five year old. The tousled look was perfected with the help of a generous dollop of hair gel. It was funny to see how unaffected he was with others’ reaction upon seeing what looked like a piece of turd on his forehead. As far as he was concerned, it was cool. Occasionally we would invite my brother’s son who was also five to go out with us and both of them would walk hand in hand, wearing the same hairdo. A few months later, Spike asked Ken for an Ace Ventura. True to his nature, Ken delivered. Hair was cut, sculpted and sprayed.

Such an earth shattering moment in the life of a mother deserved a quick stop at the grandmother’s on the way home. Mak reacted with her usual hand over mouth hiding her cheeky smile and stopping possible bloopers. All she said was:

“Adoi! bergaya sakan cucu Tok” :D

The hairdo stayed hard until the next morning when he turned up at the kindy but my son came home later that day all grumpy, sweaty and flat due to Cikgu Ju’s preoccupation with Dil Mere Dil during their physical education session.

Between then and now, there have been many different ones. And that was only Spike!

Last Thursday, I took the kids for a hair cut again. Unfortunately M - the one that we usually go to - was fully booked until the end of October. I ended up having to call around and it was flabbergasting to learn that all of them were all booked this week and next. One can begin to wonder what on earth is going on on this island for there has never been one time when I walk passed these saloons and see them dealing with more than ONE sole customer. Hairdressing is good business here. They have short working days and they charge sky high.

And thus by a twist of fate we ended up at TF, a newly opened saloon whose receptionist sounded as if she came straight from the military office. Had it not been for the boys’ unkempt hair, I would have preferred to wait for M’s first available slot. Our arrival at TF that day was coldly received by the stylist, whom I suspect were the one who answered the phone. Spike commented on the arrogance as she walked past us many times but somehow did not ‘see’ nor greet us. Finally she mumbled something that sounded like she was talking to us. I presumed she was ready and so I asked EJ to tell her how he wanted his hair done.

“Like a punk.”

“You can’t go to school looking like a punk!”

“But I want punk hairdo, Ma”

Ms Military was impatient because the whole conversation was in English and she does not speak English. EJ and I quickly agreed on something and I prayed that she would not give him a cut with an attitude that does not befit a fourth grader. While we wait for EJ, Missy insisted that she too should have a hair cut or at least a bit of styling. What she did not realise was that here in Norway there is a price even for the stylist to heat her curling tong! (OK that’s probably exaggerating things a bit but hey! it’s not far from the truth)

EJ’s hairstyle got Mama’s approval and Missy was talked out of the whole styling business. Spike …

Well, he requested long sideburns this time.

Selamat Hari Raya :)

2011-08-29T12:53:00.001+02:00

One good reason

2011-08-27T00:31:00.001+02:00

… why you should not be collecting all those fridge magnets!

“Awat lammmmma tak telefon Mak?”

2011-08-22T13:22:00.001+02:00

A year has passed. Gone were the days when I could call her up almost on daily basis to just hear her voice and exchange news of this and that. While my late brother used to call her just to persistently ‘bother’ her with a loan of 4 to 5 million Ringgits, I called and pretended to be different people each time. She would play along and we had a blast across the miles. If a few days went by without a single call from me, she would give me this:

“Awat LAMMMMMMMMA tak telefon Mak? Sakit ka? Anak anak sihat? Cucu Tok … kesian … duduk jauh jauh sangat … balik mai lah!*

:D I really miss hearing that line!

I sometimes still call our old phone number although the service was terminated late last year. I know that nobody would answer the phone but I dialled those numbers anyway. It has been my lifeline since the first day I left Malaysia 25 years ago. Learning to get use to it no longer being there has not been easy. I managed because I have to. The things that helped made it possible were the fact that our family is very close-knit and that I do have a network of friends who are equally comfortable to be with me during my tough times as well as those good times.

I tell my children happy stories. They love listening to stories about the old days. Huddled up together in Missy’s bed before bedtime, the children listened quietly to stories of the time when my father came home with a huge load of durian on the back of his bicycle in the middle of the night, of the baju raya which was made from a mysterious type of cloth, of the nine siblings quietly sharing a pack of Mee Tinggung … and many more. Although life was not easy then, my parents were generous towards us siblings – often way beyond their means. We were simply happy. In the middle of all these happenings was Mak, our anchor.

I am keeping the memories alive. I am trying to bring my children up the way I was brought up – not with money and luxury items but with that thing called unconditional love. That was the greatest gift that I have ever gotten from my parents and that is what I will give to my children.

Last night, I re-read my own blog-posts and old FB messages from a year ago and I realised that I am blessed with a huge, loving extended family and a network of friends who care. It was overwhelming to re-read the messages left on my wall. One gains a lot of strength from such acts of kindness. My parents would have been happy to see me among so many kindred spirits.

PS:Oh! by the way, this is my Mak’s favourite post http://peach-for-all.blogspot.com/2009/06/minah-no-pregnant.html. I read to her over the phone, of course!

Celebrating diversity - The Stylers’ Belachan :)

2011-08-10T17:36:00.001+02:00

Ramadan Greetings

2011-08-06T06:45:00.001+02:00

It is the first week of Ramadan. We should have been in Malaysia by now but due to unforeseen circumstances, we spend yet another Ramadan and Syawal here in the northern hemisphere. Needless to say, the kids were disappointed but they bounced back once we told them that we will take a trip home a bit later in the year.

This is the first year that the two small ones are fasting. Since I am also on my three weeks’ leave now, I have ample time for them. Moms are especially useful during the first few days of Ramadan – to wipe those brave tears, to smooth things over and to cook what the hearts desire. Fortunately for me, the whining and crying that I expected never came. In its place were boisterousness that could chase any guests out the door within the first few minutes! They cycle, climb trees, help me with housework and even got involved in a marathon (of tv watching lah!). EJ said that perhaps I should consider staying at home with them ALL the time! Spike and Missy were quick to agree, of course.

Waking up four sleepy heads for sahur is not for the faint-hearted but I always tell myself that this is what Muslim mothers all around the world are doing this month. Serenity Now! I drag myself out of bed every morning to give the pots and pans a good knock and then drag myself downstairs to wake up the kids while DH is summoned down via his mobile.

Sahur in our house is a feast. Within a few split seconds zombies are turned into human popcorns. By the end of Ramadan, I am confident that I will be among those who has mastered the art of cooking with one eye opened plus NOT being totally there! Yes, we are living dangerously here :D

Last night we took the kids on a boat trip. The sea was so still and the light was beautiful. The only noise came from the engine and Missy cackling - pretending she was on a roller coaster. For awhile there, I had trouble deciding which was louder – the engine or her?!

The landscape is more stunning from the sea. Houses/cabins near the seafront in the middle of nowhere seems to agree with the general understanding that Norwegians need to constantly escape from the crowd and be alone with nature to recharge themselves. With a population of about 5 millions in a country the size of East and West Malaysia put together, this need to get away used to baffle me until I myself start longing for that piece of tranquility whenever I am away from it for too long. (Note to DH: this DOES NOT apply to those occasional mental-hygiene, lone RT trips)

The picture above is of the one and only light house in our area that we have yet to visit. We did attempt to go there once (I have blogged about it HERE) but somebody ‘decided’ to fall backward into the stinkiest pond around. Considering that we were only half way through and had no extra clothes, the little victim was duly transported back to civilisation on her father’s back, snoring!

Missy is lucky to have two very protective brothers. When DH turned off the engine to just enjoy the sound of the soft waves yesterday, I suddenly felt so overwhelmed. I looked at my children and realised how much they have grown especially this last year. Soon this boat trips will be something that they will always remember too, the way I remember the trips on the back of my father’s bicycle around Alor Setar. Our childhoods are both different and similar.

I am typing this after having prepared mini murtabak for sahur. Missy who had trouble sleeping because of the heat (17’C!) came upstairs and found me munching murtabak while writing.

Missy: I can’t sleep (eyes looking at the food)

Me: Try anyway *munch* *munch* *munch*

Missy: Is that what we’re having for sahur?

Me: Yupp! *munch* *munch* *munch*

Missy: Ooooo I’m so looking forward to sahur! Can you follow me, Mommy? I’m ready for bed now!

Me: You know that Ramadan is …

Missy: self control, be good … not just food. I know Mama, I know.

Me: Good night, then.

Missy: Nite! hehehe …

And I thought I heard her mumbling something as I walked out from her room. It sounded something like *oooooo I’m sooooo looking forward to sahur!*

Salam Ramadan from all of us to you and yours. Have a good weekend! :)

Stoltenberg's Speech yesterday.

2011-07-25T11:42:00.001+02:00

In Memory of the Oslo bombing and Utøya shooting

2011-07-23T20:28:00.000+02:00

And the winners are …

2011-07-20T00:58:00.001+02:00

Thanks to all the sporting souls who stopped by and left an entry (or two!). The three chosen ones are:

Aini and her Donovan (sounds like a hippie band, right?!)

Pearl’s Abang Roti Berlubang

Dilla’s Dunkin Don/Dude (franchise, anyone?!)

So, Ladies, please email/FB me your address and I will send you a small something in the mail. But here’s the catch – you MUST take a picture of yourself in this pose:

or the mail will disappear right before your eyes *muahahahahahaha*

(just kidding, Ladies!)

And as for the real nickname given to our doughnut guy, it is:

Competition, People!

2011-07-17T10:14:00.001+02:00

For the first time ever, I decided to hold a competition here on this blog -- just for fun. Everybody is invited to send in their entry, of course. The more, the merrier!

The question:

Our local doughnut-guy is an institution in his own right. Travelling from event to event, from town to town in his van, offering customers warm, fresh-baked doughnuts. This has been going on for many years.

Now, what do you think is the nickname given to him by our local community?

The three best entries will get a small token of appreciation from Norway.

Get cracking!

Watch this space on Wednesday, 20-07-11 :D

Kasih

2011-07-14T14:04:00.001+02:00

Pejam celik, pejam celik … dah sembilan bulan saya menyumbang tenaga di rumah warga emas (RWE)di sini. Walaupun kehadiran cuma sekadar beberapa jam seminggu, hati tetap terusik bila melihat renungan-renungan yang mengharap dan mendengar keluhan-keluhan yang tak berpenghujung. Selama sembilan bulan ini juga, saya melihat sendiri bagaimana mereka mereka yang tangannya pernah saya genggam, pipinya pernah saya usap, rambutnya pernah saya sisir, pergi buat selama lamanya.

‘T’, jiran saya yang pelupa telah meninggal dunia dua minggu yang lalu. 6 bulannya yang terakhir dihabiskan bersama rakan rakan di RWE itu. Saya masih ingat lagi bagaimana gembiranya dia bila saya sampaikan salam dari anak anak. Lima minit kemudian dia bertanya siapa saya dan saya terpaksa bercerita sekali lagi. Saya pernah menulis mengenai dia di sini. ‘T’ mengadu sakit perut yang kronik sebulan yang lalu. Pada malam yang sama, dia dimasukkan ke hospital dan beberapa hari kemudian, saya mendapat tahu dia mengidap kanser usus (tahap 4). Tak dapat saya bayangkan perasaan anak anak ‘T’ yang masing masing bertungkus lumus menunggu ibu mereka siang dan malam selepas itu. ‘T’ menghembuskan nafas terakhir di dalam dakapan anak perempuannya. Dan saya masih lagi menunggu masa yang sesuai untuk memberitahu anak anak bahawa ‘T’ yang selalu sama sama bermain bola dan menikmati aiskrim bersama mereka sudah pergi buat selama-lamanya. Anak anak masih menanti ‘T’ pulang bercuti dari RWE seperti yang dijanjikan.

‘O’ yang berusia 93 tahun sering menjerit jerit memanggil ibunya sepanjang hari. Sesiapa saja yang datang melawat akan dipanggil ibu ( mora ) dan tidak dibenarkan pergi meninggalkannya lagi. Saya suka melayan ‘O’ kerana budi bahasanya. Setiap yang saya lakukan dihargainya dan dia tidak akan berhenti henti mengucapkan terima kasih. Sehari sebelum dia meninggal, kebetulan saya ada di sisinya. Pola pernafasannya membuatkan saya resah. Saya menyapa ‘O’ seperti selalu:

*God Morgen! God Morgen!* (tr. Good Morning! Good Morning!)

dan seperti selalu ‘O’ akan menjawab:

*Sa kråke til våren!* (tr. Said the crow to the Spring)

Saya genggam tangannya yang kurus kering dan dia tersenyum:

*Mora, kamu datang hari ini?*

*Ya, seperti yang saya janjikan...bersama kopi dan kek!*

*Mora, tolong bacakan doa?*

*Saya hanya boleh membaca doa yang dibenarkan oleh ugama saya*

*Bukankah kamu Kristian?*

*Bukan, saya Muslim*

‘O’ merenung saya dengan matanya yang kabur. Saya bersedia untuk berlalu sekiranya dia tiba tiba menghambat saya keluar dari biliknya.

*Kamu tahu, Mora … kalau Tuhan ada di hati kita dan sentiasa ada bersama kita dalam setiap perbuatan kita, bagi saya kita adalah manusia yang baik … dan sangat beruntung*

*Bacalah doa kamu, O. Saya akan membaca doa saya* dan saya genggam erat tangannya sambil memerhatinya. Suaranya terketar ketar mengucapkan bait bait yang dipelajari dan dipercayai sejak kecil dulu.

Selesai doa di baca, O minta digosok belakangnya dan meminta maaf kerana dia tiada selera. Saya akur. Sebelum terlena, O bertanya samada anak anaknya semua sudah makan. Samada mereka masih bermain di luar. Apakah cukup makanan di dapur. Saya terpaksa berbohong kerana hakikatnya anak cucu O jarang kelihatan semenjak O menjadi penghuni wad itu sejak beberapa tahun yang lalu. Saya usap kepalanya sambil menyuruh dia tidur. Dengan mata yang terpejam rapat, O mendongakkan kepalanya sedikit, tersenyum sambil menikmati sentuhan kasih dari seorang ‘ibu’. O meninggal dunia keesokannya. Seorang diri di dalam biliknya yang mengadap ke laut lepas.

Di saat saya menulis ini, saya baru saja menerima berita bahawa ‘X’ yang saya ceritakan di sini juga telah meninggal dunia semalam.

Pengalaman di RWE ini sedikit sebanyak membuat saya berfikir tentang perjalanan hidup saya sendiri. Hidup ini terlalu singkat. Ada benda yang perlu kita lakukan, kita katakan, kita tunjukkan … lebih dari apa yang sudah kita lakukan, katakan dan tunjukkan … kepada diri sendiri, kepada yang tersayang dan juga sesama manusia.

Wassalam…

Weekend!

2011-07-09T10:29:00.000+02:00

Mid-week greetings from an island

2011-07-07T10:45:00.001+02:00

Finally! We are finally experiencing beautiful summer days here on the west coast. The temperature is up to 17C today and the local supermarkets are already running out of watermelons. And yes, we have had many helpings of ‘soft-is’ with strawberry sprinkles too. Much more than we ought to, really … but hey! it has been a tough winter :D My ice cream logic is if I cannot reward myself, who else would. Thus, I reward myself with mine and sometimes my kids’ too! Now is not the time to think about dieting per se. Period.

Lupines of various colours along the roads are some of the things I like about summer. The batch in my garden did not make it through the winter after they were brutally chopped in the autumn. I guess they were not meant to be. So I stood on my veranda every day, admiring Marie’s multi coloured lupines, hoping that they would somehow spread to my garden too for lupines have very high dispersal rate. Talk about remote-control-gardening! I will have to wait for next summer, then.

PSQ is soon turning 1 and what a bundle of joy she has become. She has grown a lot since we picked her up in Haugen last year. She is now roaming around freely in the neighbourhood on daily basis. On days when I mow the lawn and the kids play around in the garden, PSQ is at her happiest. She impressed us tremendously yesterday when she rushed through the gap in the gate at lightning speed into the neighbour’s backyard and climbed all the way up the plum tree. She turned towards us as if asking *Did you see that? Did you see that?* and jumped down again. What a show off!

Island living is all peaceful and nice. Even on hectic days at work, the long sunny days make sure that you get your fair share of sunshine too. Most important for me is the fact that my kids are growing up in a safe environment. Or are they? :D

Continue having a good week, People! It is soon weekend :)

Our tiny escapade in June.

2011-07-01T13:28:00.001+02:00

It has been very hectic lately and will continue to be so until my 4 weeks holiday begins in August. I have not been blogging as much as I wanted to in June – not even once. Neither have I been hopping over to my usual haunts. Updating the blog has now become something like that huge basket of clean clothes that screamed to be folded and laid in their rightful places. Amidst running here and there these last few months, thoughts of closing down this blog for good did cross my mind. Alas, my other half needs something to read while downing his morning coffee and so, here we are … still here!

It’s summer hols for the kids now, which puts us in quite a bit of a squeeze –trying to balance work and full time parenting. It is like playing chess on a daily basis. We chart our meetings and other engagements to ensure at least one of us is with the kids at home at any given time. In the event that both of us are at home at the same time (hallelujah!), we suddenly find the kids behaving at least five years younger than they really are :D

In between the usual humdrums, we managed to squeeze in a quick trip to Bergen a couple of weeks ago. A welcomed break that did all of us a lot of good.

We were there for a long weekend and were extremely lucky with the weather. Sunny weather and the sea breeze tend to bring out the best in all of us. Those thick layers of winter clothing were finally peeled off.

I love Bergen for its old architecture. They have done a great job in preserving their cultural heritage. With a university in the vicinity and the continuous influx of tourists, one easily gets the impression that Bergen is definitely a young and vibrant city with a good foothold in the past.

With its cobbled streets, quirky, tiny shops and quiet well-hidden cafes, walking around in Bergen has always given me the feeling of being here and there, then and yet now.

The hotel that we stayed at was located near the harbour. And old, historical building but with all modern amenities cunningly woven in without seeming ‘vulgar’. The modern lift took us to the fourth level and the narrow corridor went on for what seems like forever while the floor changes elevation at odd corners. Once we found our room, we realised that we had taken a long and good but unnecessary round. Our first lesson of the day was never to follow arrows. Be adventurous, head the opposite direction (you might just save yourself 10 minutes!). But then again, there were those who insisted on using the same route every time and hence, I got the time to take this picture (below).

Since shopping was not an option (collective Hurray! from the other four members of the family) as Norwegian shops are closed at 2 on Saturdays and all day on Sundays and public holidays, we spent a lot of time walking around and naturally ended up at the Torget (Fish Market). Mainly targeting tourists, the level of price here left even Norwegians shaking their head all the way to the local supermarket. Still, people came, they tasted, they bought and they left. And yes, I think to foreign tourists, that was as Norwegian as they will ever get.

Caviar of various types and grades alongside other local delicacies were sold in huge tents.

Berries and fruits -local and imported – great snacks for wandering feet. DH took the kids for ice cream while I wandered through the fruit stalls. Meeting up with them again was perhaps one big mistake for they finished their ice cream AND my bags of berries. I comforted myself with the thought that at least I did not have to carry that extra load around. (Kesian…kesian…!)

The following days were coloured by our need to soak in as much sun as possible from early morning to late at night. The kids got to decide what they wanted to do and where they wanted to go. DH and I went along with most things. They are growing so fast that I shudder the thought of perhaps one day sitting alone with DH (NOT that there’s anything wrong with THAT, T!), feeding birds and longing for them. So, as we sat having our breakfast that morning at Bryggen, I chose to overlook Missy’s constant stuffing of small pieces of bread into her pocket! I can handle that :D

Missy’s attempt to feed the bird at the park was nothing compared to a Vietnamese mother’s initiative (below). Lo and behold! The kid had enough supply of bread to feed the whole of Africa. Let’s hope that in 90 years’ time, this little bundle of joy will not start mumbling “I see birds … birds … birds everywhere …” :D

Bergen may not have the biggest park in the world but like many other locations in Norway, it is safe. We could still let the kids roam around freely without having to pull the ‘leash’ every five seconds. Missy was ‘lost’ in her world of princesses and Taman Nirwana (below) while the boys were next to the lake. The parents? Busy as usual … but on that day, busy doing nothing!

… and oh! I was also busy pondering on what Christian Michelsen would have said had he realised that his head was destined to be a transit point for birds 24/7. In a way, I guess it is occupational hazard.

We visited Munch and his contemporaries at the Art Gallery too. After hours in the sun, the cool temperature in the gallery made the children realise how tired they really were. Missy decided to lie down on the bench and was ready to fall asleep. While Spike sat quietly looking at the paintings, EJ went around collecting pamphlets about the different artists.

Each of our trip to Bergen would never be complete without checking out what’s new at the Akvariet. We had a whale of a time looking at the happy penguins.

Too sum it all up, it was a break coloured by endless doses of sunshine, pizza slices, ice creams and soft drinks. Not the healthiest food items to feed the kids with but who cares! The kids had a good time and that is all that matters.

The hectic and quiet June.

2011-06-30T13:55:00.001+02:00

Not a single entry this month. My apologies for all the unanswered emails too. I will get down to responding to them asap. In the mean time, I’m cleaning up both here and there :)

He’s the guy.

2011-05-31T00:16:00.001+02:00

The friendship between Mak and Mak Chik N

2011-05-25T23:14:00.002+02:00

I was sitting under the porch one morning, waiting for Mak and Mak Chik N to come home from Market Koboi. I always wondered why it was given that name when I have yet to see a single John Wayne around during my trips there. Not even a horse! One thing for sure, Market Koboi was the jungle telegraph central in our area. Both Mak and Mak Chik N has always had a special method of working the market. A way of being together, not too close to suffocate the living daylight out of one another, and yet close enough to exchange information on the cost of this and the quality of that in the market that day. Those two were the best of friends.

Mak Chik N was married to Mak’s cousin, Ami, and they were our neighbours. Mak Chik N would always be the first one to turn up to help in the kitchen every time we held a gathering at our home. Our house was always filled with laughter when the two were together. It was difficult not to love Mak Chik N. The twinkle in her eyes, the cheerful high-pitched voice and the fact that when she laughed her whole body shook, made her a lovable figure for us kids. I know for certain that Mak was very fond of Mak Chik N. In a way, they were inseparable.

As I sat there waiting for them to return, Ami was on his veranda, 5 metres away, doing some carpenting.

“Ami! when can you pierce my ears?”

“Not today. I’m busy.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“We’ll see … “

Ami was not going to commit himself to anything. Little did he realise how persistent I could be. He was a teacher. I wanted to be a teacher too but my brother said the fact that I had just lost my front tooth made it impossible for me to be employed as one. Hmm …

“Ami! Why are there so many bottled animals in your store?”

His collection of animals preserved in formalin intrigued and gave me nightmares simultaneously. True to my nature, I could not stop myself from going into his store at every given opportunity. Macabre and delicious all mixed in a pot.

“I collect them,” he answered calmly, barely lifting his eyes to meet mine.

“Mak said you use them to make traditional medicines. Is it true?”

“Yes”

“Ami! What …”

The approaching sound of ladies chattering distracted me from bothering Ami further. I rushed to the gate and helped carry Mak’s basket.

*Mak, Ami said that he’ll pierce my ears tomorrow!*

The ladies were busy discussing a wedding that they were planning to attend after Zohor, which pretty much left them with a margin of three hours to get done with housework and get ready to go. Clever as they were, both made huge portions of two different dishes. While I was getting ready to go to school, Mak Chik N came to our kitchen door and quietly handed over two plates of dishes to Mak. Mak quickly transferred the dishes to her own plates and filled them up with her two dishes.

*I’ll be ready in half an hour,* said Mak Chik Nab and she went home as quietly as she had come.

As I sat on the back of my father’s bicycle ready to be sent to school, the two ladies appeared in their kurung pesak with each their hooked on sanggul (bun) and long scarf. Some of Mak’s jewelleries came out from their long hibernation and went for the wedding too. Mak’s discreetly painted eyebrows and lips were the dot over the ‘i’. I looked at my mother and thought that she was so beautiful.

Later in the evening when school was over, I joined Mak, my sister and Mak Chik N’s daughters out in the communal compound. Mak and Mak Chik N too were standing at Tiang Duabelas, casually chatting while looking at cars passing by on the main street. Tiang Duabelas was the middle point of the 80m lane connecting the main street to our ‘kampung’. Since standing around next to the busy street was close to being unacceptable for respectable housewives, they stopped at Tiang Duabelas.

My cheeky brother cycled fast into the lane, braking only right infront of Mak Chik N and Mak. Despite her immediate urge to scold him, Mak smiled quietly when Mak Chik N took over the scolding of my brother. Cheeky as he was, he bet that Mak Chik N could not ride a bicycle.

*You think I can’t do that?*

Silence fell as Mak Chik N took over the bicycle and attempted to sit on the seat. The older girls waited tensely to see the end of the episode.

*You think I can’t do this?*

…and off she went in her kain batik and baju Kedah. I think it was the first time we all saw her cycling and just when we were about to give a collective ‘wah!’, Mak Chik N fell sideway into the bush. Mak rushed towards her and helped her up. The older girls turned away and giggled. My brother was more preoccupied with his bicycle. True to her nature, Mak Chik N stood up again and broke into fits of laughter herself.

*I TOLD you I could do it!*

As it was soon close to Maghrib, we started walking back to our house. There on his balcony, Ami sat cross legged reading Utusan Melayu.

*Ami! pierce my ears!*

*It’s getting dark now. I might just pierce your nose instead of your ears*

*Ami! please … *

And with that, Ami gave in to my nagging and took out the necessary equipments. I was so excited that I forgot that it was a painful business. I twitched as I fought back the tears, resulting in the hole on one ear being lower than the other. But then again, I got what I wanted and went home to show my father my newly pierced ears with that special ear studs made from lidi (vein of coconut palm frond).

The next morning, I overheard Mak and Mak Chik N discussing an outing to go and get me a small golden ear studs at Pekan Melayu.

“…and while we’re there …” *whisper whisper whisper*

And the outing was of course more for their sake than mine :)

Yeah! go ahead.....gooogooo gaaagaaa.... :)

2011-05-24T20:20:00.000+02:00

Once upon a time …

2011-05-20T13:59:00.001+02:00

The recent passing of my uncle, Chik Hashim, left me in a somewhat sombre mood. Another one of my father’s siblings had left us forever. I will always remember Chik Hashim’s kind heart, his cheerful way of being and his sense of responsibility.

When my father was bed-ridden, Chik Hashim would come on his motorbike at regular interval. There were times when his talkativeness frustrated my father because despite his (my father) fondness for a good discussion, my father lost his ability to speak during the last 2 years of his life. Still, Chik Hashim would come with his ‘buah tangan’, would talk, would entertain his brother as if nothing had changed within and between them … as if my father was still able to extemporise every point of discussion. Looking back now, I realised that I would not have it any other way. Chik Hashim was among the few that provided normality during my father’s last few years. And I think the worst fate that anyone could suffer is to be in the company of cynics.

During the last couple of days, I kept returning to a photo that I have in my safe keeping. I looked at every single face and I thought a thousand thoughts. Once upon a time, that was their reality. I could only imagine the life that they had then. My father was pictured in the photo with his grandmother, siblings and cousins. I have never had the good fortune to meet neither my great grandmother nor my paternal grandparents. I see pictures and I heard stories. That was all.

My father must have been around 10 years old when the photo was taken, which means that the photo must have been taken around 1930. Growing up, my path crossed with a few of these individuals’. I basked in the warmth of their company and I saw the value of having them in my life.

If I could turn back the clock, I would have liked to hear their stories. Each and every one of them.

And now I am sitting here in my home faraway from home, creating my own reality and trying to live each day to the fullest. Trying to balance all my needs, all my responsibilities and all my aspirations while keeping in mind that one day, there will be somebody looking at all the pictures that I have taken, wondering about who I really am.

Celebrations! Celebrations!

2011-05-18T00:17:00.001+02:00

We have been blessed with many sunny days lately. My tiny garden turns green again. The cherry trees and the berry bushes are flowering beautifully.

What surprised me most is the apple tree that was only 2 feet tall when I bought it late last summer. We picked a corner in the garden for it, planted it and did not think more about it. I guess we were sort of silently pessimistic about the whole thing, given the kind of weather that we have here on the coast. To my huge surprise, Kontot (the dwarf Summer Red apple tree) survived the winter and the storms. It is now thriving well in the garden. We are all very eager to see whether there will be any harvest this year. So, watch this space, people!

On Sunday, we attended a family gathering in the inner fjord. A beautiful ceremony honouring my niece as a confirmed member of her church. Known as ‘konfirmasjon’, it is an initiation rite for 15 year olds, signalling their conviction as well as their coming of age.

The event was held at one of the oldest hotels in the region. A beautiful white building surrounded by huge chestnut trees and green lawn. The interior was typically Norwegian with the compulsory deer head above the staircase.

The group attending the ceremony at the church arrived at the hotel 30 minutes after us. All were dressed in bunad, the national costume. There were a lot of hugs and hand shakes. It was good to come together as a family again. H looked totally stunning in her Nordfjord bunad.

Norwegians would don bunads only from their own region, partly due to a sense of identity and partly due to the fact that a basic set alone would cost around RM10,000. A complete set with all the silver accessories would set them back several thousands RM more. Below is a picture of H and her sister, S, in each their Nordfjord bunad.

The main meal consisted of traditional Norwegian koldtbord with mouth watering desserts. I only managed to capture a few pictures before I got ran over by a hoard of Vikings. Yes, it is tough to live here in Norway! You do not even want to start me on their pillage and plunder activities ;)

After many months of planning, the proud parents finally got to sit back and enjoy the experience as the waiters and waitresses rushed around, providing swift service to all. A solemn speech by H’s godfather took a humorous turn when as he humbly expressed how honoured he and his wife were to be chosen as H’s godparents fifteen years ago despite their old age, he was abruptly interrupted by *speak for yourself!* from his significant other who sat next to him.

The celebration ended with a smaller gathering of close family at my brother in law’s home. By the time we got there, the children rushed straight to the trampoline. Although the temperature dropped to 10’C, it was not long before they had warmed up enough to toss all the sweaters and jackets on the grass.

What waited for us there was another ten billion sinful calories. I am convinced that the amount of talking and laughing that we did, burned them all away in a jiffy. Alright, I would like to BELIEVE that they did!

MIL had a good time being surrounded by her children, their spouses and children. As the adults were caught up in conversation, the kids were busy making their own witch brew. The only one at their table who paid any attention to the cakes and ice cream served was a two year old boy.

Even when everybody at his table had left, he was still there in the same spot, licking every single one of his chubby fingers. Once done with the meal, he walked out into their garden and started running his toy lawn mower over his mother’s newly revived flower bed. Good boy! :D

We left at 7 in the evening, feeling ready to head for bed, more than willing to ignore food for the next 7 days.

Oh! What did I wear for the event? Kebaya, of course. And here’s a picture of me in my kebaya:

Tuesday, 17th of May is the national day. As previous years, we planned to put on our best clothes and join the procession, like any good Norwegian. Whereas we had many sunny days for the past few weeks, today the rain poured just as we were about to leave home. Due to compulsory attendance, the two small ones had to brave the rain and low temperature to walk from their school to the open space in front of the church. Their parents and the eldest brother went cruising in a car, trying to intercept the procession for some good shot. By the time we picked them up, both were soaking wet and shivering. Apparently they were not too cold to ask for an ice cream! For the record, here is a Before picture. The After picture is too pitiful to be published :D

Hipp Hipp Hurra!

Ze Cat Lady bangs her head on ze wall

2011-05-11T00:00:00.001+02:00

Oh! What a day it has been.

Both DH and I have been so busy with work and other duties these days that we hardly have the time to do that one thing we should do, namely to spay PSQ. Time flies, PSQ turned 8 months and has begun to sing ‘I’m in the mood for lurve’.

Whereas the cold winter months were conducive in keeping the cat indoor, the sunny days of Spring made her restless. Initially, PSQ would take a few steps outside on the balcony and rushed in again to curl on Shaggy (the carpet. Yes, phew!). However, one fine sunny day last week, during one of her rendezvous on the balcony, she was attacked by a male cat. It was a very violent episode in the life of my little PSQ. I rushed out and chased the male cat away. I told PSQ to go in, which she did, but once inside the living room, she hissed angrily at me. Apparently, while I thought I was the good samaritan, she considered me as nothing more than the Spoiler.

That same night, she started producing very strange sounds. They were loud and desperate. When she suddenly went quiet, I thought she got tired and decided to sleep. Before I went to bed myself, I routinely put a small plate of snack and some water by the door for her. Whereas she normally comes to me when called, that night she was nowhere to be seen. I searched all over the house but to no avail. Considering it was almost 2 in the morning, I had to give up and try to get some sleep before a new day begun. A few scary thoughts crossed my mind but sleep came and stayed for a few hours.

Early the next morning, upon hearing my voice on the balcony, PSQ peeped her sorry little head from under our neighbour’s row of huge evergreens. She must have felt relieved as she ate three portions of boiled cod and went straight to sleep on EJ’s bed downstairs.

So today, I decided that calling the vet must be one of the items on my super urgent have-to-do list. Jugglers juggle and occasionally one of those pins would fall and hit the juggler on the head when she least expected it. That is the just the way things are in this life.

The vet was willing to take her in immediately but I do not have the car with me today to travel the 55km.

Vet: I’ll send you the pill first. It should arrive tomorrow. Give it to her first and then you call back when you can come with her.

Me: Errr … actually my cat has been with another cat recently. What if she’s pregnant? Is there any ‘morning after’ pill for cats?

Vet: Sorry? I couldn’t hear you ..

Me: ‘Morning after’ pill … for cats.

Vet: ROFL

Me: OK I got it! I got it!

To cut the story short, I wrote an SMS to DH that the PSQ’s dilemma is almost coming to an end now and that she will soon be free to roam the neighbourhood. And yes, true to my nature too, I added *YIPPIEEE!* at the end of it. With a single tap, the message went out and THEN I noticed that it was sent to the Road and Transportation Authority and not my DH!

Frantic attempts at stopping and deleting were to no avail as the damage was pretty much done. I stood up from my chair and banged my head softly on the wall. The minutes that followed were very painful – physically, emotionally and perhaps spiritually too.

Sharing my ‘pain’ on FB only resulted in a string of comments like these:

Well, ladies and gentlemen, here’s a bomb.

To be totally honest, I did not even indicate that it is for the cat. The full message was:

*Birth control pill arriving tomorrow! Yippie!*

I cannot for the life of me imagine the looks on the receiving end…

OMG!

OMG….

Recollections on Mother’s day

2011-05-09T00:10:00.002+02:00

The 70s to me was the age of soft cotton material with tiny floral prints. It was a period during which I wore nothing but clothes that had been sewn by Mak, who always had a penchant for pastels and tiny delicate flowers.

I remember looking at her admiring her small collection of materials. Mak always had her projects in the afternoons. She loved sewing more than anything else and afternoon naps were not for her. In the quiet afternoons when all the housework was done, the time was finally hers and hers alone. The old Singer sewing machine had been in the family for decades and it was instrumental when she needed to unwind. It was her personal spa.

“Teh, which one do you want for Hari Raya?” she asked me, eyes still on the textiles.

“All!”

She laughed and shook her head. For the next few days she was preoccupied with my Baju Kurung. The cutting, the sewing together was quite fast but the stitching around the collar, the Tulang Belut, was something that she was very particular about. Once done, she hand washed the Baju Kurung, ironed it and hung it in my room. For the remaining of Ramadan, I went to sleep every single night looking at the cotton Baju Kurung looking back at me. There was some sense of security in seeing it there, all ready for me to slip in.

A few days later, my parents bought a refrigerator. Like other kids, I was more interested in the cardboard box. It was huge and smooth. My creative imagination worked overtime as my father flattened it and stashed it away. One afternoon when Mak was at the neighbour’s house exchanging dishes for iftar, I sneaked upstairs to get a pair of old nylon stockings belonging to my sister, put them on and ‘skated’ on the huge, flattened cardboard box. It was my personal skating rink. While gliding and twirling around, an idea crossed my mind. I rushed upstairs to my room and put on the beautiful Baju Kurung. I wanted to be the first person in the world to skate with a Baju Kurung on. And I think I probably was!

When I heard the back door slam shut, it startled me so that I lost my balance and landed on my behind. Mak’s stare of disbelief ignited a howl from me. She was taken aback that instead of scolding, she comforted me. I felt ridiculous crying like that for it had been quite a few years since I last did it. It did not even sound so good anymore! That was possibly another reason why Mak was flabbergasted and forgotten to scold me. But the cry was more pre-emptive of getting a scolding than an expression of pain. Mak knew it. I knew that she knew and she knew that I knew she knew.

Cringe!

The episode came back to haunt me for many years after that. SHE made sure of that ;D

Selamat Hari Ibu, Mak.

Salam rindu.

Al Fatihah.

Si Penjual Telur

2011-05-05T22:05:00.001+02:00

Pembeli: "Dik, telur sekilo berapa?"
Penjual: "Telur ayam atau telur itik?"
Pembeli: "Telur ayam."
Penjual: "Telur ayam biasa atau ayam kampung?"
Pembeli: "Ayam biasa."
Penjual: "Yang tempatan atau yang import?"
Pembeli: "Yang tempatan."
Penjual: "Yang tempatannya mahu yang dari Ipoh, Kuala Selangor atau Tampin?"
Pembeli: "Yang Ipoh lah..." (kelihatan kurang sabar)
Penjual: "Mahu yang Ipoh Pusat, Barat, Timur, Utara, atau selatan?"
Pembeli: "Adik ni jual telur atau nak jalan-jalan?"
Penjual: "Maaf kak, saya penjual mee rebus kat sebelah. Kebetulan yang jual telur pergi makan. Saya disuruh berbual dulu dengan pembeli sampai dia datang.

Pondering

2011-05-02T09:06:00.001+02:00

"To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
And the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
And endure the betrayal of friends;
To appreciate beauty,
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a little bit better,
Whether by a healthy child,
A garden patch,
Or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier
Because you lived.
This is to have succeeded."

(R.W. Emerson)

The fate of Johnny Chihuahua

2011-04-26T23:36:00.001+02:00

Johnny Chihuahua could be categorized as a JIM – Jejaka Idaman Malaya (tr. Malaya’s heart-throb). He was known for his general aura of ‘God’s gift to women’. Even as a married man, there was no end to the number of young ladies willing to drop at his feet at the snap of his fingers.

Well, he could flex his muscles as much as he wanted but the truth remained that Johnny Chihuahua had not always been Johnny Chihuahua. Regardless of how glamorous he wanted to be seen, he was born plain and simple as Johari Che Wa.

Johari was an orphan boy who spent his time chasing buffaloes from one mud hole to another. One who much to the horror of his grandmother spent his childhood shooting with his catapult at every moving thing that crossed his path. Other than that, he spent a lot of time playing hopscotch with Cik Minah Sumbing Hidung Penyet (tr. Chipped-Tooth and Flat-Nosed Minah). Because he reigned as the village trouble maker, nobody dared poke fun on his tendency to play hopscotch and occasionally entertain Cik Minah Sumbing Hidung Penyet with the *Blue bells, cockle shell. Easy ivy over… *. He decided early on that one day he would end up with her. They were the square pegs and they belonged together.

Turning into a teenager, he gradually stopped playing truant and started getting serious with his schoolwork. With the discovery of the Follow Me hair-gel, his looks quickly became a preoccupation too. The days of the unruly mop were gone and in its place were spikes that would have sent shivers down the spine of lizards crawling on the ceiling. Johari was no longer a source of annoyance, he was gradually a force to be reckoned with. It was a turn that pleased his grandmother tremendously.

While Johari bloomed and begun to forget who had always been at his side, Cik Minah Sumbing Hidung Penyet remained the same loyal girl. She had no means to change her situation. No amount of toothpaste could change the fact that her front tooth was badly chipped. She tried filing her front tooth with sand paper but to no avail. She resigned with the realisation that she was meant to have that chipped front tooth all her life! It was intimidating to see the love of her life being swarmed by the likes of Tijah Gogo and Senah Sumpit but she realised she had no chance in heaven to ever keep up with those two. And that was the beginning of Cik Minah Sumbing Hidung Penyet’s retreat into an even more lonelier life in her room, with her books.

Despite Johari’s quiet demeanour, he turned into a real ‘player’ later in his life. Like most late bloomers, he tended to over-do many things to make up for all the lost opportunities earlier in life, often with detrimental effects on people closest to him.

Johari Cik Wa graduated from university, landed a well paid job with a multi-national company and changed his name to Johnny Chihuahua. Befitting a successful young professional, he married the glamorous super thin Jenny Chiquitita.

For years, Cik Minah Sumbing Hidung Penyet led a quiet life on her own. She tended to her broken heart while half heartedly observing the new life of Chihuahua and Chiquitita from far, totally unaware of the changes that she herself was going through. Away from the hard sun, her skin had become fair and turned from ‘leather’ to ‘silk’. The physical changes that follows a young woman had proven that all is fair in love and war. Cik Minah Sumbing Hidung Penyet soon became the talk of the village. Not only because of her beautiful recitation of the Al Quran but also because of her popular Minah Zumba Dance Class. Women only, of course. The profit after the first month’s operation was enough to cover the charges for the much needed and long delayed dental services.

Without knowing, Cik Minah became instrumental to the village getting a lot of infrastructural development. Four lanes of highway replaced the once lonely kampung road that had been splattered with cow dung here and there. The old rickety bamboo huts were almost overnight transformed into a middle class housing area with its own mall and a golf course. All thanks to the fact that Datuk Zabidi Doodah fell in love at first sight with Cik Minah when she hosted a Zumba marathon for the district’s government servants. Datuk Zabidi Doodah was also a Jejaka Idaman Malaya. Well, at least during his younger days, before he got married the first time round and gained a tummy the size of a gene-manipulated watermelon!

To cut a long story short, Datuk Zabidi Doodah and Cik Minah soon got married, with the consent of his first wife. And thus continued the good fortune of the people in Cik Minah’s village.

Upon hearing about the villagers’ good fortune, Johnny returned to the ‘village’ one day and was totally flabbergasted to see his grandmother sitting on an elaborate swing with gold trimmings here and there in front of her double storey house, being massaged by her two maids. The mud-holes and the paddy fields were now covered with buildings and road. The shock was so overwhelming that Johnny got dizzy, fell down and hit his head on the electric gate. The electric shock went straight to the brain that by the time he regained his consciousness, there was just one phrase that came out of his mouth. Little did he know that he would be in that condition for years to come. Jenny Chiquitita left him and became a singer at a karaoke joint. Stuck with a phrase like that, there was just one honest job option left for him in the whole wide world.

“Tilam! Tilam! Tilam lama ganti baru! Tilam! Tilam! Tilam lama ganti baru! …”

The moral of the story:

Be nice. Be very nice, because you will never know when your luck will turn. And of course, when the going gets tough, you can always sell a mattress.

Spring is in the air and Love is all around.

2011-04-22T00:27:00.001+02:00

I had mixed feelings from the first time I caught sight of it. How could something so poetic be printed on something that is used for the most un-poetic act there is. But thinking again, I guess it is all quite subjective. As always, the good people on my FB list had many wacky theories of their own on why it came into existence, leaving me chuckling like a banshee at work.

I’m talking about the latest in toilet rolls here. Never mind the fact that had the brand been marketed in Malaysia, the sales rate would not be something to write home about. Would you buy *Tisu Tandas Cap Kambing*? Anyway, ours here at the moment come printed with poetry and cringe-worthy romantic verses that would make you blush and rush out of the wc before the calls are answered.

I, for one, have been spending much longer than I should in the small room reading almost the whole roll and then to roll them up neatly again. Every poem comes in Norwegian, Swedish and Danish and thus, there was a lot of unrolling and rolling to do. Alas, I found it rather disappointing that despite the length of time spent unrolling, there were only four different poems in each roll, reproduced in three different languages with a blank sheet in between.

Night falls

I fall

Capture me

Imprison me

And at dawn

Let me go free again.

Cannot breathe

Suddenly

Cannot think

In love

with you

It would have been a luxury to have a different poem on different sheet. But then again, I guess I have to count my blessings for the latest trend could very well have been this:

On a visit to MIL’s yesterday, I found kitchen rolls from the same line. On them were recipes for breakfast that include a cup of passion, a litre of love, a few fresh strawberries and some bits of milk chocolate.

Ay me!

From Barbie to Bieber

2011-04-18T01:10:00.001+02:00

Little Missy turned 7 on Thursday. The (read:her) initial plan to invite both first grade classes (35 boys and girls) for a party at the bowling club was negotiated on for many reasons. Ultimately, it boils down to the fact that I could vividly imagine myself climbing up the wall and hanging on to dear life while the kids were running wild, throwing themselves down the bowling alley and playing catch with all the balls. Not to mention all the cleaning up and compensation that I would have to pay afterwards. No, not in this lifetime!

Fortunately, Missy was easy to persuade and we agreed to hold an all girls party at home, instead. Unlike previous parties, I took this one totally easy. There was no stress, no shortness of breath and no grinding of teeth. Since EJ had to attend a party at the same time, I was down to dealing with the girls and only the girls. I did not go overboard with the food either, realising that food is secondary for these 7 year olds. Missy asked whether she could decorate the muffins herself and that, she did … with hearts, butterflies and princes in disguise (frogs!).

Although the party officially started at 1730, guests started arriving at 1700. Beautiful ladies with good manners.

As we waited for the pizza to be taken out from the oven, I thought *this is going to be plain sailing*. For a split second I felt I was getting a hang of throwing parties for tiny people. They were so polite and would ask whether they could help themselves to the food instead of just reaching across the table. I was very impressed.

As the ladies tuck into their pizza and cakes, I played some of the songs that I expected them to like, namely that of Justin Blabber (Missy would correct me every time - *it’s Bieber, Mama…NOT Blabber!!*). Soon I had them dancing on their seats and singing along. The true colours were beginning to show at that point. Before I knew it, two hopped out of their chair and danced before they sat down again for another bite. They finished eating and decided to dance even more. There was no turning back at that point. My house was taken over by Bieber-ians!!!

Bamse, the class mascot, came along for the party too but was left to guard the two packs of butter on my kitchen top, at a safe distance from the playful cat.

We played a couple of party games but the one that caused a stir was the one where they turned their partners into mummies using a single toilet roll. It took a bit of organising because everybody wanted to be mummies! DH with his thunderous voice threw out a couple of math quizzes and appointed the best guessers as mummies and that was that! :D

They had a good time trying to cover their partner as much as possible without tearing the paper. There was no winner because all were equally ‘good’. Amidst all the words of encouragement and praises, the situation got a bit tricky when they realised that the toilet rolls could also double as confetti! And THAT was when Malaysian thunder was heard. Loud and clear. Realising that my PR was at stake, I dealt out the goodies bags ;D

Soon it was time to open the presents and the girls sat in a circle and spun a bottle to see whose present would be opened first, second and so on. It was lovely to see the communication among them. Although they are first graders, they have been together for the last three years. I looked at Missy politely thanking her friends for every gift that she got and again, I thought of how fast time flies. This small event too will one day be something that I will look back at and cause me to smile not only with my lips but also in my heart.

The latest craze among these girls are furry Snooks and Missy got two of those that day. One from V and one from her two brothers. Needless to say, all the presents were unpacked and dissected by everybody almost immediately.

The ladies then went down to Missy’s room, leaving us adults with the unimaginably tough burden to finish the cakes and goodies on the table. Just as I was about to tuck into a slice of cake, the doorbell started to ring. Quite a few parents had to wait and soon, one by one the ladies came upstairs. All made up with blue eye-shadow, pink cheeks and metallic pink lips, courtesy of the birthday girl. They left after having said *Thanks for having me* and I felt I was ready and willing to have them in my home again the next day.

That same night, I posted a video of Missy playing her guitar on my FB page as a thanks for all the birthday greetings she received. It struck me that parenting (to me) is pretty much like watching that video. How proud I was in the beginning when she confidently played Greensleeves. When way into the piece, she struggled to find the right keys, I was the one sweating and worrying. From behind the camera, I was hoping that the recording would end well for her sake. And when it did and my little Missy beamed a huge, satisfied smile, I was the happiest mom on this part of the globe.

I realised that one day I will look back on that episode and be able to feel the same emotion again. By then, Justin Blabber will no longer be a teenage heart-throb. Perhaps in his late 40s, with tiny lines appearing here and there - but dang! men still look good in their 40s, don’t they?

Aurora Borealis, March 2011

2011-04-08T14:42:00.001+02:00

Norwegian landscape photographer Terje Sorgjerd spent one week around Kirkenes and the Norway-Russia border, in -25C, to make this magnificent time-lapse video of the Aurora Borealis.

Have a good weekend, Everybody! :)

Percutian Pe’ah bersama Pak Din dan Rosyam … konon!

2011-03-29T23:51:00.001+02:00

Sebelum Pe’ah mula sok sek, minta ampun banyak banyak no kat sapa sapa yang ghasa susah nak paham loghat Kedah ni. Tok sah bimbang lah. Ghamai jugak oghang Kedah sendighi yang dan boleh duduk jauh sikit saja, dah lupa dah macamana nak cakap Kedah. Depa lupa … depa lupa tu! Tapi penyakit tu senang saja nak beghubat. Cuba letak tengok Laksa Telok Kechai sepinggan depan depa. Hah! tak dan kita nak kerling ke lain, depa dah mintak sepinggan lagi dalam loghat Kedah yang cukup cukup pekat!

Cakap pasai laksa ni kan, Pe’ah cukup cukup terkilan. Dah beghapa kali balik Aloq Staq dah, Pe’ah tak boleh nak melangkah pi ke Telok Kechai tu. Tau pasai apa? Pe’ah kecik hati dengan Pak Din. Pak Din mana? Pak Din Laksa Telok Kechai tu la. Dulu dia bagi kami makan bawah ghumah dia. Amboi lega hati peghut duk menjamu selegha sambil angin sepoi sepoi mai daghi sawah. Bila Pak Din dah buat extension enam tujuh tahun lepaih, dia tak bagi dah duk menjamu selegha bawah ghumah dia. La ni kalau pi kena duk beghadap dengan jalan besaq nu. Panaih lit lit. Nak nganga pun malu, sapa lalu sapa tengok! Tapi sedap punya pasai, Pe’ah pi jugak lah membawa hati yang luka untuk beli laksa dan kemudian panggil adik beghadik mai makan di ghumah Pe’ah. Salah soghang abang ipaq kena hukum paksa jadi ‘Pak Din’, jalan daghi meja ke meja small talk dengan *pelanggan*. Canggih get together kat ghumah Pe’ah, kan?? :D

Baghu nak masuk bulan 4, Pe’ah dah ghasa macam kegheta yang dah sepuluh tahun tak hantaq servis. Tambah lah pulak umoq yang koi koi duk bertambah ni, kadang kadang ghasa segham sejuk segham sejuk! Tiap tiap hari duk pegang sempoa. Gamaknya kalau pegang sempoa tu seminggu lagi, bulih jadi Pe’ah tumbuh taik lalat kat dagu yang ada rambut panjang macam towkey towkey kat Kedai Gajah tu. Oghang Aloq Staq tau la Kedai Gajah ni juai apa. Depa kaya woo!

Ataih ghasa belaih kesian, Encik Somi paksa Pe’ah jangan kegheja dua tiga haghi ni. Tu dia! Mana nak jumpa somi yang sampai paksa jangan gheja lagu tu?!!! *muahaha* Dan Pe’ah pun dengan penuh tata susila pompuan Melayu terakhir (psstt! mana ada Melayu lagi dah kat pulau ni tapi tok sah lah duk hingaq hingaq habaq kat depa na?… pecah ghohsia Pe’ah) menjawab:

*Baiklah, Abé*

Jadi dua tiga haghi ni Pe’ah menyimpan sakan di ghumah. Baju anak anak yang dah sentot dan sendat, semua masuk kotak nak hantaq pi Romania. Daki daki di pintu tingkap semua dah habih kena cuci. Pendek kata segala yang tak sempat nak buat sebulan dua ni semua dah selesai.

Kadang kadang masa duk membanting tulang tu terpikiaq jugak … Encik Somi ni pelawa cuti ada pasai kot no. Ish! bersangka baik … bersangka baik, Pe’ah oi!

Untuk memeriahkan lagi sessi melipat baju pulak, selalunya Pe’ah akan pasang la drama drama Melayu. Lama jugak tak melayan drama drama ni sebab Pe’ah malaih dengan jalan ceghita yang pi mai pi mai tang tu jugak. Tapi kan tapiiiii … Pe’ah syok la sungguh tengok drama-drama Rosyam Noor. Kalau part yang sedih tu, Pe’ah boleh duk teghiak soghang soghang macamlah Pe’ah pulak yang menderita! Kighanya tak ghugi lah Rosyam Noor keluaq duit buat drama. Pe’ah akan sentiasa setia melangut dengan kotak Kleenex didalam dakapan.

Teghingat Kak ceghita dia pernah jumpa Rosyam kat kenduri kawin di Aloq Setaq. Memang segak sungguh pun, dia kata. Yang nak tergelaknya, oghang tak bertumpu kat pengantin, depa pakat duk teghepa pi kat Rosyam! ;D

Dalam duk klik klik klik caghi drama Rosyam, terjumpa drama komedi yang R.C.Wan cakap utagha tu –Kuih Goyang Seha. Amboi Pe’ah ghasa dalam sejam tu macam dok ada di Aloq Staq aih! Pe’ah duk sengih sengih sampai En. Somi pun dah tengok lain macam. Pe’ah biaq dia dok kerling kerling, untung untung dia nanti kata *beghenti teghuih la … duk ghumah, jaga anak! I bayaq gaji you sepuluh kali ganda!*. Pe’ah boleh buat victory dance, I tell you!

Hah! La ni kain pun dah habih lipat dah. Tinggai nak susun dalam lemari. Pe’ah nak pi chill sat na. Jumpa lagi!

*** Pesanan penaja: Ghajin ghajin lah pakai masker. Tengok! Pe’ah dah nampak 35 tahun lebih muda dah! :)

In loving memory of Mr. Tom Rabbit

2011-03-28T01:09:00.001+02:00

Our constant commuting made me decide a long time ago that keeping a pet is never an option for us. I changed my mind last year and as a result, PSQ joined our family. She has now grown so much and walks around majestically sporting a sizeable belly, increasingly having trouble balancing herself on the back of the dining chair (!). The kids have been very dutiful when it comes to playing with her but there is room for improvement when it comes to cleaning the cat litter. As soon as the weather is a bit warmer, she will be allowed to spend more time outside in the garden with other cats. There is no end to entertainment with her in the house. At the sight of any of us, she would suddenly lie down with all four paws in the air, enticing us to play with her.

Today I thought of Tom, the first pet I brought into our family. An impulsive act. A desperate need to be kind to my Spike who was then only five years old. I was not quite sure what got into me that day when I suddenly drove my son to a pet shop in Alor Setar. Pet shops are places that I consciously avoid like the plague.

♫ ♫ You can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave! ♫ ♫

The pet store was filled with animals from many corners of the earth. Since we had to rule out an elephant, a horse, a dolphin and even a cat, we opted for a rabbit. There were so many rabbits there and typical of Spike, he was drawn to the quiet one in the corner, who to me looked like someone who has not had Nasi Kandar for a decade! Anyway, the decision was made there and then. The store owner was called and he helped us pick out the chosen one. I was appalled to see the way he handled the rabbits. I knew immediately what was his driving factor in the business. Whatever it was, it could not have been the love for animals.

Once home, Spike walked in carrying his pet in its cage. As expected, the only thing that came out from DH’s mouth was *Oh-My-God!*, followed by *Well … well …* :D

Our family of three became a family of four. We decided to call the rabbit Tom. We let Tom roamed free in the living room. We laughed and felt happy looking at Spike following Tom hopping around. Even when he left a few ‘nuggets’ on the tiles, we thought it was very cute. I think Tom finally totally got us when he stood begging for Pringles chips from Spike.

The existence of the fur ball too had woken up a feeling inside me. I crouched down to talk to Tom one morning and pointed to some food pellets for him in that cuddly-wuddly tone, only to be confronted by my then five year old:

*Mama, why are you asking Tom to eat his own droppings?!* :D

That was one of my super-GULP! moments as a mother. For the next couple of months, Tom was possibly the luckiest rabbit in Alor Setar, well taken care of by a responsible five year old.

One day, we realised that Tom had developed ‘the shiver’. DH said that he realised from the beginning that Tom was not totally healthy and decided to observe but say nothing. What followed was extra TLC from all of us. It was at about this time too we found out that we were expecting our second child. With toxoplasmosis and other risks in the picture, I stayed away from Tom. I felt so sorry for him and decided that a trip to the vet was due. Unfortunately, the vet was not able to see him that day and we were told to return the next day.

The next morning, I came down to prepare breakfast and noticed that Tom looked strange. He was not himself. Upon close inspection, I saw that his nose has dropped! Tom was looking at me pitifully as if realising that he had become nasally challenged. He was shivering, he was sick and it was such a pitiful sight. DH and Spike came down to see him and we prepared Spike for the inevitable. Spike went quiet, the same way he did when he saw a car purposely run over a tortoise in Langkawi. While he retreated to his room to play quietly, deep in his own thoughts, Mommy dearest was in the deepest of sorrow, crying buckets. I blamed it partly on the pregnancy, of course.

It was a couple of hours later that I braved myself to go downstairs again. The first thing I saw was DH’s back. I was aware that Tom must have passed on while I was upstairs. Once DH turned to face me, I almost fainted … both from sadness and the need to break into laughter. I was solemnly presented to the late Tom, all ceremonially covered (or rather packed) in a white shroud and tied at the top and the bottom resembling more a Kedahan cake called Pulut Dakap (or Pulut Pisang) than a deceased body.

We drove to my parents’ and there, under the Setoi tree, we held the burial ceremony for our dearest Tom. When I saw how sad my son was, I was convinced that I will never ever take in another pet and risk having to go through the same experience again.

Years passed and my attitude too has changed. We only live once and the pleasure of loving and bonding with a pet is so great that it is worth taking the risk. Tom’s time with us was too short but he will always remain a part of Spike’s childhood.

Rest in peace, Mr. Tom.

Pick of the day

2011-03-25T10:26:00.001+01:00

Kisah Pemerintahan Jepun – Pak Ku Syahadat

2011-03-22T17:18:00.001+01:00

When the going gets tough …

2011-03-18T21:49:00.002+01:00

One morning a few days ago, I woke up the kids for school and a sleepy little girl suddenly got excited when she spotted a few clusters of snowbells in our garden. I have to say that it did something to me too as for the last three years, we have been having long and extreme winters. The last snowfall last year was in mid May and it started again in October!

The cod season has started and we are looking forward to many healthy dinners in the weeks ahead. Our supply comes from MIL’s neighbour who charges less than half the market price. One phone call and he prepared all the fishes for collection, threw in a few haddocks and some gigantic fish eggs. Upon receiving the goods, MIL helpfully turned everything into fillets and packed them down into portion bags. Talk about luxury! Soon the mackerels too will come and I will be able to make the addictive Norwegian Makrellsuppe again :P

We are hosting a family gathering in May and have now decided on the location. An old trading post, nestled in a corner on our island seems like an idyllic place to toast our eldest son’s coming of age. With its typically Norwegian white wooden complex of buildings, the blue sea, the green lawn and the majestic mountains surrounding it, I think it is perfect. I pray that it will be warm and sunny on the date that we have chosen. A lot of things will have to be arranged till then.

Workload has been overwhelming recently that we decided to throw caution to the wind on Wednesday and drove to Forde, 3 hours away, for a short break. It was an extremely sunny day and the temperature was between 5 and 7’C.

With the two small ones in the back seat, quietly listening to each their mp3, it was a good opportunity to talk. Two hours later, EJ said that he was hungry again. Since we have decided to have a proper dinner in Forde, DH attempted to distract him by talking about the GPS and accessing the remaining distance.

*Papa, can you please scroll to that fork and knife picture?*

And so for the next ten minutes, both father and son got busy locating the nearest restaurant on the gadget. We were then in the middle of a mountain valley where population was perhaps less than 10! With a bit of persuasion and the promise that he would get to choose which restaurant to go to, EJ went back to listening and singing Michael Jackson’s Black or White, totally disregarding the fact that we were also in the car with him :D

In Forde, we parked right in front of the pizza joint and I told the kids that I had bad news, that the restaurant had limited entry that day – Adults only.

*… but they have balloons near the door …*

*That’s for kids that they had to ask to leave. Look at those ladies with kids holding balloons … poor kids. No pizza for them today.*

* … but I want pizza. I’m hungry like a horse!*

*You mean you’re hungry like a wolf and that you could eat a horse?!*

Half an hour later as the pizzas were delivered to our table, I reminded the two small ones of their brother who was not able to join us. Spike was on a study trip to a high school 2 hours away from our island home. (I later learnt that he gained popularity that day by managing to remove his new friends’ zits using Photoshop!)

A couple of hours of retail therapy later, it was time for our last stop. Entering the Asian grocery store to my kids were like being in Malaysia for awhile. It was their first time there. Of all the familiar things around them, they asked whether I could buy them a broom, the type that is common in all Malaysian households. We left the shop with a few carrier bags that contained among others, this:

Before we ventured on our 3 hours drive home, we stopped at a petrol station.

*Hey kids! look! here they have started selling burgers at the petrol pumps!*

*Cool! Can we have burgers, Mama … the normal one, NOT this one!* :D

I slept through two thirds of the journey home. Occasionally waking up to DH’s talking on the phone and then back to dreamland again. It was a good break. Tiny but good. It goes to show that when the going gets tough, the best thing the tough could do is to go jalan jalan cari makan. Works every time! :)

Hati batu?

2011-03-17T23:38:00.001+01:00

Oh tidak! tidak! tidak!

Hasil penggalian beberapa hari yang lalu telah membuktikan hati saya hati ubi kentang! Bukan senang nak dapat ni ya, tuan tuan dan puan puan :D

I need you tonight …

2011-03-17T00:31:00.001+01:00

Catch of the day!

Life’s little pleasures

2011-03-14T00:12:00.001+01:00

I had been tossing and turning for hours. Earlier in the day, Mak had given instructions for someone to tell Pak Din, the trishaw driver, to come fetch us in the morning. My tiny satchel leant on the wall next to the door, filled to the brim with hope. Next door, the Chinese neighbours and their guests were still engrossed in their never ending games of mahjong and poker. It was just the month before that a Black Maria had pulled into their yard and taken away a whole lot of people due to illegal gambling. I was so traumatised by the episode that I ran into the bathroom and cried. I felt an unexplainable pity for them although I did not know any of them save for Ah Soon and his brothers. And this night, they were at it again.

The noise kept me up and so did the snoring from the next room. The dogs started to bark close to our house and I heard someone climbing over our back gate. It must have been one of Ah Soon’s guests taking a short cut to Jalan K. It happened many times before, so I was not bothered. As I lay there in the dark, I fantasised about what tomorrow would bring. My thoughts travelled here and there. Making plans.

Outings were always a big thing to me. My roaming had always been limited to our kampung. The fact that the ‘kampung’ was located in the middle of Alor Setar town further limited my roaming area to the few neighbouring houses and their compounds. My parents were strict about where I was allowed to roam and when I should be at home again. Because of the short ‘leash’, I spent a lot of my time playing on my own or with the neighbours’ kids. Most of my outings were with my father on his bicycle. Occasionally I got to follow my sisters on their shopping or cinema trips. The only reason why I got to follow was because I was their ticket to go out. So when Mak told me two days ago that we were going to Tualang to visit Tok, it felt like music to my ears.

Oh! how I had been looking forward to the trip. Mak said that we had to start getting ready quite soon after she returned from Pekan Koboi – that was what we called our wet market. I always wondered how it got its name. I had asked around but nobody knew the answer. Images of John Wayne riding in to buy some fish and green salads sent me chuckling in the dark.

Morning broke and I heard a lot of commotion downstairs. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I wondered when I had finally dozed off. Mak called me downstairs, informing me that breakfast was on the table and they were all ready to go.

Ready to go?! What about me?

What followed was perhaps a world record of a quick bath. I was sent straight in again for a round of soap and shampoo by Mak, who was multi-tasking to prepare my father’s meals. My father was to have a peaceful weekend at home, with his books.

Half an hour later, two trishaws arrived and off we went to the old bus station at Jalan Langgar. Mak and four of her children on a trip to visit Tok in Tualang. Tok lived with my Mak Teh, Mak’s only sister, who was the ‘bidan kerajaan’ (tr. midwife) for the area. The bus arrived and we were greeted by the driver who apparently came from Tualang, knew Tok, and who we were.

I stood all the way from Alor Setar. The wind blowing my fringe high up, while the heat and dust stroked my face. A sense of excitement was in the air. The adventure that had kept me awake the night before had finally started. At Langgar, the bus picked up a local celebrity: a rather pudgy man who had entered Bakat RTM and went by the name of Kak Chah. Kak Chah’s special talent was to move his abdominal flesh in waves. He stepped onto the bus, nonchalantly lifted his t-shirt and entertained all the passengers with his tummy waves before he sat down. Everybody laughed. *Kak Chah* got off at Kebun 500, the stop before ours.

Ten minutes later, the bus stopped right in front of Mak Teh’s house and Tok was sitting on the veranda, waiting for us. The first thing that I did was to hug and tickle her. Tok’s latah was legendary. Tok was impressed that I noticed that Tok Ibut’s house was no longer in the same location anymore. Apparently, the whole village had helped her move house a couple of weeks earlier. In the spirit of ‘gotong royong’, the villagers had moved her stilt house in one piece by sliding wooden beams under it and carrying the weight on their shoulders to its new location some 100 meters away.

It was noon and the sun was right on top of my head. Cool water from the well was just the thing I needed. My brother played around with the pump while I tried my luck using the metal bucket and rope. I peered into the well and imagined what it would be like to fall in there. For all I knew, it could be as deep as the centre of the earth! And what if I pulled up something scary instead of just water? The ringing of bicycle bells pulled me out of my thoughts and there they were, my Pak Cik Kob’s kids.

That weekend, Mak allowed me a longer ‘leash’. My days were coloured by images of sunny days and paddy fields, of happy kids and smiling adults, of simple life and utmost pleasure. There was not a single corner of the village that we did not explore. The village sundry shop saw us many times in the course of a day. Heaven was being able to run around in the heat and suck on those colourful frozen syrups called ‘ais krim Malaysia’! We attached an old tyre with a rope onto the huge guava tree and took turns swinging from it. Each turn leaving us dirtier than before. We laughed at all the black streaks left on us by the tyre. Bored with that, we went to check Tok’s experimental plot of ground nuts and ate them all up. Had Mak known what my brother, my cousins and I were up to, I think we would have taken the next bus home! Still, there was no question asked upon seeing us covered in mud up to our knees, face darkened by the sun and each smelling worse than Tok Ibut’s goats.

Meal times were like small feasts because there were so many of us. Mak Teh had five kids of her own, there was Tok and there were also the five of us. Simple dishes with plenty of ‘ulam-ulaman’ had never tasted better. Tualang still did not have the privilege of electricity and so Mak Teh and her family made do with one huge kerosene lamp. Since the big one was placed in the living room, any trip to other parts of the house would mean depending on the light from candles – something that I did not like so much.

In the middle of a meal on our second night, there were urgent knocks on the door, followed by someone calling *Kak Nab! Kak Nab!*. Mak Teh opened the window slightly ajar and a voice outside informed that his wife was close to giving birth. Mak Teh calmly put on her uniform, fetched her Mary Poppins bag and hitched a ride on the young man’s motorcycle. A few hours later, while I had already been sleeping for some time, some commotion in the house woke me up long enough to hear *It was a girl*.

Returning to Alor Setar on the bus the next day, I sat all the way hugging my satchel. The book I had taken with me lay snug in it, untouched. The pocket money of ‘lima kupang’ I got from my father were all gone. My kind cousin had made a catapult for me as a souvenir and that I had neatly packed inside one of my t-shirts. I reached into the satchel and held it. I rested my head on Mak’s lap, worn out but totally contented. The trips to Tualang always did that to me, and I always looked forward to the next one. It was only a trip to the Kedah countryside, but there, in that small corner of the earth, I could truly spread my wings and fly.

It’s Friday.

2011-03-11T00:42:00.001+01:00

Have a good weekend, Everybody!

Our water baby is 15 today!

2011-03-09T21:18:00.001+01:00

As I keep on insisting that I still feel 27 every year, I see my eldest growing older and taller right before my eyes. Since he turns 15 today, I feel that it is getting more and more difficult for me to keep on insisting, every November, that time is standing still !

It seems like it was just yesterday that I first laid my eyes on him. He was born in my hometown 15 years ago, a fact that he is very proud of. He was our first in so many ways. With both DH and I being the youngest in each our families and having had no previous experience with younger sibling, Spike’s birth marked the beginning of a rather unconventional parenting.

At the age of 6 weeks, he started joining us doing fieldwork. It required a bit of extra planning to have a small baby along, but we did it. In many ways he was our ice breaker, for most villagers immediately took to him. In the middle of one interview, I saw the extremely runny-nosed young daughter of my informant slurp the entire cheek of 2-month old Spike into her mouth. That was one of the first times I witnessed with my very own eyes the actual meaning of *you’re so cute, I could eat you!*.

So the first six years of his life were spent commuting between two countries, following two post-grad parents doing fieldwork and research. It would definitely have been easier to employ a maid to take care of him at home but I think we did the right thing, for in between work, we always squeezed in quality time with our little one. Hot springs, cool streams, sandy beaches, remote villages and jungle tracks – he was with us.

Once, when exploring a blackwater swamp, DH simply propped a hat on Spike’s head, put him in a *pelampung*, and let him be dragged along by a rope as he and a fellow scientist snorkelled into an environment where many grown-ups would hesitate to go for fear of snakes and bugs. There were also a few startled people on the shore in Perhentian Besar when DH popped the spare regulator into the mouth of a 4-year old with a dive mask, and both disappeared among the corals. And Spike loved every second of it, having no idea that it was an unusual life. Years later at a meeting with the DOE, someone blurted out “Hey where’s your little son that you used to drag EVERYWHERE?!”

The reptile catcher in 1999. Later upgraded to catching monitor lizards. He once caught one and wanted to bring the poor thing into the chalet for Mama to admire too!

A few days ago, MIL took out a button that Spike received in second grade. It was for swimming. We had a good laugh when we recalled the whole episode of him coming home from school feeling unjustly treated because the rest of second graders received nice shiny silver buttons while he received a ‘yellow’ one! His prowess in the water has stayed with him ever since. When the big day finally came at age 12 and he was doing his dive certification in Malaysia, the instructor came over to DH after a while and said: “Uh… let’s just cut this short. This is just basically a water baby, isn’t it”?

We always remind him of how lucky he is to belong to two close-knit extended families, two completely different cultures and that it is something that he should never take for granted. It never is a question of choosing one instead of the other. It is all about embracing the good in both while simultaneously staying true to oneself. Looking at all the pictures now, I know that Spike will keep all the memories warm and safe long after DH and I are gone. Insyaallah.

His first Aidilfitri in Alor Setar, with Mak Tok and Tok Ayah.
First introduction to the concept of ‘duit raya’ too.

After six years of being a lone child, Spike was surprised by the news of getting a sibling. It was a tough adjustment to suddenly have to share everything with another human being, who was not only small and cute but cried from 11pm to 6am for three months!

Not long after that, as he was getting over the initial shock of getting a sibling, came another one. As soon as he knew that it was going to be a girl, his response was *Well, we have to start buying girl clothes now, Mama*. All in a rather resigned, grown-up manner.

It is always close to impossible to ask them to keep a straight face.
A lot of goofing around like this has resulted in a hilarious picture collection.
And yes, it is growing!

In his quiet and decisive way, Spike has always been very protective of his two siblings and sometimes his strictness defy that of a headmaster’s. EJ and Missy adores the brother and they would go along with whatever Spike says. Last Ramadan, Spike was the one who encouraged them to push for that extra hour every day. It is our hope that Spike will continue to be protective of his siblings, setting them good examples and loving them unconditionally. We hope that he will follow his interests and that no matter what he decides to do, he will strive to be the best. Above all, we want him to be happy and to realise what life is really all about.

Last Friday, he started wearing braces, which caused him discomfort for the first three days. Eating has been difficult but two plates of rice quietly went down during dinner every day anyway. Let’s not go into the pizzas and the pastas! Last night he swore that the only thing he will eat from now on would be pudding, pudding and more pudding. So, just before he went to sleep for the last time as a fourteen year old, DH and I barged into his room, sang him Happy Birthday and gave him his birthday present. With tears in our eyes (hahaha!)and lumps in our throats, we gave our first offspring something to mark his coming of age!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SPIKE!

International Women’s Day 2011

2011-03-07T23:57:00.001+01:00

EQUAL ACCESS TO EDUCATION, TRAINING AND SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY: PATHWAY TO DECENT WORK FOR WOMEN.

Children’s quiet longings

2011-03-06T14:32:00.001+01:00

I have a playlist that provides me with back to back soothing entertainment from Anuar Zain, and I recently ‘discovered’ his Sedetik Lebih. Each day there is a pocket of time when Mommy insists on playing her music while the kids adapt accordingly. Going about doing my chores at home yesterday, I had one thousand and one thoughts inside me and it was just by chance that I glanced in the direction of the sofa and saw Missy all huddled up in one corner under the blanket. I asked her whether she was sleepy but she said that she just needed to relax. And so I left her alone.

The music played on and I continued wiping the kitchen bench and cleaning the fridge. Once done, I checked on Missy again and to my surprise I found her crying under the blanket.

*Mama, I miss Mak Tok. I know you miss her a lot more but I miss her a lot too. I miss her, Mama. I really miss her.*

I was speechless. There in front of me was a tiny girl who was trying to be brave, trying to put her feelings into words. As I grieved, I have overlooked my own children’s need to grieve. Even when I have taken great care to talk to them about the whole question of life and death and entertained their every request to hear stories about my parents, I have under-estimated their feelings and their needs to keep the memories alive and the importance of charting their place in them.

EJ sat quietly looking at his sister being comforted by me. When he tried to distract the sister with a magazine, he looked at me and I knew that my little boy was trying to be a big boy.

This weekend, I have been reminded that in parenting there is always room for improvement even when we think that we have already done our utmost best. We are just humans and we cannot possibly foresee everything. And when you miss your family, and a whole country you hold so dear, words and pictures can take you only so far.

DH and I have therefore decided that the family is going to spend Ramadan and the first few days of Syawal in Malaysia this year. As always, it will require costs and sacrifices. But Spike, EJ and Missy will get to experience the beauty of Ramadan and the first days of Syawal in my hometown, surrounded by relatives back home.

The storm yesterday.

2011-03-03T13:03:00.001+01:00

A strong storm has caused the bridge (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%A5l%C3%B8y_Bridge) to be closed yesterday. I would not have reacted so much normally for I love extreme weather and Western Norway has plenty of it!

For me, there are very few things that could beat sitting inside the safety of my own home, sipping hot teh tarik and looking out the window at the strong forces of nature.

But yesterday, both DH and I was stuck on the mainland while the kids were at home on the island - all on their own. DH finished his meeting at 2.30 and I at 3.00. The kids came home at different times and Spike, who came last, took charge of things at home and prepared sandwiches for the two small ones.

On the mainland side, while we waited, the queue grew very long and a few high school kids attempted crossing the bridge on foot. It was very risky and as one of them hung onto the railing not even half way on the bridge, I held my breath. The boys probably got an adrenaline rush on the bridge yesterday but I shudder to think how things could have gone totally wrong for them. An hour later, the bridge was opened briefly to allow cars from both directions to pass.

We finally got home at 1630.

Missy had developed a head ache and high fever and was lying flat on the sofa looking totally miserable. EJ had a super duper day at school as the class had both a baking session and an outing after that. They made cinnamon rolls and he insisted on giving me the recipe immediately for fear of forgetting the vital ingredients. Well, he did forget mid sentence! All he remembered was 5 decimeter (!) of flour. Spike helped cleaned up the hallway and carried his rucksack and gymbag downstairs. Not long after that, a scream was heard and a declaration came that Sushi had done her business on his quilt.

OMG! OMG! OMG!

I decided to adopt the ‘deaf rhino’ and leave it to the boys to take control of the situation and sort it out. My duty was preparing dinner -.

**********

With three kids in the house and a cat who is fond of turning the living room into her own private gym, tidying up is an ongoing process. Although the kids are good at doing their chores, when it comes to cleaning the toilets, they were quick to run for cover! I have now concluded that sometimes it is faster to just do it myself. After a long, hard day at work I occasionally opt for the next best method: one that does not require any equipment but simply mastering that lost puppy look.

DH: Do you want to keep this magazine?

Me: (from the sofa) Chuck it!

DH: Oprah?

Me: Huh? Oh! THAT one. You must NOT chuck that one …

DH: It’s from 2009!

Me: I know … but EJ reads it.

DH: EJ reads this in the toilet?

Me: Yeah … he wants to know why Oprah let it happen again …

DH: Really?! Oh! OK …

Me: Look what else they are revising whenever they’re in there.

DH: (LOL) At least we can’t say that they’re wasting their time …

Me: Mmm hmm …

With the fire place giving out sufficient amount of warmth, I gradually found myself in a land far far away, jumping from cloud to cloud, shouting in the manner of Upin and Ipin:

*betul! betul! betul!*

Where we are now! :) :) :) :) :)

2011-02-22T10:22:00.000+01:00

Mr Murugappan

2011-02-18T00:37:00.001+01:00

Long before I became a fan of Kinokuniya, MPH and Popular, I was perhaps the number one fan of Mr Murugappan. That ‘number one fan’ statement is enough to send chills down the spine of anybody familiar with the works of Stephen King, but my obsession started and stopped at the collection of books that he had in his shop.

Mr. Murugappan owned the biggest bookstore in our area in the 1970s. It was a one-storey wooden house, whose front served as a store, and the back as living quarters for him and his two boys. Located at the junction of Jalan K and Jalan TW, it was quite a sight for any bookworm. Typical to such stores, he had magazines in all four languages, newspapers to fit all political leanings, and books to satisfy most literary cravings. He himself was a keen reader and a man of very few words. The only time I would hear him talking at bullet train speed was when he scolded his two boys. They had the main task of delivering newspapers from house to house every day before they went to school. More about them later.

My father and I would sometimes take a walk after Maghrib to Mr. Murugappan’s bookstore. My father indulged me because he knew nobody else would. I always had something to nag about just to get myself to the shop. While he talked to Mr. Murugappan, I was lost among the books and completely forgot about the eraser or the ruler that I so needed to get earlier. To a small bookworm of a girl, the rows and rows of various Enid Blyton’s series, Tintin, Nancy Drew and many others, was as close as she could get to the utopian Shangri La. The longer my father and Mr. Murugappan talked, the happier I would be. We left that night with Dewan Pelajar, Mingguan Kanak Kanak and an eraser. My father was feeling generous that evening. He bought me my first Enid Blyton’s book too (I normally borrowed from the library). I basked in the glory of being the youngest kid. Hand in hand we walked home with him humming a tune or two and me with a heart full of flowers.

Now, Mr. Murugappan’s boys were at time typical brooding teenage boys. Both took turns to deliver the newspaper in the morning. I often saw them delivering the newspapers to my neighbour’s house every morning. They would ring the bell, deliver the newspaper to my neighbour with an excessively polite gesture, snigger at me and leave.

In those days, only the rich and famous got their morning papers sent to the front door. The type that had huge pianos like those seen in P. Ramlee movies and drove fancy cabriolets. Mere mortals like us had to go and get them ourselves at the nearby shop. In our case, from the market. At least that was how I perceived things to be then. A perception much influenced by the weekly Tayangan Gambar Melayu and Doris Day matinees on RTM1.

I was at the time a keen follower of Mingguan Kanak Kanak, mainly because of the TinTin series. I never missed any and each was read cover to cover at least twice. Once, I was told that it was delayed. After weeks of waiting and nagging my father, mother, sisters and brothers for the daily compulsory trip to check for its arrival, my Mak put her foot down and asked Mr. Murugappan to send it to us when it arrived. As a return favour, Mak decided to subscribe to the daily newspapers from him. Mr. Murugappan in return (!) told Mak, that there wouldn’t be any extra charges because his boys come to our area daily anyway. Yes, we lived and breathed the 1Malaysia spirit long before it became fashionable!

And so the next couple of years could well be summarised along the line of ‘revenge is sweet’. The boys would have to ring their bells long and well before I would slowly appear from inside the house. The angrier they looked, the slower were my steps! There were many exchanges of:

*Oi! Cepat la!*

*Tunggu la! Saya bayar awak tau!*

*Bodoh punya budak…*

*Eh! Jaga mulut aa … saya habaq Uncle Gappan baru tau!*

*Aku baling paper ni baru tau…*

*Apa ‘aku aku’… Mak saya tak ajar cakap ‘aku’ tau!*

and so on and so forth.

One fateful year, however, Mr. Murugappan’s store had to be relocated to make way for the new road. I, for one, had a panic attack. My collections were not yet completed and Tintin was in trouble in Paris! Surely Mr. Murugappan could not move away! Well, not just yet. It was such a pity and I really felt as if a significant part of my world was collapsing. The day I found out that the whole store was gone for good was one of the saddest days of my young life. I learnt from my father that he had a new store on the other side of town. And NO, no amount of nagging would make my father cycle all the way to Jalan P to get my beloved weekly magazine. My father was the calmest person I knew. He would indulge me most of the time but when he said NO, it was NO!

Years passed and I had forgotten about Mr. Murugappan and his brooding boys until I suddenly saw him a few years ago in front of a tiny booth, built under the same roof as a bus stop. He looked so haggard and tired. I pulled over and went down. I bought a few different magazines and newspapers. I could not help but telling him who I was. He remembered me and he remembered my father.

*How’s business, Uncle?*

*Not so good lah … people don’t read so much anymore. They don’t have time for anything anymore.*

I asked about his sons. He called for somebody from the booth and out came his spitting image – Mr. Murugappan as I remembered him from 30 years ago! As he excitedly reminded his son about their old shop in Jalan K and the little girl that was me, the son had a good laugh.

*Wah! you dulu cukup cukup nakai nooo …*

I told them how much I missed their bookshop and how ‘empty’ our area became after they left. The row of old Chinese shops on the opposite side too had subsequently given way to the new highway. We needed the development, but how it has taken away a lot of the charm and the cherished features of our beloved Jalan K.

Going down memory lane with people like Mr. Murugappan and his son is the kind of things that warms my heart. They remembered the Jalan K that I remembered. I decided to buy many more magazines from him that day. As I picked a bunch of reading materials, Mr. Murugappan asked me:

*What are you going to do with all these?*

*I’m taking them back to Norway. I will read them there and I will think of your bookstore in Jalan K*

I think deep down Mr. Murugappan knew why I was buying so many from him that day. He shook his head the way my father would have done had he seen me hoarding all that into the back of the car.

*Take care of yourself. It is cold over there. Take care.*

His kind parting comment left me with a lump in my throat. In my childhood, he presided over his own respectable corner store on our leisurely street. Now, he was a marginalized tenant of a tiny bus-stop cubicle, owned by the city council, on a street too busy to notice him. As I drove away, I saw him sitting on the cement bench waiting for people to pull over and buy his merchandise.

Women, Know Your Limits!

2011-02-12T00:20:00.001+01:00

WOMEN! HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND!

OK … OK … MEN TOO ….

… SHEEESHHHH!!

Thunder from the blue sky

2011-02-10T13:13:00.001+01:00

This morning, I woke up to a new round of snowfall. It was beautiful. The usual ‘chaos’ of dressing up the kids, making sure they had their breakfast while DH prepared their lunch packs and sending them to school, followed. The kids were happy. I was happy.

As I was about to begin an otherwise normal work day, I warmed up the laptop by checking my FB first (tell me you buy that!). There it was in black and white. The message. One that totally took me by surprise and left me flabbergasted, staring at the screen for a long while.

Apparently my blog-posts on the NH visits were acts of nothing more than *riak*. Now, how could I be so silly to assume that people would not suss me out?! ;D

The mere suggestion that I was doing it as a show off so that I could bathe in the glory of never ending compliments disgusted me so much, that I felt physically sick.

A part of me says that as long as I know why I do the things I do, I should heck the whole message (and eventually the person) and carry on as usual, but I am just human.

I want justice and I want closure. And enough of that quiet perseverance!

This is a recurring episode that I have chosen to keep quiet about but it is now time to flush it out of my system for good. Without a single ounce of riak, I can say that I know that I don’t deserve this.

I write to express myself, to share my experiences, to reflect and if it causes a chain reaction in others wanting to do something too, then Alhamdulillah. But my starting point has never been to make others look at me as exemplary. (Ya Allah! siapalah saya ni kan … minta di jauhkan dari sifat sifat munafik!).

I do things that I feel is right and within my capacity. That’s all. Whether all the things I do are accepted by God, Wallahualam.

A good detox coming up…

The Conjugal Rights Guide

2011-02-09T14:46:00.001+01:00