Questa è Enida

Come Sit By Me

2009-06-24T00:43:00.003+05:00

I am leaving. One foot is already out the door... and into a new home. I will say a proper Goodbye a little later. But for now...come sit by me here.

Swing My Way

2009-06-21T21:56:00.005+05:00

One thing I like about Wordpress is how simple it is for someone who doesn't know much about html codes to change blog header pictures - compared to Blogger (Blogspot). Hence you see I have been playing with it... changing the header pictures as often as I like.

Today it features the verandah teak swing we had at the corner closest to the swimming pool. Used to be my retreat swing - with a good book or this netbook - on rainy afternoon. I was going to get some padding custom-made for it had we stayed in Malaysia a bit longer (or at one point, I thought I was going to stay there indefinitely!) This swing is now sitting and not swinging in our garage in Pokrovsky. Hmmm...

My life had taken a different swing towards a direction I did not believe possible when I bought this swing at Gotic Jalan Ampang. I still do not know what could swing my way, but I have faith I can anytime do the Buble's Sway and won't stray. For now, I just let the Marimba play.

Gua Hantu

2009-06-21T01:09:00.004+05:00

Did I tell you that whoever is responsible for translating the title of English movies to Bahasa Malaysia has chosen this for the latest Ron Howard's work 'Angels and Demons': Malaikat dan Jin.

Hwwaaattt?

Yes! That was exactly my reaction. Where on the middle earth did that jin come from? Jin Mata Satu dari Gua Hantu, hai meh? I foresaw something like Malaikat dan Roh Jahat or Malaikat dan Syaitan, even. But jin is a very specific being.

I am not actually remotely questioning the language side of the translation, but rather the simple homework somebody simply did not do. How challenging is it really for a translator to Google for a definition of demon?

Here's what I found on my basic dictionary (WordBook):

Word Links
djinny: (Islam) an invisible spirit mentioned in the Koran and believed by Muslims to inhabit the earth and influence mankind by appearing in the form of humans or animals
Synonym
genie, jinni, jinnee, djinni

Hypernym
disembodied
spirit, spirit

Domain Of Category
Islam, Islamism, Mohammedanism, Muhammadanism, Muslimism

Hyponym
eblis, shaitan, shaytan

I did specify that jin is a very specific being, did I not?

I'm pretty sure Dan Brown did not have any jin or djinn in mind when he wrote Angels and Demons. A translator does not have to read the book, nor watch the movie to be able to tell that much. Am I stating the obvious that the translator did not do his homework? Or was there a member of Illuminati putting a burning satay skewer to his neck ready to stamp him with this word had he not used the word JIN?

IC: Identity Crisis

2009-06-20T19:38:00.000+05:00

It is never a short answer to “Where are you from, Enida?” Never. Neither is it a short story. Now, how do you summarize this:

I was born in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah – hence the XXXXXX-12-XXXX in my MyKad. A few years after I was born, my parents were transferred to Taiping, where I started school and finished Form Three (Grade 9). Much to my and KaCher’s resentment, we were sent to Temerloh, Pahang, to complete the two remaining years of our high school. KaCher and I were both born in KK, raised in Taiping and sent to Temerloh. Two years later, together, KaCher and I got a place in the TESL Program at PPP/ITM Shah Alam – and that was where we were asked a lot about our origin.

Am I a Sabahan? Apparently Sabahans do not think so. If your parents were not born and bred in Sabah – no matter how much your blood spilled on the land below the wind and how fluent YOU are in Kadazan-Dusun – you are as outside as an outsider, bah! So, no go. Can’t claim I am a Sabahan, can I?

Am I from Taiping? Well, I am basically not from there. Wasn’t born there, wasn’t from there. I just lived there for 15 years or so. So, not good enough to keep on kami-hang, kami-hang with the Taiping-ites no matter how smooth my kami-hang, kami-hang still is. My MyKad could not be converted to XXXXXX-08-XXXX just because I lived in the metal state for 15 years either.

Do I claim myself Orang Pahang? Muahahaha. Hmmm… no offence to Orang Pahang, but no thanks. I did mention the word resentment that I was sent to Pahang, didn’t I? I kicked, screamed and cried the Sungai Pahang crocodile tears back then for two years, hating my own inability to adjust to its koi-awaok, koi-awaok. But I must admit it is a source of amusement mocking the leweh dialect ever since we left the sleepy town.

I mean, really… where am I from? Which do you think shall be my preference, if I can have a preference?

Off Her Chest

2009-06-19T23:34:00.002+05:00

There is something nice about me that is nice for you to know. Hopefully I can get around to fessing it up nicely within the next sentence or two, or within the next paragraph. But when I tell you this nice thing about me, my niceness will probably not seem as nice anymore to you. I am a bit torn here to tell or not to tell. Ahhh well!

I am, by virtue, a very thoughtful person. I think about others - the people I carry in my heart - when I travel. My thoughtfulness will exceed the speed limit or passengers seating capacity especially when I go to souvenir shops. Everything I see will have a name on it: KaCher, LilSis, Mom & Dad, Blaire & Meagan, Cik Nan, Bibik, Cik Rome, Neil, Lish, Chin, Nor, Kanaga, Sia Peng, Anne George, Yanie (not in alphabetical order). Everyone!

And then everywhere I go, every little place I visit… I imagine who would like it. And I’d start looking for postcards to send to the people who would ‘miss’ what I just see. Like that butterfly postcard I sent to Lindt from the Butterfly Park tucked somewhere in Florida I visited in 2003. I knew she would appreciate it the most as I could not think of anyone else who loved butterflies more than I did.

But that’s just one nice story to hide the so many not so nice stories about my nice-but-not-so-nice thoughtfulness. I am thoughtful when I travel. I think about everyone and I buy souvenirs for (almost) everyone. But… I never give the souvenirs away! (Oh no!) I still keep them. (Oh noooo!) And I have no intentions of giving them away now though I have made my confession! (Oh noooooooooooo!)

Maybe I should go hide behind my souvenir chests!

Cinta Beralih Arah

2009-06-19T10:36:00.002+05:00

I have changed.

These days I enjoy sipping on coffee more than I have... tea. There's nothing wrong with tea. Don't get me wrong. I am not talking about anything wrong anywhere or somewhere anyway. I am just a changed woman. Like any changes themselves... they are neither good nor bad. They are just inevitable. Tea has served me well.

Tea = Blogspot
Coffee = Wordpress

Come sip on Coffee with me. Shall we?

Just About

2009-06-17T11:29:00.007+05:00

What happened recently did not make me strong. I am still angry. I am still sad. I am still resentful. I am still human. And I let me be. At some point when I stop thinking from my own point of view, I am ready to tell Enida to not waste her time trusting. 'He who has, gets.' Nothing just happens. One doesn't just suddenly have something without getting it. And I don't just feel angry, sad and resentful just because I just do or just am. I am reacting.

But I am done reacting just now.

What happened recently did not make me strong. Or stronger. It made me brave. It made me realize that I do have choices and I can choose. And I am courageous to say that I am keeping my options open. I am brave enough to choose to say it now... if you choose me, try not to lose me.

We'll see.

Got A Big Mouthed Woman

2009-06-10T21:15:00.004+05:00

Beyond any relativity theory, and for no apparent reason at all, I was looking at my hubby tonight and was reminded of Stevie Smith's poem I first read in 1991, never forgot but never remembered to write about. Until tonight.

Beware the man whose mouth is small;
For he'll give nothing and take all.

I just looked at my hubby again. Uh... he does have a rather small mouth. I shouldn't say I had not been warned, eh? But hey, for all we know, Stevie Smith was probably not saying the opposite. Not saying the obvious!

Well, Enida would say:

Beware the woman whose mouth is big;
For when she gets none, oh she'll dig.

_______________________________________________________

Postlude:
I know you are reminded of that catchy old Santana's song 'Black Magic Woman' now, aren't ya?

Quiet Mom

2009-06-09T20:18:00.006+05:00

I posted my last entry while watching my little duckling somersaulting in the pool late yesterday afternoon. Yes, somersaulting in the pool. Not into. But here's another post about her. With this little duckling of mine, the updates of what comes from her mouth would be every ten minutes - beats the BBC 'Breaking News'. And this one, I really have to ~~blog~~ blab about or it would break my heart.

We were walking hand in hand from the pool to our Mumberrr Firrtee-One home, Kitreena and I. And Kitreena was really pleased with how she has now mastered this one tough act in the pool she had been trying to do since Thistle (next post). As we entered the house I nicely commented how she talks a bit too much sometimes.

She just smiled and said, "That's how I use my voice Mom. You sing. I talk."

I went quiet. And my mind went quieter.

Quiet Mind

2009-06-09T15:29:00.006+05:00

I almost had it enough with my daughter today! Boy did I ever! If Elizabeth Gilbert's words about quiet mind had not come in time to save me, I would have turned blue from holding my breath. I mean, really! There I go again with my 'I mean really'. Is there something about this tropical wonderland that is extremely corrosive to my patience?

Thing is... I see Elizabeth Gilbert in Kitreena the more I read that woman and the more I read my girl. And they both belong to the other end of the spectrum from yours truly... they both do not have a quiet mind. Kitreena has to be doing something every hour down to the very minute in her waking hours. And when she is not doing something, she has to be saying something. She has an excessive need to uncage her thoughts in words. She has to talk.

Now, I am not saying a 'noisy' mind is no good. Especially for a person Kitreena's age, it is almost perfectly normal. Perfectly called for. It is a sign of an active mind in a child. But for a mother with a quiet mind like mine, words uttered can be a clutter. I am not saying that my mind is always quiet either. I can have thoughts of different thoughts spinning like a Blue Ray disc. But the only noise you hear is the words I write. And you - mind you - have a choice to read or not to read!

But when Kitreena speaks, she turns into a little Pharaoh! I am only thankful I am a little Pharaoh's mother! She can speak all she wants, I just have to say, "Silent! Pharaoh's mom speaks now!" She says everything that crosses her mind. I mean EVERYTHING! Here's an example of her response to my "Kitreena, if you want to go swimming, please go get changed."

"Okay Mom. Uh... but where did you put my swimming gear? Oh I know, it must be in the bag we took to the beach the other day. But maybe Dad has taken the bag downstairs. Dad, did you take my swimming suit out of the bag that we took the beach the other day? Oh yeah! I found it Dad. But Mom, I think I don't need my goggles here. The chlorine is not so bad in our swimming pool compared to the hotel one. But I'm still going to take the goggles and everything in the bag to the pool just in case I need them. And even if I don't need them, they just stay in the bag because that's where they belong. So if I don't put them on this time, I know where to find them when I go swimming next time. Okay Mom? Mom? Mom? Are you listening to me Mom?"

To which I answered... "I wish I didn't have to."

So, you see what I mean by noisy mind now? That paragraph above was exactly what was said by Kitreena without ANY interruption from me or her Dad. And that paragraph above is a true example of what she said within the ten-minute commotion of her wanting to go swimming because she was bored and could not stand doing nothing at home after an early supper! She had to go swimming, she had to be doing something on a rainy afternoon. And she had to make commentary of every movement she made, as though she had a visually-impaired audience watching!

But then again, I am making my noise now, am I not? These words I write.

Please Mr. McGee

2009-06-06T23:02:00.006+05:00

I mean, really! (I don't start my sentence with "I mean" very often. In fact, I very seldom use the phrase 'I mean'. You won't like me when I start my sentence with 'I mean' though. Really! And if my 'I mean' is followed by the word 'really'... oh boy! You won't like me when I say 'really' after saying 'I mean' either. And I really mean it!)

Like how many Customer Service Assistants or Careline Assistants at Celcom do you have to speak to before they treat you like they care? (Oh, I don't usually start my sentence with the word 'like' either! I think you know me by now and you can tell how incredible Celcom can be. And I don't mean incredible here in a good way. So please lah Mr. McGee!)

My Celcom Mobile Broadband refused to get me connected to the networld yesterday. Now, don't start it by asking if I had paid April or May's bills or not because I did even when I wasn't using it, and even when I was in Moscow. I was prepared. But I was really not prepared to be tossed around like I don't know my numbers. Not on the phone, not at the end of a frustrating day, not ever!

It took me FOUR Celcom Careline Assistants to be understood that I could not get connected! The 1st Careline Assistant bounced me back to the main menu to press number 3 for assistance regarding the Mobile Broadband. But that was exactly what I had done! I had pressed number 3 to have spoken to the 1st Assistant in the first place. Strange! But ah well, I did as instructed nevertheless.

When I spoke to the 2nd Assistant, she wired up a new story saying that oh, Celcom had updated the IVR Menu and Broadband was no longer number 3, it was number 2. So I was instructed to press number 2 and was bounced back to the main menu. I trusted her. I did press number 2 this time even though I knew for sure number 2 option was for 3G, GPRS and MMS. And guess what? It was an option for 3G, GPRS and MMS. No broadband. Uh, hello?

So I spoke to the 3rd Assistant who assisted me by telling the same story the 1st Assistant told me. Press number 3. But this time she said she wasn't going to send me back to the main menu, she was going to be very caring and very helpful and connect me directly to number 3. And voila! I spoke to the 4th Assistant, to whom I had to tell the whole story again. Yes, the whole story, nothing but the whole!

Glory to Celcom! What a wonderful service!

The 4th Assistant gave me what the 1st and the 3rd Assistants did. But I had gotten smarter and pissedoff-er by then and told him nope! I wasn't going to let him show me a siaran ulangan. I would take no re-run from no assistants. He either helped me or admitted that he was as smart as ~~donkeys~~ all three of his colleagues who had crossed my path before him.

So he tried to be helpful, this Mr. 4th Assistant. When all his suggestions proved to be unsuccessful, he was even willing to wait for me to turn the netbook off, unplug my Huawei, plug it back, turn the netbook back on... yeah, the whole nine yards and a quarter! I said, forget it. As it was, all his 'help' was rather incredible to me.

He actually asked me to go to 'Choose Connection Type' and instead of 'GPRS Preferred', opt for '3G Only'. After that, change the 'Choose Network' to 'Manual' instead of 'Auto'. And then, he asked me to try everything else. When that didn't work, he asked me to change everything back to the original setting. Huh? Hello bellow? Adeke?

Of course nothing happened!

I was smiling all throughout the phone conversation last night and with all FOUR Celcom Careline Assistants. Careline? Careline? Care? Please lah Mr. McGee. Or Ghee Blend or whoever you care to claim you are. Care? I mean, really?

Bear Ark

2009-06-06T13:55:00.004+05:00

I find it funny what people type on the Google search and be sent to my blog. Today, just about an hour and a half ago, someone in Singapore typed "food that makes the cheeks chubby" and was brought to this entry. I hope if this person was looking for food that would make her cheeks chubby, she wasn't disappointed to see that I am no fat donor to her probable Botox plan. Although... I would be more than happy to donate some if the procedure was as simple as my Daily Output Mumberrr Two.

On Me It Dawned

2009-06-04T03:09:00.010+05:00

Totally did not anticipate that it could hit me this hard, this jetlag. After all, it is only a 4-hour difference between Pokrovsky Boulevard and Jalan Duta. I have been having troubles waking up before noon. And it has taken this nyonya 8 good days to bangun pagi siram pokok bunga! Only today that my air pasang pagi surut pukul 0545 when Edrick came to our room with his bugil bottom. Apparently he had gone to the bafwoom himself and wasn't successful with the attempt to put the pants back on. Oh tedah!

When I went back to bed just a little before 0600, I was actually glad that I was wide awake. My mind, for one reason or the other, immediately went wandering to Jalan Ampang where I had been earlier. It's very easy for me to blame Dr Ananda for being the agenda of the day, but it wasn't him. It was his assisstant, Nurul, who had her self-portrait up on the clinic's reception wall. It all reminded me of my talented dear friend Nikki in Toronto. How's that?

I have been thinking about Nikki. I have been thinking of what not to say to her and what best ways to swallow the condolences like one would the bitterest painkillers. And I have been thinking of how to apologize to her for my not facing her sorrow of losing someone so dear... as dear as a little sister. I still do not know what to say, but I have run out of excuses for not calling Nikki to at least say that nothingness.

To say that I am not good with words would be setting my own pants on fire, I know. So, I am not going to say I am not good with words. Not to Nikki, not to the sweet little angel singing in heaven for her early return to The Maker. Words have been good to me. But this time, the profound understanding that I have for the weight of losing a sister has failed me through and through. And this profoundness of my understanding comes with no words.

So as the sun is rising at my end and setting at yours, forgive me Nikki as I pray yet again... wordlessly.

Over Easy

2009-06-02T12:32:00.012+05:00

It is not overly easy for me to get over with how much easier it is getting now mommy-ing me monchies. I was scared to move away and move on without Bibik, for she has not only been my (wo)man Friday... she has been my confidante, my best friend, my other me. I was even more scared coming back to our House Mumber Firrtee-One to find it is now all up to me and on me - to man and to maid. It was an overly emotional homecoming. For me.

Everything reminds me of Bibik. The kids' pyjamas ironed and folded neatly in the drawers. The Sunlight dish soap bottle standing upside down by the kitchen sink for its last 10 drops. The Brabantia ironing board she liked so much. The broken hangers she saved for rainy days (when the laundry's aplenty). The last grocery list she handwrote spelling diapers as daipes. Even the mop and her favorite Apple-scent Daia floor freshner remind me ever so dearly of Bibik.

Me monchies, on the other hand, have gracefully moved on and are getting used to not having Bibik already. They had their induction month in Moscow. I did too. But coming back to House Mumber Firrtee-One seems to have sent me back to square one - phase two. Not only it is a much bigger place than that of my Bukit Pokrovsky, I feel like I am missing out on my ME time now that house chores are back on my KL-Menjerit list. (Jeritan batin di Moscow tak siapa mendengar, no worries!)

Aaannnyways, I am not complaining. It is - no matter how much I kick, scream and yell about it - getting a lot easier with Kitreena and Edrick. We had fun today at Kizsports, the three of us - The Three Monchketeers. We had fun on Saturday at Untoo Ween's house and later at the hospital visiting with Grandma. It was fun despite Edrick's teething episode and Kitreena's constant needs to be physically active - daily swimming, or running, or catching frisbee or Billy... our poor neighbor's cat.

It is getting so much easier that I could actually start this entry while me monchies were playing at Kizsports! No more stroller, no more daipes, no more milk rations, bottles or bottle-brush, no more car seats even! Yeah we will not leave home without the wet wipes yet. But that is because of my mild OCD mind. Poor kids! I mean, really. Who doesn't have wet wipes in her handbag? I have long thought that it is the best invention second only to lightbulbs!

I did let my mind go wander there for a bit. I just saw Bibik's favorite toast-spread in the pantry. Her nutella.

Heartfelt

2009-05-31T10:46:00.007+05:00

Since I am back in my element, kena cakap bahasa tempatan lah eh? Well, let's see if my brain can now deny what bleach Mr. Santa Singh from Ben-tong washed me with back in 1990. (Holy guacomole! That was almost 20 years ago? He convinced me that to be able to speak in a language other than your mother tongue, you have to THINK in that language. He guaranteed me that in merely two weeks I was going to have my dreams and nightmares in English... which, uh, I did! How could I not believe him.)

Anyway... let's just get back to what I have been feeling and having heart (failure) to say.

Kalau ikut rasa, tak ada rasa dah buat masa ni. Patah hati. Tak tau lah kalau boleh hati yang patah ni balik merasa besok lusa. Dan kalau ikut hati, memang berbesar hati nak buat ~~press conference~~ sidang akhbar mengumumkan apa yang tak boleh diumumkan di blog dan Facebook. Tangan dah pegang pen dan kertas nak buat ~~speech text~~ teks ucapan dah ni.

Yang payahnya untuk orang yang banyak berfikir macam saya ni ialah... selalu tak menang merasa, dan selalu tak sampai di hati. Jauh sudah perginya hati saya. Di Moscow tidak, di sini pun tidak. Di tengah-tengah lah mungkin hati saya tertinggal. Atau mungkin jauh lagi.

Dan di tengah-tengah tak merasa begini... mungkin ada baiknya saya naik mandi, siap-siap untuk pergi mengadap Angels & Demons dengan buah hati. Manalah tau kalau-kalau ada yang datang pulangkan hati saya yang tertinggal jauh di Kota Asmara.

Auntynational

2009-05-29T12:27:00.005+05:00

The other day, just like many days since we arrived in Moscow… Edrick and I were doing the so-called role call of all the immediate women in our life – his aunties. He must have been wondering a lot about these wonder women that this time, the other day, he initiated the role call. Many times before, it was me wondering a lot and wondering aloud about those wonder women that I could not help but asking: "Edrick, where's Aunty _____?"

Edrick came up with all sorts of answers just for the sake of answering his wonder-full Mommy. Like, Aunty Mas is in the bafwoom upstairs. Or Aunty Pet went to get some food. Aunty Reen went to the hospital with Grandma. Aunty Lisa, Aunty Chin, and even Aunty Yati (the helper of Uncle Jordan, our beloved neighbor in Country Heights) made it to his list of this so-called role call. I am blessed with children who are blessed with good memory. They remember. They make me remember at times when I don't even forget. They recall. Hence the role-call, I guess.

Well, the other day, doing the role call, unlike the many times we did before… Edrick asked me:

Mommy, where's Untoo Mas? (That's how he pronounces the word aunty: 'untoo'.)
Ohh she's in Amsterdam today. Eh, no that was yesterday. Aunty Mas is probably on her way to Venice now from Munchen.
Munchen?
Yeah, Munchen. Munich.
Monique?
Hmmm… no, wait. Was that last week? Ohhh she's probably in Rome already. I am not sure.
You're not shorrrrr? Where's Untoo Pet?
She's with Aunty Mas.
Wherrrre? In Wome?
I suppose. They could be out gallivanting-ing in Paris. I don't know. Let me text her later ok?
Ok.

Mommy.
Hmmm.
Mommeee…
Yes.
Where's Untoo Ween?
Aunty Reen is in Malaysia.
Mewayyzhaa?
Yes.
With Untoo Weesa?
Yes, with Aunty Lisa.

Mommy.
Iyyyerrrr.
Where's Untoo Nana?
Huh, Aunty Nana is in Singapore Zoo!
No Mom! She's nawt! She's just in Singaporrr. Nawt the zooooo.
Who's in the zoo then?
It's for animals in twubble Mom. Untoo Nana is not in twubble.
Too much Wonder Pets betul lah ko ni!

Mommy.
Mmmm.
Mommy!
Yesss.
Where's Untoo Chin?
Aunty Chin is in Hong Kong?
Ongkong?
Haiii hieuong kong.

Mommy.
Mmmm.
Mommy!
Iyyyyyerrrrrr!
Where's Bibik?
Bibik's in Indonesia.
Bibik's not in Mewayyzhaa? In the house mumberr fffirrtee-one?
No, Bibik's not in Malaysia. Bibik's in her house in Indramayu.
Demaiiyouu?
Ye. Indramayu. She's with her family.
Her fammewee is in the house mumberr fffirrtee-one?
No monch. There's nobody in the house number thirty-one.
No bahddee?
Nope.

Edrick went silent for a few good seconds and I could see how rapid his eye movement was. If it were in complete rotations, his eye movement would be at the speed of all the way to 900 rpm, I could count and guarantee you.

Mommy.
Mmm.
Mommeeee…
Mmm.
Mommeeeeeeee!
Iyyyyerrrr! (Edrick will not say what he wants to say if you don't say 'yes' or 'iyer' to his calling your name.'Hmmm' and 'Mmmm' are not acceptable.)
I wanna go home to house mumberr fffirrtee-one. Bibik's waiting for meee.
No monch, there's no one in house number thirty-one now. This is our home…number nine. In Russia.
No, my home is mumber fffirrtee-one. Evewee one is waiting for meee in Mewayyzhaa! Not Washa Mommm!

I don't think the reality has quite sunk in with Edrick yet. After all, this reality – of not having Bibik around after five years of being spoiled rotten – has qualified me a place in the zoo – I am an animal in trouble!

To all the Mewayyzhian Untoo's in my son's life… here's a toast to your being international! I can take my boy out of Mewayyzhaa, but I can't take Mewayyzhaa out of my boy. We'll be back for a few days at house mumberr fffirrtee-one soon.

Aunty Mas
Aunty Pet
Aunty Reen
Aunty Lisa
Aunty Chin
Aunty Lailey
Aunty Nor
Aunty Yanie
Aunty Yatie
(Aunty) Kakak Tri
Aunty Sherina
Aunty Karen
Aunty Sia Peng
Aunty Yuhana
Aunty Lindt
Aunty Gee
Aunty Salbiah
Aunty Jamila
Aunty Petra
Aunty Lirang
Aunty Marilyn
Aunty Dawn
Aunty Carolyn
Aunty Bibik! Hhhuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I am trying not to remember.

(Menulis catatan ini dalam perjalanan pulang ke nombor tiga-puluh-satu, terbang bersama Sutera Diraja Siam melalui Bang Makok. Kitreena tidak dapat menerima hakikat kami tidak meneruskan penerbangan langsung ke Bandung dan menaiki bas ke Indramayu bertemu Bibik. Aunty Mas masih di Kota Asmara. Aunty Reen masuk minggu ke limabelas menanti monchy ketiga. Aunty Lisa… kopitiam time-out akan datang akhir minggu ini. Ke garisan! Aunty Chin akan diculik minggu depan dalam masa beberapa jam di Bangsar Village tanpa ugutan meminta wang pampasan, cuma ole-ole dari Hong Kong jika beliau mau selamat. Akan tetapi antara Amsterdam, Munich, Venice, Rome, Paris, Kajang, Bangi, Bangsar, Hongkong, Singapura, Bandung, Indramayu, Anyir dan Jakarta… mungkinkah kita jatuh cinta di Moscow?)

Picture Me

2009-05-26T20:28:00.006+05:00

Dear friends, families, foes and foei gras [fwɑ ˈɡrɑ],
If I am still not on your friends list on Facebook... search me by enida@mail.com kay? I have uploaded new pictures by the kilotons for you to see how deliciously tastily spicy my life is now. Not.

It's as stinky as my Kangkung Belacan, as fishy as my Sambal Ikan Bilis, as greasy as my Roti Canai and funny as my supposedly Indian curry that had gone to Hadyaai but ended up in Kecamatan Manggis in Bali. Oh these Russians!

Bananarama Momma

2009-05-22T12:12:00.017+05:00

I am writing a looooong entry about what kind of Mom I am. But nothing deserves a publishing more than an entry about what kind of children I am Mommy-ing. So here...

For the past couple weeks now the Monchies and I have established a still-chaotic-work-in-progress bedtime routine. Before the l'ultimo bacio, we tell ourselves a bedtime story. Yes, we. The light will be dimmed, the Monchies tucked in the bunk bed - Kitreena on the top, and I will sit by Edrick in the bottom bed. I will start with the easiest part "Once upon a time, there was a..." and the kids will fill in the blank - whoever is faster will get his choice of character's story made up and told. And the story will go on from there. Ad-lib.

Surprisingly Edrick has been the faster one to come up with a noun for the blank. And Kitreena has been the more imaginative one, cooking up the storyline. And two nights ago Edrick filled in the blank with a banana. I put the banana into life by making him run really really fast for his life. Right away... Kitreena could see the monkeys chasing after him. It was such an intense phase in Mr. Banana's life, I tell you, we could almost peel his pulse! I mean, feel his pulse.

It wasn't long before Mr. Banana started panting, sweating and almost pee-ing in his peel. In his desperation to save his life from being eaten alive by the bananabaric monkeys, he was granted an idea by the Banana God watching him from up above the clouds over the banana republic. Mr. Banana thought of going bugil (naked) would save his life as he could run fasterer - so there! He peeled himself and kept on running!

The monkeys, running so fast so hungry, did not have time to see what had been thrown at them by Mr. Banana. And guess what? Predictably, the monkeys slipped on the peel and came tumbling down the hills, losing their special lunch that day. While Mr. Banana might not grow a new peel and would go bugil for the rest of his life, he was at least saved for another day by his quick (street-smart and strip-smart) thinking.

The End.

Last night it was Daddy's turn to put Monchies to bed. I opted for the dishes! The kids came down to the kitchen to say goodnight to me and demanded the bedtime story. So after briefing Daddy with what it was all about, I initiated the story. Edrick got his way again by filling in the gap with an elephant who lost his trunk. I, trying to stay away from another action-packed-come-to-life stripping elephant, asked Edrick where he thought the elephant could get a new trunk.

"The trunk is on the tree, Mommy!"

I rolled right over on the kitchen floor laughing as I was imagining an elephant with a wooden trunk and a tree with an elephant trunk!

And for some reason another trunk came to mind. But that was for my bedtime story.

Better Than Chocolate?

2009-05-21T00:05:00.018+05:00

Since as far as November 2008, I have been meaning and trying to pen a tribute to my pediatrician. I mean, my kids' pediatrician, of course. A tribute for, well... obviously taking a great care of my children when I needed him periodically and pediatrically. I have been trying to find words and ways to say how thankful and grateful I am. But every time I read my own words and ways of saying them... I keep thinking of analogies to describe the tribute.

It's like trying to make a good cup of cocoa but end up with that crunchy-nut-in-the-middle Perugina Baci or better yet, Godiva and Bernard Callebaut chocolates melted together. And it's like trying to make a simple crepe but end up with a Belgian Waffle with strawberries and honey on top. Forget sugar! This is HONEY we're talking about. And oh, that waffle has got to be eaten on a cool Sunday morning on that little balcony facing the Heaven's Gates of La Rochelle. Has got to!

And it's like stuffing a little box with a nice little Shikisyi Edo handkerchief but end up with the best Muga silk duvet wrapping around you... like your wedding saree.

Oh I so need a chocolate. I mean, coffee. Sorry!
(Tea? What tea?) Ahhh... my cup runneth over.

Unwritefully Yours

2009-05-18T01:47:00.006+05:00

I know I should just go to bed.

Things went perfectly well with the monchies tonight. Fed them the homemade non-piccante Green Curry Beef dinner earlier than usual. Got them home from the playground right in time for the 15 minutes get-ready-for-bed rituals. Had the 'Once Upon A Time There Was A...' bedtime story told by 2045. They were cosily tucked in and in Lulla Land by 2100, and voila! The day was done. Yes, Sunday is an ON day for the wicked moms. Supposedly.

But I went downstairs instead. Made myself some Earl Grey and grabbed a sooshka instead. I was supposed to pay my debt to Elizabeth Gilbert of her Eat Pray Love - 3 pages installment per night tonight, like every night. But I paid 15 instead. (There is this rule I have been governing myself with. For almost 20 years now. The rule says: I shall read at least 3 pages of anything per day, if not night. Thus those books or magazines you see in almost all my WC's in my house, car-door or seat pockets, night tables in all rooms, on one corner on all benches, in the closets, kitchen and all under-sink cabinets.)

I promised myself to write The Silent Reader a reply email which I started 3 nights ago but stopped. I re-started it tonight. But I re-stopped instead. I wrote so long, felt so much... that in the end I found myself back in the middle of the beginning of what I had written so long and felt so much about. Words, like they have been the past weeks, seemed to turn to tears and tears turned to blood when I wrote them. I was bleeding when I thought I was merely weeping.

I don't know now if I am telling you the truth by lying. Or if I am awake by sleeping. I only know that I am dying by living. Or maybe the other way around, instead. So angels, I am unwriting this right before your eyes. Or are they mine instead?

I should have just gone to bed. Or eaten the sooshka, prayed for a goodnight sleep and loved Enida after that 15 pages of Eat Pray Love. Instead...

Adagio

2009-05-15T18:48:00.011+05:00

There is this 365-Calendar thing on my night table now. It is the '365 Ways To Say I Love You Calendar' that I bought for my husband couple years ago - but he never really looked at it. He was never there to look at it anyway. I happened to find it today as I was clearing the dresser. For May 15th, it says: 'Put a tribute to him on the website.'

So Babe, this Adagio is for you... however long it may take you to find these words of mine. True to the meaning of the song and the word adagio, so have I been to this thing many call love. I don't call it anything anymore. I just live it. The way I have.

Please click PLAY on my MixPod.

Adagio

I don't know where to find you
I don't know how to reach you
I hear your voice in the wind
I feel you under my skin
Within my heart and my soul
I wait for you
Adagio

All of these nights without you
All of my dreams surround you
I see and I touch your face
I fall into your embrace
When the time is right I know
You'll be in my arms
Adagio

I close my eyes and I find a way
No need for me to pray
I've walked so far
I've fought so hard
Nothing more to explain
I know all that remains
Is a piano that plays

If you know where to find me
If you know how to reach me
Before this light fades away
Before I run out of my faith
Be the only man to say
That you'll hear my heart
That you'll give your life
Forever you'll stay

Don't let this light fade away
No no no no no
Don't let me run out of faith
Be the only man to say
That you believe
Make me believe
You won't let go
Adagio

World Wide Wept

2009-05-13T18:32:00.002+05:00

Someone asked me the other day as to why I write about my private and personal life on the World Wide Web for the whole wide world to see.

I answered quite simply...

"Am I not a part of that whole wide world?"

Yes, I must admit that I have been writing because I have been read. But being read alone does not make me write or want to. I write mostly for me when I feel so much and I cannot contain, when I have so much to say and no one there to share. I write when I have trouble telling myself that it is my life I am living. It is not easy to tell that Enida I know that she is the now and the here of the stories she writes. (I have tried convincing her that she is her.)

And so I, Enida the Questa è Enida, accept that I only have one life here. It is imperfect, it is short and it is no one else's but mine. And lately, I confess, it is downright miserable. If writing about my imperfect short miserable life - phase by phase - makes me learn more about myself and my capacity to learn... all the more life to me!

And along the way, if what I write bestows me lessons, friends, love and strength... hey, at the end of this life I have nothing but lessons learned, friends made, love found and strength gained. And along the way, if what I write touches some others who are just trying their best to live their one life out there, teaches some other lessons to some who are just trying their best to learn their life's lessons out there... why should I be private about my life?

I am a part of that whole wide world. I am real and I am here. And I can see me as a part of that whole wide world, tangled in the web and weeping. If that someone who asked me as to why I write about my private and personal life for the whole world to see cannot see me as a part of that whole wide world... I think his world is not wide enough. And I am weeping for him that is never here nor now. And him that never sees me.

Water Works

2009-05-12T16:59:00.005+05:00

I never told anyone about this, but every time after I shed a tear or two, I would weigh myself. You would never believe how big of a water-retention problem you have until you cry, really. Well, for crying out loud, that's what I believe anyway.

This morning I put myself on the scale to find that I was actually lighter than a feather. So I was left to wonder if I had opened the floodgate or if I had been crying too much.

Or does hope float?

Gay About Being Straight

2009-05-08T14:49:00.012+05:00

After six and a half years of wearing a curly hair, Kitreena had a blow of change. May 1st, 2009 - for the very first time in her life Kitreena wore a straight hair and was extremely gay about it. But of course the hair went all curled up the very next day. Good thing I had warned her about it. You know... the usual 'be grateful for what God has given you' line. "People spend a lot of money to get curly hair like what God gave you for free?" line.

"I know Mom, you don't have to tell me again and again."

Oh, I know that line by heart too by now.

Guiltily Not Gay

2009-05-07T15:40:00.004+05:00

I lied.
I told you my truth. Now I feel guilty and I need to tell you the truth about my lies.

I don't like it here. Not all of it, anyway. I hate the dry air. My hair done at Okairi has lost its bounce. It is now as straight as I am not gay with it. Not only that it stands up in protest every time I make an attempt at brushing it with my anti-static Silva hairbrush, it is also flatter than my tummy.

My skin is rough - yes, from the dry air as well. It is so rough that it makes the sound you would only hear when a jackfruit rubs against the raffia sack that wraps it. Imagine my jackfruit-rough skin rubbing against silk stockings. Yes, jackfruit. Not durian. And that's why my new stockings are now as linty as a towel. Durian would have ripped 'em.

I dislike the carpeted floor upstairs as well. The carpet sheds so badly that every time the kids roll on the floor I have a few extra items added to my job description. I have never seen a carpet that sheds this bad since that expensive but cheap Chinese silk carpet I bought at a clearance sale in Ruwi. Gosh, I might as well just turn the lint it sheds into a wig by my fourth week here (I vacuum-clean it twice to thrice a week).

The dryer machine. Ahhh the dryer machine is a blessing in ~~digust~~ disguise! Obviously it speeds up the second item in my job description i.e. Laundry. But the dearest drying machine shrinks almost all my clothes! So shrunk that it sends me to the weighing scale every morning thinking I have put on weight! With shrinking comes wrinkling and crinkling. With wrinkling and crinkling comes ironing. With ironing comes an irony - I hate ironing but despise it if it is not done MY way!

I did actually get help - especially with ironing - last week. In fact I did get help with mopping, vacuuming, cleaning and babysitting from a Filipino lady named Joy. She was supposed to come Tuesdays and Fridays. But the joy did not last. She came VERY late on her first day. She said she overslept. Okay no worries. She left halfway through cleaning on the second day (with a good excuse) but did not call as promised. Not a problem, I am not fussy about calling. She brought a friend over on her third day. Hmmm...I frowned a bit. And this week she has not come at all! All I have said is..."Oh what a joy!"

And today, on my 19th day of being in Moscow, I saw Autumn. The fourth season.

Now that I am four-seasoned here, shall I backpack and backtrack? Or shall I just write that great Russian novel?

The Truth Is...

2009-05-05T14:03:00.008+05:00

Time for the truth is never better than now.
And now, I finally feel like telling.

The truth is... I like it here. I like the land of the Tsars. I like it... physically. It was the most perfect time to arrive - mid April. Within less than three weeks, we have seen three seasons. Where else can you experience that other than, of course, in Calgary. In fact, it was deja vu seeing all the blacks and browns around. It was raining when we landed, which you don't see much in Alberta. Love the rains in Malaysia though, no matter what season!

There were no leafy trees to see or speak of, the Saturday morning we were transported from Domodedovo Airport to this Taman Bukit Pokrovsky. Nyet! Our first Tuesday in town, winter reappeared. So we let it snow. And then spring sprang just two days after that. Now it is as warm as the coolest nights in Kuala Lumpur, circa 25 degrees Celcius. And that, in Russian thermometer, means summer. How's that?

That's truth nomer a'deen (numero uno). Yes, the more I hear it, the more similar Russian is to Italian - the rhythm of the language, that is.

The truth is... physically speaking, I can live here for many years to come. The Russians don't scare me any more than those China Police interrogating me at Beijing Airport last December. After all, not many of them have a superpower like the one I have watching me from above the Russian clouds.

The other truth is... truth nomer dva, if emotions come from the heart, I need a heart transplant. Desperately! The one I have now is not functioning anymore. It bled love not long ago. Now though it's still bleeding, nothing trickles out from it. Not blood, not air, not even emotion. Love? What's that? I keep getting confused between love and practicality. Love doesn't come from the heart anyway, does it?

The only time this heart comes close to functioning is when the two oxygen bubbles (aka Monchies) come home from school. Other times... I would just gasp like a fish with lungs wondering why the very thing that makes me alive suffocates me. I long and yearn for something to hold on to. But I honestly don't know what that something should be. A person? A marriage? A future? Or is it just an idea? A make-believe that time heals everything? What if I don't have time? Or a heart anymore to go on?

The truth is... I gave my heart and time last October to forgive this imperfect little me. I forgave Enida for being so busy with everything else that didn't matter much to her relationship with her other half. There! I was not available for many years. Though I honestly think that a good fraction of the negligence came from the post childbearing period, I was profoundly at fault for not reaching out for help. I thought we were okay.

The truth is... we were not okay. There was already a huge gap physically and emotionally when we decided to go for a rotational job - him being in a Godforsaken workplace for supposedly 4 weeks at a time, and home 4 weeks at a time. But we thought the 4 weeks home would do us good. Apparently it never went as long as 4 weeks at work for him. It was 6 weeks and longer. And at one point, we only had 2 weeks together. It killed us. And on August 6, 2008... after only a year of being the rotational wife, I died just from reading an email.

The truth is... people fall in and out of love. We gave our love too much time and too many miles away from each other. So when love didn't come back to Malaysia in September 2008, it went to Spain for a few good weeks. Weeks when he thought he had found a soulmate but instead had a violent truth staring right back at him, scaring him away and reminding him of what exactly he ran away from, years before we met.

The truth is... love lives, and infatuation short-lives. And when Bali happened, I was convinced that love at last found his way home. We talked like we always did before the year of 2002 BC (Before Children), we spent time being honest to each other, crying in each others' arms, worrying like two warts that will never go away no matter what. And in the whole process we accepted each other as two imperfect humans trying to make do and best in this short life together.

The truth is... we are no good apart. And in less than six weeks between March 6 and April 18 of not being together, faithfulness left our door again. This time in exchange of $200 per hour going rate. The key that I just found and brought home has been thrown away again, and I am expected to go find it again. I will go and I will find it again I am sure. But will I bring it back to where home is, time will tell. In the meantime, if I seem lost between trust, fidelity, practicality, and this love and relationship business... well, I am.

The truth is... people say, the truth will set you free. Maybe I am not lost. Maybe I am just free.

A Boob Tribute

2009-05-04T11:48:00.005+05:00

I watched The Reader late Saturday night and read way more than I could be read to. Loved the movie and its nudity because it made me realize that I am on the right track. How so? Hehehehe. Kate Winslet is younger than yours truly - can't change that. But when I saw her naked body (stand-in's or whosever's it was), I was convinced that my degree of sagging-ness is perfectly right for my age.

So now I love me boobies just the way they are - no matter where in the south countries they are heading to. I'm right behind 'em!

Made To Be

2009-04-30T01:52:00.005+05:00

If I were a mistake
waiting to be made
I would surely wait
wanting to be
none but me.

So make mistake
and make my day.

You made mine.

A Fishy Affair

2009-04-30T00:41:00.012+05:00

Life goes on and I finally felt like writing an email to a friend I just made here at Taman Bukit Pokrovsky, Jalan Beregovaya. To those who have been emailing and texting... I have been talking with you via Global Wi-Max in my head everyday [read: talking to myself as though you were in my house, or head]. No email-email. Too slow! But in case you haven't noticed, I have been so up, out, about and so around twinkle-town making friends, I have had no time to sulk, buckle, crumple, crumble nor crinkle.

Had tea with Jo-Anne last Friday and met with Diane (Jo-Anne's fellow South African friend). Had cappucino with the CEO's wife at her place and had the most stimulating conversation within the last 11 days! (Of course talking to Edrick about his itchy spots was very stimulating as well!) Tomorrow Marilyn and Lirang are driving across the city and up the hills to sample my Nasi Goreng lunch. Yeah, big deal. I'm grappling inside, still toying with the idea of returning home not knowing where home is. But who cares.

So dear angels, here's Jo-Anne:

Hey there Jo-Anne!
Yep! Got your email, thank you. And while I'm face to face with this laptop - and has no husband to go to bed to (he has been deep in the Siberian oilfield since Sunday) - I'll linger a little bit to tell you about my night out last Friday (just in case we never get around to talking about it. Haha.)

We went on the Metro and walked a little to the GodKnowsWhereItWasKaya Street and stopped to have dinner at a restaurant that actually looked more like a club called Etaj Projekt (etaj, I later found out, means 'floor' - hence the four-tiered interior). So Floor Project Restaurant, it was. There was no menu in English, but the server spoke not bad English and took the trouble to explain what we were about to poison ourselves with. :)

I love fish, so I gladly went fishing that night and ordered me a Fish Soup that I thought would be like the French Riviera style seafood soup or Italian Zuppa de Pesche. But it turned out to be salmon chunks soup, served with two good-sized dumplings that were stuffed with yummy salmon chunks. And for main dish, I chose Salmon with Spinach. Boy, at the end of dinner, I was so fished out I felt like a Salmon swimming home!

Hubby had what they called 'Mini Steak' since he wanted to have something light. What the server did not say was... the dish was actually Mini Steaks (not just one mini steak, there were three mini steaks!) They were mini only by Russian standard, of course. But I am happy to report that though hubby and I were each steak-ed and fished out... the food at Etaj Projekt was awesome!

Oh, just googled the restaurant. It is on Tverskaya Street (No. 14).

Okay dear, see ya tomorrow.
(I know you're leaping with joy that it's a short week this week and next. I know I am!)

PB-09 Gal,
Enida

p.s. Speaking of fish dinner, there is this really good fish/seafood restaurant in Perth Australia called 'A Fishy Affair'. I thought that is such a perfect name for a fish restaurant. Very creative! Extremely appropriately fishy!)

_____________________

Postlude:
No, I do not go to bed with moy mush.
I go to bed to him.

Stuck On You

2009-04-28T22:05:00.008+05:00

I told you to be still. I told you I am all right. Things can go Vladivostok-ishly wrong and I am as all right as all left can be. So let's move on to bigger and better things while I deal with my love and life, while I learn my lessons or teach one or two to those who might have to learn sooner than later.

So my angels took aflight on April 15 to the city of SIN where their sinful mommy's bestfriend dwells (yes both Mommy and her bestfriend are sinfully sinful when they want to be). It was supposed to be an uneventful flight. Until this boy decided to explore what he could do with his hands. Yeah, already!

The first 20 minutes after taking off was a bliss and I was sure the next 35 minutes was going to evaporate on me before I could say 'Singapore Zoo!' or 'Night Safari!' Well, be still.

You know those cabin table-top thing you put your food on or you write on? You know the space where you hide or stow the top away? Edrick just HAD to see if his arm would fit in the space. I don't know to this day at what degree of an angle that he did it, but he managed to stick his elbow and the whole forearm just nicely in the stowaway compartment for the table-top! His arm was in every meaning of stuck, STUCK!

I, with the other two cabin crew, spent the next what felt like 20 minutes trying to get Edrick's arm out of the stowaway compartment! It felt so long that I didn't know whether we were coming or going. While Edrick, being that easily freaked-out boy... naturally freaked out like there was no tomorrow! Nah, nyaman rasa! Edrick was so traumatized with the whole 'stuck' experience on that short flight to Sin City that he never let anyone take his table-top out again after. He held on to his cup of water until he fell asleep holding it.

Our flight to Domodedovo Airport from Changi was another story worth posting another entry for. For now, let me fly to and with my Alsace and think what I can do with my hands.

Still

2009-04-27T14:42:00.006+05:00

I was supposed to be all right and writing about how all right I am. As I was supposed to show you pictures of how all right this place is and put up captions of all the right words for you to see how all right I was supposed to be. The truth is, I was all right. For a while, I was. And even now when I am not all right, I am. As I am supposed to be all right.

But things went all right until they didn't. Just like lies were all right until truth be known. So the truth is... lies were swept under the carpet. And unfortunately, that carpet was fortunately me.

For the reasons known only to me...please trust me that what I am not writing here today when I am supposed to be all right is something too embarrassing for me to even believe. You just have to trust me on this. Because I have traveled so many miles, left so many angels, gone this far, this long to face what was supposed to be love - but on my fifth morning to have woken up to a demon waiting for a battle.

I was supposed to have come home. I was supposed to be home. And so I did come home to this supposedly all right place, only to find that it has been painted with dishonesty. Still, I stay. For I have traveled so many miles, left so many angels behind, gone this far, this long to know... that I am not in for the demon waiting to fight, I am in for the two angels taking me aflight.

I am angry. I am sad. I am tired. I am all that. But be still. I am all right.

May It Be

2009-04-15T06:09:00.001+05:00

It is 'See you in May' for now. No goodbye. You'll see me in Singaporean words the next couple days. By next week, I'll be speaking in Russian tongue. And bite with Russian teeth.

So it is a coma for now. Not a full stop. That, my angel, will come in May.

See you in May.

Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield

2009-04-12T13:15:00.001+05:00

Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques—Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting—from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to me?" said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown!... But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came—when it was absolutely necessary... Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad—no, not sad, exactly—something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.

There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season had begun. For although the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn't care how it played if there weren't any strangers present. Wasn't the conductor wearing a new coat, too? She was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. Now there came a little "flutey" bit—very pretty!—a little chain of bright drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her head and smiled.

Only two people shared her "special" seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak. This was disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn't listen, at sitting in other people's lives just for a minute while they talked round her.

She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon. Last Sunday, too, hadn't been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful Panama hat and she button boots. And she'd gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they'd be sure to break and they'd never keep on. And he'd been so patient. He'd suggested everything—gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. No, nothing would please her. "They'll always be sliding down my nose!" Miss Brill had wanted to shake her.

The old people sat on the bench, still as statues. Never mind, there was always the crowd to watch. To and fro, in front of the flower-beds and the band rotunda, the couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings. Little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. And sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat down "flop," until its small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue. Other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always the same, Sunday after Sunday, and—Miss Brill had often noticed—there was something funny about nearly all of them. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or even—even cupboards!

Behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping, and through them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-veined clouds.

Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.

Two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm. Two peasant women with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. A cold, pale nun hurried by. A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they'd been poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire that or not! And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her. He was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine toque she'd bought when her hair was yellow. Now everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw. Oh, she was so pleased to see him—delighted! She rather thought they were going to meet that afternoon. She described where she'd been—everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. The day was so charming—didn't he agree? And wouldn't he, perhaps?... But he shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match away and walked on. The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more brightly than ever. But even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, "The Brute! The Brute!" over and over. What would she do? What was going to happen now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she'd seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away. And the band changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple on Miss Brill's seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four girls walking abreast.

Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all on the stage. They weren't only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even she had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn't been there; she was part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never thought of it like that before! And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week—so as not to be late for the performance—and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She was on the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose. If he'd been dead she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have minded. But suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!" The old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes. "An actress—are ye?" And Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; "Yes, I have been an actress for a long time."

The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And what they played was warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill—a something, what was it?—not sadness—no, not sadness—a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin, and the men's voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches—they would come in with a kind of accompaniment—something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful—moving... And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we understand, she thought—though what they understood she didn't know.

Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.

"No, not now," said the girl. "Not here, I can't."

"But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?" asked the boy. "Why does she come here at all—who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?"

"It's her fu-ur which is so funny," giggled the girl. "It's exactly like a fried whiting."

"Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: "Tell me, ma petite chere—"

"No, not here," said the girl. "Not yet."

On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker's. It was her Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. It made a great difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present—a surprise—something that might very well not have been there. She hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way. But to-day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room—her room like a cupboard—and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.

Manja Lara?

2009-04-09T20:29:00.006+05:00

I once wrote about how many friends I had - and that was not many. It has remained the same over the years. As a matter of preference, I keep the number very small, very minimum. What's with my macam-hebat grunting and grumbling about grammar and all...my pop-vote is not looking like a sunshiny day. Not that I am a pop-seeker who has to be liked no matter what anyway. I've been a loner.

So I am a loner.
The good thing about being a loner is, I figured out throughout the university years, I don't spend much time waiting for anyone, nor wasting time gossiping about anyone with anyone. I could disappear into thin air, deep water or thick bricks better than Harry Houdini and Harry Potter put together. (Would really be nice to be put together with Harry Connick Jr. or uh...Harri-son Ford.)

The thing is, I wasn't born a loner. I am a self-made loner. A loner by choice. And a loner by pain. All thanks to someone who called herself a friend who cared darn much about me back in 1991. For blogging purposes, let's call her Miss Brill, shall we? You can name her Amy Winehouse or Sharifah Aini if your heart so desires. But write your own post on your own blog please!

The story unfolded when one afternoon coming back from my matriculation classes, Miss Brill came into my room and wanted to talk to me about what she heard from her friends who were my friends as well. Well...supposedly. Us TESL people stuck together like melted rubber bands on a hot rod back then, ya know.

And so Miss Brill told me that not many people liked me because I was always too cheerful to be true. Imagine that! I was always too cheerful to be true. Always having too positive of an outlook on everything to the point that I annoyed people. And oh, plus...I had a too manja personality that girls just hated me not only to the very follicle of my hair - no, no! It wasn't skin-deep or facial-pores hatred. But they disliked me to the bone marrow, for bone's sake!

Since I wasn't born a genius, nor was I born gifted...I swallowed what Miss Brill said like a poison. And I died alive! I was dead for many years throughout campus life with only some brain cells in tact, just enough to finish my studies. If self-esteem could be measured, mine of negative 365 would be self-explanatory, wouldn't it? I died alone and so I roamed the world of the alive a loner.

"People are saying that you ni jenis perempuan penggoda, suka buat-buat manja. Orang just meluat kat you, you know?" [Loosely translated as: "People are saying that you are such a flirtatious girl, prentending to be cute/adorable/manja. People just despise you, you know?" - There's just no direct translation to our Bahasa's term of manja, yau aah?]

Yes, I took it to heart, too hard. What Miss Brill said became my silent tagline of what not to be, what not to do. Though I wasn't very successful in turning events and issues all into negative energy, I was no longer that excessively happy girl. I didn't want to look comfortably happy for quite a few years though I kept my distance from Miss Brill and everyone else. I did, nonetheless, find comfort in singing with the university band for at least six years after.

I lost a lot back then. Motivation per se. But I learned a lot more. To know that us TESL people stuck together like rubber bands on a hot rod...was a very nice illusion. Well, I guess back then we really did. Some of us did. But some people like Miss Brill were not rubber bands. They were the hot rod that did not only melt us, they burned us with their misery. And oh did I ever learn about friendship!

All said and done, no matter how trivial it seems, and that it has taken me eighteen silly years to write about this now - I forgave that silly Enida for swallowing Miss Brill's words without thinking. I have let go of the grunting and grumbling for my inability to ask one burning question back then. The question that I have found itching my behind for eighteen years.

In the process of forgiving, trying very hard not to scratch the itch...I forgave Miss Brill for her excessive needs to be my friend back then and to tell me her truth in all her well-intent honesty. My gumption is telling me lately that I should in fact thank her for the poison she gave me back in 1991. Much to her dismay probably, it has turned into a potent potion. I am still a loner. But guess what? I am enjoying it! I have enjoyed my life doing so many things way better than gossiping. And oh, I at least know how to write in paragraphs! No PhD required.

Well, to Miss Brill - thank you. As I once quoted to you, I am quoting this again today: God does not give you what He knows you cannot take. I took your poison back then. I died and came back to life. But you...you just never lived. And to all the girls whose boyfriend or boyfriends I had flirted with: I was just too sexy for their brain. (Or was it yours? Didn't think you have any.)

I lost a lot back then, perhaps. But I have kept my faith. I have kept my smile. And I am deadly alive!

lara = suffer

Porta La Distancia?

2009-04-06T22:10:00.008+05:00

I was.
I was actually going to say something smart and beautiful after typing that expected 'Congratulations!' in my comment to a friend who just tied the knot last weekend. But I didn't. Not that I think that wedding or marriage as not a smart or a beautiful decision. No, I am not bitter about holy matrimonies just because mine was rocky. Heavens no! In fact, I think my marriage has become smarter and more beautiful because it was rocky. Was.

But if I were to share a smart and a beautiful lesson I treasure most in my imperfect marriage, I would say: that through all the fights with words, be gentle...and through all the fights with silence, hold each other's hands.

I must admit, it was the gentleness we felt in each other throughout the years that brought us back together. The memories of how natural it has been, reaching out for each other's hand everytime after we lock the door behind us, or when we get off the car, or cross the streets, or even when we are driving (his hand would tuck right under my thigh), so naturally, and so for lack of better word... automatically.

We...
We made the promise on the land of fjords. Drove half of the downunder island, crossing the tropics of Capricorn and back. Strolled across the sunflower fields throughout the pizza-n-pasta land. Ran across the Alps, down on the autobahn through those countries and on to the Viking mounds. Warmed each other's lips on Eiffel on windy Christmas eve. Pushed hard on two labor beds, raising monchies in three continents. Hand in hand.

So, if one thinks a three-week rendezvous in Spain complete with its Spanish drama would beat a palisade that has endured forty seasons...one must have just been born yesterday. Or one must have been spending one's whole whale life looking for love in a ditch. Or a garbage can, for that matter. I am glad I didn't try to say anything smart or beautiful.

Esa mujer de la ballena sigue siendo una basura.

Hair Curly Cheeks Chubby

2009-04-02T16:17:00.022+05:00

It was ironic I was interviewed by Dzulfitri Yusop from Astro Awani today on the topic: Fat Kids - Obesity & Healthy Lifestyle Starts At Home. Ironic, because I actually was a fat kid. And that was some 30-40 years ago when fat kids were rare, unlike today. So you can imagine how lonely and fat I felt back then when other kids sang me the Pak Gemok Dang Dang song. Yes, the one that goes:

Pak gemok dang dang
pak gemok jual udang
tak laku sekupang
balik rumah kena tendang

I was hurt. Very very hurt.
So I promised myself in the later years - when I started to lose some kilos and started to have the itch about boys and marriage - that I shall never have fat kids. With all the information I now have on Food Pyramid, Healthy Diet, Different Blood Type and Different Diet...I have no excuse. I have to make sure my kids eat healthily, have the awareness of what junk food does to the different parts of their body and follow certain eating rules. I am not my parents who, in the 60's and 70's, had no information at their fingertips. I had to eat what they ate, and be thankful.

So now, with my own kids in the later and supposedly better millenium...other than making certain that the fridge is stuffed with more white meat than red, more wholemeal this-n-that than white, more vegies that are red, orange and green than in the tins, my rules now are simple.

I decide:

what they eat
when they eat

My kids decide:

how much they eat

Plus some treats:
Friday is the POPCORN day.
Sunday is the ICE CREAM day.

My husband, however, has made some modification to it. Now Friday is also the MILK SHAKE day, alternately (with POPCORN).

No, Kitreena and Edrick are far from perfect or ideal kids. They still pout, frown, whine, complain, kick, scream and go on strike when they are made to down their vegetables. And yes, they can survive on popcorn and ice-cream alone seven days a week, three hundred sixty five days a year if I let them. But they are in MY house, so they can starve themselves if they don't want to eat my spinach or kailan or pucuk labu (pumpkin/squash vine). Fine with me. See if I care.

Though not the 'roundest' in their class, Kitreena and Edrick still get teased at school (Kitreena, for having curly hair, Edrick for his chubby cheeks). I can't stop other kids from being kids. For all I know, my kids tease other kids too. Kitreena and Edrick were not born angels (nor geniuses). But at least I know what my kids are. They are what they eat.

The only trick to my rules is, I try to feed these kids healthy food only. And my definition of healthy is: as little deep-fried food as possible, no overcooked vegetables, as much milk as their bones and teeth desire, one glass of juice per day, water water water, no pops. And definitely, the 'size-of-their-fist' rule applies. I observe this as much as I can at home. I try not to eat out as much. Kitreena tapau lunch from home. I scared her with..."You never know where the canteen ladies' index fingers have been."

Footnote:

Yes. I did say this is my definition of healthy eating habits.
No. Water-it-down syrup or cordial is NOT juice.
Of course I don't only eat spinach, kailan and pucuk labu. I eat pucuk paku oso.
The popcorn, milk shake and ice cream is only their afternoon snack once a week, so as not to deprive them of what other kids get. It's not the whole-day-meal deal.
And 'size-of-MY-fist' is the portion you get on your face if you are reading this only to roll your eyes at my konon-bagus effort to feed my kids. Go feed your own ego.
If you were not a fat kid, you might not understand the fuss.

Of What A Fool Is Full Of

2009-03-29T11:42:00.013+05:00

I found myself in a difficult sitch yesterday. No, I am not going to use the word difficult. And I am not going to use the word sitch either, it's so Kim Possible. So, here: I found myself in a challengingly awkward situation yesterday. If spending an afternoon with parents of Kitreena's classmates was not awkward enough, try this...a mom made a statement that sent me speechless and almost thankful that my daughter is NOT the smartest kid in her class.

It got me thinking, nevertheless, of how brutally competitive parents can be when it comes to what they themselves have failed to achieve in school. It is not about letting children develop at their own pace anymore, is it? And if your kid happens to be one who can read at the speed of light, oi! God forbids if you don't make it known.

But really, how do you respond to statements like:

"Oh, my son is the best reader in the class! I send him to Kumon. Why don't you send yours to Kumon or Smart Reader, etc. to improve her reading ability?"

(You believe in 'Ain't no matter where they begin, matters where they end' kinda philosophy. And no, you don't mind if your kid ends up reading price barcodes with an infra-red reader at Wal-Mart either...as long as she knows how to earn a living.)

"My son has the most "Spot-On's" in the class now! 12 altogether."

(Your daughter just got her 15th Spot-On. Yes, you are proud of your daughter, and would love to smirk off the other mom's crowing. But you know those Spot-On's are not a ticket to Harvard. Puhleeeassse!)

If school and life have taught me anything at all, the very least I know is that the highest valued achievements are immeasureable. One can be the richest man standing, measured by hundreds of billion dollars in his pocket. But if he is full of nothing but himself, he is full of nothing.

Rule 74: Don't Blame Your Parents

2009-03-26T13:30:00.004+04:00

"When we're little, most of us assume our parents are good at the job. Unless they're really dreadful, it doesn't occur to us that they don't always know what they're doing. As we got older, we notice that our friends’ parents do things a bit differently. Maybe we’re envious, maybe we think we’re the lucky ones. Probably a bit of both. As we get older still, it may start to dawn on us that our parents are getting some bits really wrong.

That’s what happened to me. Quite early on I realized that my father was seriously bucking the trend by not actually being there at all. Before long I realized that my mother was in very different ways similarly hopeless, and she struggled to cope or to show any affection to us.

Now, in my case, things were sufficiently bad that I had to face up to them. Either I spent my life bitterly blaming my parents for all my problems, or I moved on. I chose to recognize that my mother was just not even slightly cut out to be a parent, and that for someone like her, being a single parent to six children was too big a task. If I were airlifted into another life where I was required to manage a football team, or an oil rig, or a classroom full of 30 troubled kids, I would perform similarly badly. All of us have things we just can’t do. Maybe my mother only realized too late that being a parent wasn’t her thing.

So I forgave her, and got on with my life. It saved me from becoming bitter and twisted, and it enabled me to put right the damage in a positive frame of mind. If you really feel that someone has ruined the first 20 years of your life, the only sensible thing to do is to make sure they don’t ruin the next 50 or so as well.

Funnily enough, it’s often the people with the best parents who find it hardest to stop blaming them from the odd shortcoming. If your parents are basically pretty good at the job, it’s somehow tempting to blame them for not being absolutely perfect. But why should they be perfect? And, indeed, how can anyone be expected not to put a foot wrong in 18 years?

Your parents are only human, and it’s very likely that somewhere along the way they did a few things that caused you real upset or difficulties. That’s what happens when people with no training spend 18 years in the job. The odd thing goes wrong. They were only doing their best, and they couldn’t help it. But you can help it: you can choose to stop blaming them and to forgive them. In fact, what’s even to forgive? They weren’t getting it wrong on purpose, they just made a few mistakes.

It’s too late to put things right by blaming your parents. But it’s not too late to let it go, recognize that their hearts were in the right place, and quietly sort out any residual damage yourself."

How can anyone be expected
not to put a foot wrong in 18 years?

Rule 74
Richard Templar
The Rules of Love

What's Bugging This Lady

2009-03-25T19:36:00.006+04:00

Kitreena brought home a book on Ladybugs today and we did our daily reading together. But the voice in my head was busy singing this song (from a TV commercial many many many many many years ago). Ladybird wasn't just a publisher, it was also a children's attire company. They were the higher-end brand back then.

But then, I grew out of my childhood never having the luxury of wearing a Ladybird label on my neck. Ah well...I never had to go bugil and begging on the street either.

Kanak-kanak Isnin manis manja
Kanak-kanak Selasa lembut caranya
Dan kanak-kanak Ladybird yang dipuja

Kanak-kanak Rabu ragu selalu
Kanak-kanak Khamis perlu maju
Dan kanak-kanak Ladybird bergaya baru

Kanak-kanak Jumaat murah hatinya
Kanak-kanak Sabtu rajin bekerja
Dan kanak-kanak Ladybird...sungguh bergaya.

Do you have any recollection of this song/TV commercial? Anyone?

Annoy-nymous List

2009-03-24T18:42:00.008+04:00

Just to get my thoughts a little organized, I am going to post an entry about what annoy me bit by bit. Yes, what annoy me - not what annoys me. Apparently I have many. Yeah yeah, go ahead, judge me and call me a negative thinker all you want. What I was about to say is that...what do not make it to this Annoy-nymous List are the things I tolerate well, or those I am (easily) impressed with.

Annoyance #1:
Judgementality
What you do does not tell everything about what you are. Yes, what you do does reflect some of your capability and credibility. But to call a person a slut just because she uses the word horny on her blog is... hello? So insecure! As if.

Annoyance#2:
Noises
Dragging a chair noisily across a room, chewing noisily (and I mean not when eating something crispy or crunchy), honking for more than 2 seconds, talking on the phone max-volume like it's the whole world punya business! This one really cannot tahan, especially when it happens in a hospital ward. Note my usage of WHEN, and not IF it happens. Because it happens everyday.

Until Annoyance#3, be gone and be good. Don't you try to annoy me now.

Between My Legs

2009-03-24T07:05:00.008+04:00

On a cool rainy morning, nothing beats the pleasure of going back to the two fluffs I just had a short affair with last night. Nothing, I thought. And I was flirting with the idea of crawling back to bed to be with the fluffs - one in my arms, the other between my legs! Oooh divine.

Divine were the thoughts...until the phone rang and it was my best friend on the other end. Two and a half hours later I knew, nothing beats the pleasure of going back to bed on a cool rainy morning but being on the phone with the best of friend ever, talking about life in the past, present and future - all tenses in one phone call. Nothing but!

I would take the call from Cik Nan any day. Rainy, sunny, or horny.

p.s. Last year, I saw this tag thing on Facebook. If you are tagged, think of a movie or TV show title and finish it with the phrase 'between my legs'.

Example:

Seven Pounds between my legs
Lord of The Rings between my legs
Pretty Woman between my legs
Sepet between my legs
Matinya Seorang Patriot between my legs
Desperate Housewives between my legs

Now, please feel free to tag yourself...ahaks, between your legs.

Pohon Berangan

2009-03-22T23:48:00.030+04:00

Kepangkuan Abang Ramlee yang dinda kasehi...
Rindu dendam di-jiwa dinda kini lebih dari semalam, kemaren, kemaren dulu, minggu lepas, tahun lepas, malah lebih dari tahun 1948. Yakinlah Abang Ramlee, bahawa kaseh sayang dinda jauh lebih hebat dari chinta sekalian bloggers yang ada di ini zaman. Apa pun yang terjadi, dinda tetap mendoakan semoga Abang Ramlee baik-baik sahaja hendaknya. Abang Ramlee...kalau dinda nak tanya Abang Ramlee satu soalan, Abang Ramlee jangan marah ya? Siapa marah nanti kena jual. Kalau Abang Ramlee nak marah jugak, dinda nak merajuk. Tapi sebelum dinda merajuk, dinda nak gigit Abang Ramlee dulu. Ah Abang Ramlee ni. Nakal!

Begini soalan dinda...
Abang Ramlee, Abang Ramlee...kalau dinda terbawak-bawak daydreaming kan Abang Ramlee sampai ke lewat malam, apa bolehkah dinda di-sebut sebagai daydreaming lagi Abang Ramlee? Padahal sang suria sudah lama sembunyi di-telapak kaki langit. Dan bulan sudah pun di-pagar bintang. Mau saja rasanya dinda menchipta istilah baharu angan-angan dinda sampai larut malam begini sebagai nightdreaming. Alaaaaa Abang Ramlee ni, janganlah ketawakan dinda begitu!

Tetapi memang benar bagai di-kata, hati dinda langsung tidak dapat melupakan wajah Abang Ramlee yang datang menyamar dalam versi orang putih yang dinda jadikan suami hampir satu abad yang sudah. Dinda mohon berbanyak-banyak ampun dan maaf dari Abang Ramlee bukan kerna dinda memuja-muja akan diri Abang Ramlee. Tetapi kerna dinda benar-benar tidak pasti akan maksud 'abad' itu berapa tahun sebenarnya. Samakah ia dengan 'dekad' atau 'kurun' ya Abang Ramlee? Maklum sajalah Ilmu Hisab dinda tak khatam belajar dari Che'gu Murni.

Oh Abang Ramlee, penawar rindu dinda hanyalah pada Abang Ramlee saorang. Kalaulah rindu dinda ini pohon yang rendang, sudah tentu tuan direktor filem Ikan Kaloi tak dapat menggantung buaian 'laju-laju buaiku laju lepas masak jangan lupa cari kayu' itu untuk filem beliau kan Abang Ramlee?

Umpama pohon beringin yang dinda angan-angankan sejak lama:

Pohon rendang di-mana tunduknya,
Kalau bukan di-taman dewa,
Mohon sayang di-mana duduknya,
Kalau bukan di-dalam jiwa.

Abang Ramlee...aku chinta padamu.

*Surat chinta ini hendaklah dibaca dengan penuh rasa kaseh sayang terhadap Abang Ramlee, seraya mata sedari seakan terpejam-pejam celik di-luar batasan, dan sekali-sekala menjeling manja ke arah screen laptop atau PC sedari-sedari sekalian. Sudah tentulah di-ujung perenggan pertama tadi sedari musti mencholek pipi Abang Ramlee dengan penuh ~~berahi~~ getik menyebut perkataan "Nakal!" tersebut. Tak lupa juga hendaklah tertunduk dan tersipu-sipu malu dihiasi senyum simpul Nona Baju Kebaya dengan sanggul dua yang terasa chukup lawa. Enough Enida!

Truest Colors

2009-03-22T20:45:00.017+04:00

I am supposed to pretend that what is fun for my kids would be fun for me too. Or am I? Since pretending is what I do worst, I made my decision long ago to just quit it. So, when my daughter bugged me to take her to the Family Fun Day at school, I told her the truth. That I would rather take her to the beach or to Kizsports, Kidz Zone, Jungle Gym or whatever substitute for playing masak-masak dalam pondok using the lid of a Milo can as a griddle over the pelita ayam flame like what Mommy and her KaCher used to play with other kids on the block (Kampung Jana Baru mana ada block daaa?)

Logic is: the daughter is six and has only lost three baby teeth. The mom is not telling her age on her blog and has all her permanent teeth in tact. Conclusion is: mom ~~bites~~ rules! So I took her and her biggest-fan brother to Kidz Zone. Letting them loose from 1100 to 1500hrs was not such a bad idea after all. I got the chance to let Enida loose in time and in Times Bookstore for at least an hour and a half myself. Boy, did I ever lose it! For the sheer love of books, I almost sold my teeth and bought over the whole franchise, not just the Hartamas branch!

It was a win-win windy day and we came home smiling. The daughter's biggest-fan brother came home snoring...as pretty much expected.

The day didn't end with a smile, though.

After supper, as we were sitting at the kitchen island, scribbling and sketching some nothings, my daughter attacked me with a request. "Could you please draw something Mom?" And you guessed it right, we were under art attack for the next artful hour and a half drawing a PIZZA! The last four pictures below are of Kitreena's artwork. I was not just impressed with the resemblance, I was attacked with the realization that I have been putting my focus on her ~~right~~ wrong side of the brain. Kitreena might not have much resemblance of her mom, thank God! But judging from her true colors, she is her mom's daughter. Thank God!

The day did not end with a smile, it ended with me counting my blessings...though I am never good with numbers. Enam, tujuh, lapan. Lapan lagi! And for Kitreena, the day ended of course with her counting sheep.

Goodnight my rainbow.

My Kinda Girl

2009-03-21T21:45:00.012+04:00

If I were to be something like 'The-Bond-Girls' kinda girl, I have no doubt I would be 'The-Ramlee-Girls' kinda girl. Ramlee as in P.Ramlee, of course. Not Ramli Burger, excuse me!

I have had this never-ending crush on P.Ramlee that is greener than evergreen kinda green will ever be. The legendary man has stayed young in my mind as I still daydream of calling him Abang Ramlee when we would go for a date by the lake, sitting on the pangkin that is coincidentally there for us to memadu asmara, of looking but not looking at his sweet kumis tipis hiasan smiles, of singing with him the Saat Yang Bahagia Datang Sekejap Saja song while hanging sexily from the low branch of that Beringin tree in the park under the glowing moon.

When I write to my Abang Ramlee, my love letter would start with...

Kehadapan Abang Ramlee yang dinda kasehi lagi dinda cintai. Berat rasanya hati dinda mencoret tinta kaseh ini buat Abang Ramlee kerna hati dinda berat juga oleh rindu pada kanda. Walaupun demikian, wahai Abang Ramlee yang dinda puja... dinda doakan semoga Abang Ramlee gumbira tiada duka nestapa.

By now my tears would be rolling down my cheeks heaved with this rindu for a man as charming and as gentle as my Abang Ramlee. Forget about talent, a man does not have to be talented to be charming and gentle. He just has to have a loving heart. Talent is like my Abang Ramlee's moustache. He had had it shaven clean, but it never wiped his irresistable smiles off of his face. And now thinking of my Abang Ramlee's smiles at 3 o'clock in the morning, I wish he could be singing to me the part of the Pukul Tiga Pagi song that goes... 'Besok petang kanda pulang, kita sembang panjang-panjang, dinda jangan bimbang...'

Oh Abang Ramlee! Sedih rasanya hati di dalam.

This Mind Of Mine

2009-03-18T06:50:00.009+04:00

On this eighteenth day of the third month I woke up determined to take a different look at the whole world. I still bite. But this rainy morning I was just happy to be silly, shaking my body to my Abang Ramlee's Kwek Mambo and that "Wife you jugak cemburu jadi what will you do?" song. Kitreena didn't join me shaking the body silly-ly. She just shook her head, rolled her eyes and (I think) wished for a different mom. She smiled, said nothing and pretended not to see me. But (I think) she was just happy I wasn't roaring at her with the spelling practice I do with her every morning on the way to school. I had a good morning, mind you.

Funny how things work with our mind eh, and how we can turn things around without touching or breaking anything. Just the other night I was driving Mom to Lil Sis' place feeling so lost as Mom just sat there saying nothing for 47km. That's the way she has been. She doesn't say anything anymore. She answers questions, yes. Sometimes with whatever word or thought that crosses her mind. And I...I just don't see her anymore. It's simply killing me to bring myself to look at Mom. My mind is not able to turn my head around to look or see, it closes my eyes instead.

But today I forgave myself for all the days I wasn't able to retract my claws. And forgave myself for all that my mind wasn't able to turn around. It took a lot to cross that border of a state called denial. After the Kwek Mambo and that "Wife you jugak cemburu jadi what will you do?" song, a rye bagel and cheddar, plus coffee and biscotti breakfast...I realized I am not a lion. I am just a purring kitty with a mind of her own.

Roarrrrrrrr!

So You Think You Think?

2009-03-17T17:13:00.003+04:00

People think I think too much. No, let me re-wordpress myself. People don’t think it. I do. I mean, I do think I think too much. The moment I open my eyes every morning and stop dreaming, I start thinking. But then, I honestly think that thinking too much is still way better than not thinking at all. Like most people, I think, do. Or don’t?

Today in particular, I had thoughts all the way…right from the the moment I stepped out to take Kitreena to school, through breakfast with Chin at Nasi Lemak Antarabangsat Bangsar, grocery shopping at Carrefour Alamanda, lunch with KaCher at Danau Golf Club, pick up Kitreena at school, off to the promised mall for an Art Attack with my art-attacker girl, order 1901 New York anjing panas supper for the kids and Bibik, and then share Jalan Kuching with half a million city-swellers (yes, swellers - not dwellers) at 20kmph taking me over an hour from Jalan Ampang to Segambut roundabout homebound.

If my thoughts could be bluetoothed directly into a Word Document and then be printed out…you would see a book published fresh from my anterior naris by sunrise tomorrow. Good night thinking people, whoever you think you are.

Losing Phase

2009-03-16T20:30:00.008+04:00

Dear Linda,
With heavy heart I read your email to Yahoo Group. With heavier heart I have been reading our friends' notes to you. My inner voice yearns to reach out to you and say something wise to soothe you or to make your grieving for your father's passing halfway easier. The thing is, I don’t know what to say. I wish I could go on and on saying something by not saying it. I don't think I have to tell you to be strong either. You already are.

And the truth is, my sister and I are now preparing ourselves to face a similar loss to what you just experienced. Our mother is slipping away, atrociously consumed by cancer of the blood. All I can tell myself is that…when the time comes, I hope I can be brave enough to say, “I am happy for Mom, for she has gone to a better place. "

By the looks of it, you have been very brave.

Heaved,
Enida

Ku Mohon

2009-03-15T15:06:00.004+04:00

Kalaulah tidur itu umpama jahitan yang terbertas,
patik ini selembar persalinan tuanku yang besar reraknya.
Mohon patik masuk beradu, tuanku.

On Go Wings

2009-03-13T20:21:00.005+04:00

Looking at Enida in the mirror the other day, I got thinking...what else does she not have now?

Love?
She's got love rolling down to her feet, curving around her fingers, and running through her hair, sitting across dinner table holding her hands, and on Saturday mornings making pancake breakfast from the heart. And more love...sitting on their booster seats in the back, playing Tunnel-Duck.

Money?
Of course is never enough to buy her the Coach or Gucci bag or a Beamer she never wants. She's got roof over her head, unloaned. And that's just what money can buy...be it here, or across the Southern Ocean. Over the years she has learned, that money is what she makes, she spends time spending, and she saves. But money will never make her, spend time with her, nor will it save her.

I looked at Enida the other day as she fell down to the ground thanking heavens for all that she does not have. She's thankful for not having to carry the weight of the world not knowing why happiness is the only car she desires that never passes her street. She's grateful for not having to untangle lies she ever told, for there is none she hides. She has made peace with her past.

Enida is just happy for having done what she has done, been what she has been - and not claiming to be a perfect untouchable immortal that she's not. She has hurt and she has been hurt. She lets herself feel the pain at times. But she knows...the pain comes from what she's growing on her back.

She just wants to be a butterfly in her next life.

To Garb Her Naked Lies

2009-03-13T18:01:00.003+04:00

Very recently someone ran into my Hysteria-Lane life offering me a piece of information I wasn't sure whether or not I needed or wanted to know. And I just realized that that's the way it has been with my life. I have had people coming to me - out of the blue, out of thin air and out of breath - telling me what I needed or wanted to know without me looking for the information. Even when I'm not looking for anything, some facts are just meant to find their ways to my knowledge.

This time this someone who ran (or rather jogged, actually) into my life offered me some information concerning a person that I have regarded 'as good as garbage'. Oi! I don't regard many people that way. In fact, it's just this one. Let's just call this garbage Ms. Axe, shall we?

But...wait!
Perhaps I shall give it some time and thought before dumping the sensational information about this Ms. Axe on national television, shall I not? After all she is going through a very vulnerable stage at the moment, trying extremely hard to come up with that picture-perfect painting of her life. I should understand and be compassionate.

Oh yes, I understand, all right. And yes, I pity her. Pity that her life is built on piles of lies...it stinks. Well, I told you she is as good as garbage.

Cryday

2009-03-13T16:46:00.003+04:00

Hey Hubby,
Kitreena came home very cranky today. It was all because Edrick was sitting (and sleeping) in the front seat (and on her booster seat too!) Both of them had a good nap though on the way back to Duta. I thought that was it - she was just tired. But as soon as we got home, Kitreena got upset again with everything! I nipped it in the bud and asked her to go change out of her uniform upstairs. The next thing I heard was her crying, coming down the stairs towards me, sitting at the dining table.

"I miss Daddy so much, Mom!"

That sure explained the cantankerousness.

Friday The 13th,
Wifey

Troubled

2009-03-13T15:09:00.001+04:00

I"m having trouble publishing posts here today.
Looks like I will have to now shift to Facebook's Notes.
If you are not on my Facebook yet, add me, per favore. Grazie mille.

Wow! Lau Weh

2009-03-12T19:52:00.004+04:00

I felt high.
High like a million dollar lady last week to have been invited as a panel speaker at a forum in Shah Alam. So high, I was actually flying over the highest peak of Bukit Kayangan. That, for a creepy-crawly like yours truly perasan high-muck-a-muck, is high. I must admit, I didn't come down to earth for many days after, as my head was stuck in the clouds. No other creepy-crawlies have ever got the opportunity to be a fellow penalist with Jimmy Ong and to be talking about the 'Wow! Factor' in Event Management. (I did use the word perasan, did I not?)

And when I thought one million was high enough, I was made to feel like a six million dollar woman when the program head and advisor invited me to be a judge at another event in the same week. Now, that was a bit tough for me. (To be judgemental, that is.) I can be critical, yes. Every breath I take is a critique. But to be judgemental is out of my mental capacity. When it comes to students' performance and output, I evaluate. I don't judge. So, evaluate I did. That six million dollar opportunity was not a saxophone, I wasn't going to blow it!

And boy o boy sweet home Alabama! Did I ever have a blast!

It was one of the best I have seen! For a faculty of which English is not the media, it is surely led by someone who understands that speaking English will not jeopardize the sovereignity of one's maternal language. And I simply loved their tag line: "English, we're speaking it!" (Though to many, it sounded like: "Bahasa, we're skipping it!")

The highlight of my 1+6 million dollar week, however, was not the speaking at the forum. Nor it was the ~~judging~~ evaluating the students' performance at the Grand Finale. It was what happened just as I was leaving the hall.

I heard the sweetest hello.

Forty For Thee, Bibik

2009-03-08T14:07:00.011+04:00

Bibik turned a year wiser yesterday. We have been privileged to be her family and celebrate her birthday for the past five years. So when she requested for a no-cake birthday (yes she knew I was going to get a cake, and yes I have become plainly predictable - who wouldn't after five years?) I played compliancy. Okay Bik, yes Bik, fine Bik, I hear ya Bik, no cake Bik.

I took Bibik and the kids to KaCher's second home at Palm Garden IOI Resort for what looked like a normal dine-out evening. Though dinner was served in plates that looked more like serving trays, it was pretty tiny. So I had to order dessert. Really really had to. So I 'ordered' the cake. Bibik had by then forgotten that it was her birthday. I tried so very hard not to mention or wish her 'Happy Birthday' the whole day. But then of course I broke my promise, went ahead and got one whole cake for dessert.

Sorry Bik! I would take the cake and kick myself if didn't do it. I wasn't going to be that predictable after all.

Panjang umurnya panjang umurnya
Panjang umurnya serta mulia
Serta mulia...serta mulia

My Low Price

2009-03-08T11:08:00.019+04:00

While the prices of most grocery items have either gone up just a tad or have stayed pre-slodo, there are more cut-downs than we know. Of course I will give you examples to prove my statement:

Nutri-Plus sausages or wieners:
There used to be 7 big wieners in a pack. The price has not gone up (yay, you think?) but the Monster Slodo has taxed one wiener from each pack. The sausages too have been reduced in size. No, no price reduction.

Pops-Rite Light Microwave Popcorn:
RM10.70 is now for only 3 bags of 3.3 oz popcorn. Monster Slodo has stolen 2 bags out of each box. Yes, RM10.70 used to be for 5 bags. Nope, no change in price. And yes, no more hills of popcorn even in smaller bowls. How much do you wanna bet it used to be 4 oz per bag? Light micowave popcorns have sure gone lighter.

Well, this is just to name a couple. So you can imagine when I heard that Milo was going to lower their price, ahak ahak...there was nothing on my lips but a smirk. Yeah, right! I am so going to redeem some points for a kitchen scale. Oh ye, with little faith!

p.s. Email me if you confuse Monster Slodo with Master Frodo. And oh, I just learned that Milo originated from Australia. I have tried the Jamaican Milo but me no like the taste (it smells like dedak ayam too. Iyew!)

Healing By Feeling

2009-03-07T20:28:00.006+04:00

Three weeks ago I bought a pack of 4-in-1 CD's. Sixty songs altogether. I scanned through the titles and amazed myself when I realized that I actually knew 58 songs by heart. The other two I thought I must have heard, and found out later that I did. But one that keeps coming and humming in my head is this:

Barang yang lepas
hai jangan dikenang
kalau dikenang meracun lah diri...

And so tonight I stopped mengenang for a little bit, and stopped meracun diri. I just let myself merasa. For tonight I'm healing.

I Know

2009-03-07T06:08:00.002+04:00

I know you are waiting. Do know I am writing.

Wow!

2009-03-04T08:06:00.004+04:00

Read this just a while ago and went "Wow!"

[wow]

noun
a joke that seems extremely funny

syn.
belly laugh, sidesplitter, howler, thigh-slapper, scream, riot

verb
impress greatly • The speaker wowed the audience.

To Front A Front Tooth Fairy

2009-03-02T19:30:00.011+04:00

To keep these Canadians happy when their traditions are in question is not really a job for this minority Malaysian in my house, I tell you. But tonight, just like those two other nights last year, I was put in a role of a Tooth Fairy again. And this time, a Front Tooth Fairy. I went flipping and flapping upstairs and downstairs looking for a little box that could fit a 50sen coin (cheap fairy!). Of course I could not find any! All boxes of all sizes I have accumulated all my life are on their way to The Land of Tzars, duh!

So this little-but-not-so-little Canadian gal would have to be contented with a 50sen coin wrapped ever so nicely in an aluminium envelope with a green corsage her fairy mommy got as a VIP at a forum earlier in the day. Sorry Monchy! Not only your fairy and squary mommy believes in recycling, she also believes that keeping a tradition doesn't cost a thing. Neither does love.

Now go whistle, baby!

The Comments, The Curse and The Curve

2009-03-01T11:29:00.006+04:00

To all commentators and comment-leavers who have taken their time to read all the lines and what lies in between, to review, to reflect and even to rage about what I write...thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for your time, thank you for your thoughts, thank you for your TLC.

To be frank, I would not have put the visitors counter if I wasn't curious about how many readers would come visit my words and visit their own mind while reading mine. I truly appreciate every visit and re-visit whether you leave a comment or curse the day I was born. (Yeah, obviously too much SATC!)

I do read your comments as they come in via my email. And I do respond to each and every one of your comments - some in written words, but the rest in thought thoughts, and all...with curved lips on my face.

All's Well That Ends Well, Where's The Ell?

2009-02-28T18:39:00.006+04:00

I just wrote this email to Laurie at WOW! Factor, a corporate event management company in Del Mar, California:

Dear Laurie,
I was browsing and googling for Wow! Factor in Event Management when I came across your company website. And then I saw this embarrassing spelling error in the 'About The WOW! Factor' page:

"... - Protect the pubic against fraud and unfair practices, and promote all practices which bring respect and credit to the profession."

It should be PUBLIC, don't you think?

Good day!

Regards,
Enida

I have nothing against pubic being public. I mean...I am very comfortable with my body, and am not embarrassed mentioning vagina, pubic hair, labia, vulva and anything down under, bottom or behind. And as much as I would like to 'protect the PUBIC against fraud and unfair practices', I would really like to promote all practices which bring respect and credit to any profession. That, my dear Laurie, includes the practice of checking one's spelling before making anything corporate...public.

With that, I conclude my pubic speaking.
Thank you.

To Jog A Whale

2009-02-24T13:30:00.005+04:00

You are a thief and you have been caught robbing me. It's just amazing that you are defending yourself saying you have nicer and better things than mine, and that you stole things from me because I left my back door open. If you do have nicer and better things, why are you so sore when what's mine that you stole was returned to me?

And by the way, what difference does it make which door you came in through?

It Makes Horse Sense

2009-02-22T13:24:00.003+04:00

Menemankan Edrick baring-baring for his afternoon nap today, I stopped him from humming the Mozart (yeah, thanks to those Little Einsteins show on Channel 613) and asked him to do animal sounds.

Monch, how does a rooster sound like?
Oo' oo' ooooo' oooo'k!
How does a duck sound like?
Quack kwek quack kwek!
How about a bird?
Tweet chweet tweet chweet!
A sheep?
Mekkkk!
Edrick, can you do lizard sound?
Tsk tck tsk tck!
Wow! That's good, monch.
Do you know how a monkey sounds like?
Yess! Ooh aaa aaa aaa, ooh aaa aaa aaa!
How about a cow?
Easy mommy. Moooooo!
Right on! What about a donkey?
Eeeeyore, eeeyore!
Very good! And how does a horse sound like?
Yeeee haaa!

I had no time to say neigh or nay. I was laughing my eeeyore off on the carpeted floor, yeee ha ha ha ha ha!

Berdoa Berdua

2009-02-19T14:10:00.005+04:00

104th Month Anniversary Breakfast at Delicious,
Dua Residence Annexe this morning.

Oh Owe!

2009-02-17T09:03:00.004+04:00

I owe you at least half of the story. The ending half. The only problem is...it hasn't ended. It isn't ending either. I don't suspect the ending is going to come before MY ending. Mistake is, after all, a life-long lesson you keep on taking until you've learned it by heart. Mistakes...yours or others, regardless.

So today I saw Ms X.

Yes, I saw her. Like I saw her a month and a day ago. I saw her better this time. Longer. Many more coup d'oeil. No, she didn't see me. Not today. Unlike a month and a day ago, she did see me. She turned around when I wasn't looking. She turned around and hid. She thought I hadn't seen her when she finally saw me from about 20 meters away.

Today I saw her for good 10 minutes. She didn't see me. She didn't know I was less than 5 meters away from her. I was in a line-up, and she was passing by. A friend of hers stopped her and they had a chat. So I saw her.

Every time I saw her, I felt better about myself. I'm glad I am me. A lesson so good to learn, indeed.

"Mata Jendela Hati"

2009-02-15T20:35:00.002+04:00

Eyes...the windows to your soul.

I remember reading an article in a magazine about thirty years ago entitled just that...Mata Jendela Hati. And I remember thinking how brilliant the idiom (or saying, or proverb or figurative speech - whatever it is called) was. But then, I remember thinking...how does one tell another's soul just by looking at the eyes. Do they really tell that much?

Pour For The Poor

2009-02-12T19:47:00.024+04:00

Standing the heat...I've been staying in the kitchen. Yes, connotatively and denotatively. Ahaks! I was going to make Rosemary Chicken, but as I was literally stabbing her on the breasts (yes, she has three beautiful and yummy breasts), I realized that my jarred Rosemary McCormick was already on her way to the Land of The Tsars. All I had left was the lemon-pepper mix and a new square no-lid skillet.

So it wasn't going to be Married or Merried with Rose. And so...the Johnsons had to be just contented with Roslaimi Chicken - not Rosemary Chicken, I was afraid. Thus, with three knife-stabbed breasts, frozen Emborg spinach blanched in coconut milk and skillet-roasted potatoes and carrot...we paused before we poured the gravy and so we said our grace at supper.

Pour the grace on us, Lord, as we pray that not one too many a child goes to bed hungry and cold tonight. Not in Gaza, not in Rwanda, not in Bolivia, not in Nako Nambua.

Amin or Amen.
However one spells it.

*Yes. Stabbing was very much needed for those not-fully-thawed-out breasts, as I also discovered that MC "Tenderizing" Hammer has all this while had an affair with Rosemary McCormick and joined her on the Transiberian Cargo.

The Craving Is Gone

2009-02-11T18:18:00.006+04:00

Although I am looking forward to the last day of (watching the movers) packing me stuffies at the Brickhouse, tomorrow will be the last day per me riding me Cravy. It has been good three and a half years, baby! Kitreena got really worried when I teased her that from tomorrow onwards we'll all have to put on our runners when stepping out - we'll be walking and taking buses or taxicabs. Ahaks! Teringat zaman menapak dulu-dulu...swinging and swaying in mini buses and commuter trains.

Baby Cravy...sampai nanti. Thanks for the last 100, 000km. Be good.

Menapak jalan yang menjauh
tentukan arah yang ku mahu
tempatkan aku pada satu peristiwa
yang membuat hati lara...

Kukus Kak Kiahku Kukus

2009-02-04T06:58:00.006+04:00

I went to see my brother, Dee, at Brothers Prima Saujana, I think it was almost two weeks ago, to ask him to fix a set of new visors per mia macchina. Sure enough what took me almost a year to do took him no time at all! Betul lah kata orang kerja bertangguh tak menjadi. Thanks Dee. Hope your kang-kong hey-hey in Lukut was a blast.

While Dee was taking his own sweet time fixing the visors, I walked over to Kak Kiah's place right next door. Joining me was my Lil Sis who didn't feel like going home (then...yet) after work. Since the chicken (meant for Nasi Ayam) hanging in Kak Kiah's display gobok was being chomped away by flies, I opted for Kak Kiah's Nasi Lemak Kukus being kukus-ed away.

When the Nasi Lemak Kukus Kak Kiah got to my table, for some reason I felt sad. Keadaan Nasi Lemak Kukus Kak Kiah agak menyedihkan. I don't know how I managed to get such a decent picture of it! I felt very ragu-ragu that the taste would ever be able to cheer me up. I even mms-ed this 'BEFORE' picture - and my skepticism - to KaCher who wasn't able to join us at Kak Kiah's that afternoon. The cucumber piece, especially, broke my heart. (Note the singular quantifier piece, tuan-tuan dan puan-puan.)

But I was wrong about Kak Kiah's Nasi Lemak Kukus. The absence of the 'AFTER' picture should be enough information for you to assume betapa malunya saya nak cakap...I was wrong. So...dear Kak Kiah, keep on kukusing. But if you could shoo off the flies from chomping away at your Nasi Ayam's ayams, I might come back for a plate or two.

Nowk Mujoe Mekk

2009-01-30T20:24:00.014+04:00

Two years in the godforsaken sleepy town, Ka Cher and I had fun picking up this funny dialect. At times we still use it to have a good throaty laugh while ngeteh. At Lengkuas for brunch today, we almost had a sore throat knowing and talking about so many biaks around us:

Pohpalih laa!
Ah ye.
Ngkaler awaok nte doh tau konoan nye suor nte pakei ndi kaki, ngape plowk tiber pakei ndi lengei?
Namer nye sngaje gitu gayer?
Sebak pakei ontok duduk dalaang ghumoh je yak?
Bukei nok kwor ghumoh nunjowk koghang?
Ehh dowwwkk! Ontok duduk dumoh je ko kabor.
Keknyer diyer nte tau ke dowk suor te mende?
Ntoh ye ntoh dowk ke tau nyer tuu.
Ngkaler ye, babei lalu kelaku nyer. Bingei tu lah.
Ngkaler dowk, sabik ko ngabor nyughuh nneingok jer dulu segoner. Bukei nyughuh balik lajor poan.
Waser lok jantoang klabu asak diyer nte biler ong ngabor diyer nggitu gayer.
Ah bukei diyer nte waser! Oghang laeng ni howk lampaaa kisowk nyer. Tok tesughawh ke babei nte.
Ssudu memanyowk, kuwoh ntoh maner dataang.
Ah, howk tangkak wak tu lah.
Palih laa yak?
Ihhh...waser nowk mek luku ke, lutu ke, ssekehh kek paler mmaseng ni kaghang.
Ho'oh owk. Lepeih te amik kek gambo mater nte buntaaang, antor plowk ke kedei Lee Naaang.
Eh, enchipoat laluu.
Biak biak biak biak biak!
Ghebeih, ghebeih!

*Please email enida@mail.com if you would like to get a copy of a translated version.

Sejingga

2009-01-30T00:50:00.004+04:00

Sewaktu kau kirim senja jingga itu
ke pandangku
Aku terhantar ke deja vu
Pernahkah dulu kita bertemu?
Atau cuma khayalan melayarku
Ke tapak tanganmu?

Genggamlah virtual angan kita
Di ranjang senja nan jingga.

*Pehh! Ranjang okay? Explicit tu!

Vanity Mirror

2009-01-29T20:36:00.003+04:00

My son(shine) came downstairs the other morning after his shower and announced, "Mommy! I handsome. I your handsome Monchie." The announcement sent me terkedu for a few seconds, thinking...why! Goodness gracious! Just because I have been calling him my 'handsome Monchie' does not mean he can change his name from Edrick Karl Johnson to Handsome Monchie Johnson. What am I teaching my children?

It's a very thin line between amour propre and high self-esteem, is it not?

You Gotta Love Old Men

2009-01-29T13:37:00.004+04:00

"I was at the mall the other day eating at the food court. I noticed an old man watching a teenager sitting next to him. The teenager had spiked hair in all different colors: green, red, orange, and blue.

The old man kept staring at him. The teenager would look and find the old man staring every time. When the teenager had enough, he sarcastically asked, "What's the matter old man, never done anything wild in your life?"

The old man did not bat an eye in his response…

"Got drunk once and had sex with a peacock. I was just wondering if you were my son.""

*As copied and pasted from Fariz Abu Bakar's Facebook notes.

You Probably Think This Kerfuffle Is About You

2009-01-29T12:24:00.009+04:00

Anger moves people. I have just seen the proof. What started as just an anonymous noise about grammar has now turned into a personal attack. Sayangnya. It's a shame, though, that people take things negatively much more easily. But then bagus juga ada yang terasa pedas sebab dia yang makan cili. Dan kadang-kadang sebab kita tau kita dibaca lah kita menulis, ye tak? Keep on writing. Keep on reading. And keep on assuming my noisy grammar entries are all about YOU. Yes, you...sir. (And yes, your editor and I have had lots of fun exchanging stories about how 'langit-dan-bumi' your blog is to your books! Wanna hire a blog-editor? Bah!)

p.s. Oh, by the way...Abang Ekhsan, ciguku bilang 3 dots jak cukup. 4-dots is only at the beginning of a sentence that is preceded by another (but omitted). But if too complicated, 3-dots is the most common. Nda mo lebih bah itu. Kasih.

Garage Sale Round Two!

2009-01-29T09:34:00.008+04:00

Looks like I have to buat siaran ulangan of the Garage Sale...on request and by 'popular demand'. Quite a few friends called from their hometown last Monday, kechiwa tak dapat join in the fun. So, gentle ladies, gentle men (gentle ke?), cik kak, cik abang, cik adik sekalian...dengan ini diumumkan:

Garage Sale + Makan-Makan Ringan
1 February 2009 Sunday 1100-1700hrs
No. 28 Lot 203 Jalan Cinta Alam Country Heights Kajang

Datanglah beramai-ramai!
Please click on the map or here for driving directions.

By the way, I did make over a grand in less than 2 hours on Monday! That's how much garbage I accumulated over the years. But no, I won't call it Garbage Sale. Loi loi ngo tei hoi Garage Sale aaa!

Le Petit Bon Vivant

2009-01-27T19:45:00.018+04:00

It has been a pleasure to have the time and to be able to cook for Mom lately.

Perhaps the only thing Mom and I have in common is our extreme village throat (direct translation of tekak kampung). Though to my siblings, my cooking style is mostly pretty Chinese, I can and definitely do cook and eat the hardcore kampung and exotic food. And that includes:

rebung (pickled bamboo shoots)
tempoyak (pickled durian)
kulat taun (local mushroom)
menung lengat (boiled/steamed salted fish)
petai (pungent broad bean)
bunga kantan/kantang (galangal/ginger flower or shoots)
ulam raja (no translation)
jantung pisang (banana flower)
nangka muda (young jackfruit)
sukun (breadfruit)
pucuk limau purut (kaffir lime young leaves)
pucuk pako (fern shoots)
ikan pekasam (pickled fish)
cincalok
budu
petis

Hmm...can you expand and extend the list to what is exotic to you?
Thank you. Em koi sai lei.

p.s. Now that I mentioned pako, just remembered...I'm still waiting for kue pa ko my fantastic landlord is bringing home from Sitiawan.

Pictures:

Jasmine Rice
Singgang Ikan (Fish Soup)
Kerabu Kacang Kelisa (Four-Angled Beans Salad)
Enida's Version of 'Crazy Lazy Apple Pie'
In cup container is Sambal Kelapa Goreng Pedas (Spiced & Roasted Grated Coconut Sambal)

Garage Sale + Potluck

2009-01-25T14:57:00.010+04:00

Please click on the images below to view them in a larger size.

As this is also a Potluck Party, please feel free to bring a dish of sweet or savory whateverticklesyourfancylah. Fruit, finger food, hor d'oeuvres, healthy snacks, are all welcome. Even leftovers from your 'makan-besar' can be packed and brought over. No worries. Of course I would be delighted to see a dish or better...a whole pot of showingoffmysignaturedishbebeh!

Come on over!

Driving directions:
1. From Kuala Lumpur city center, drive south-bound on E2 (Plus Highway KL-JB)
2. Exit to Kajang
3. After the Kajang toll, immediately keep left and take the first left turnoff
4. Pass the CIMB on your left to proceed to Security Post A
- please drive on the right lane for Visitors
5. Inform the security officers you are going to Lot 203 Jalan Cinta Alam
6. Make a left (9 o'clock) turn at the roundabout just after you check in at Security A.
7. Drive straight on Jalan Cinta Alam for 300 meters.

The Garage Sale + Potluck venue is at the Redbrick House you see on your right.
I look forward to seeing you on Monday January 26 between 1100 and 1700hrs.

Good luck and Welcome!

Gong Xi Fa Chai!

The Brazillian Rendezvous

2009-01-21T11:05:00.003+04:00

I got a call from a blogger celebrity last night who initially thought I was a Brazillian. The call sent me feeling like a hot cappuchino all night long. Wooo! And I woke up this morning smelling the coffee like I never did before. Ay caramba!

Thank You Duck-tor

2009-01-21T10:52:00.005+04:00

I am not sorry I caused the stir. I am not going to apologize for the shit that hit the fan (and hit that empty space right between your ears). I don't mind if you don't leave any ungrammatical comments in my Inbox. Good for you! Peace for me! In fact, I am glad you now read your own writing, check your own grammar, spelling and punctuations, and consciously feel that disgust brewing every time you write. Vain if you have to be with your PhD now. No worries...you own every little drop of blood, sweat and ~~glory~~ tears - the cost of your very own vanity.

Good for you, Dr. Quack.

The Grammar Grandma

2009-01-19T22:43:00.012+04:00

Suddenly I scared everybody!

From writing, sms-ing and especially from leaving a comment on me bloggies. Muahahaha! Baru gertak pasal grammar, dah termati segala pucuk untuk menulis dan mengomen. Well, actually I am the kind who is easily impressed. Enough if you send me short text messages spelling everything out, capitalizing the first word in every sentence. If your sms is shorter than 160 characters, tulis je lah in full. Guna je lah auto-speller ke, spell-checker ke, wood-pecker ke if you have to.

Instead of "Hw zt gng?" - supposedly a sentence that only takes 10 characters inclusive of spaces in between words, tulis je ler "How is it going?" Sama je bayor 12 sen Celcom rates 10 characters ke 160 ke. Plus the auto-speller will do it for you twice if not thrice as fast than 'hw-zt-gng' that makes me somehow think of Awang Goneng, Peter & Zanariah Gawan Taylor's initials (PZGT) duduk atas gunung. (Funny how my brain works - I should have asked for a CT Brain Scan together with my mother at the Kecemasan Kritikal HUKM yesterday.)

Yes, I am very particular about writing it grammatically right with correct punctuations, spelling, grammar, you name it. But my kecerewetan hanya terbatas to those who are supposed to hold a very high standard of the language being written in. I enjoy looking up to rather than looking down on these so-called experts. And the language in question is konechno pa-ingliska (of course English) lah kan. Indaklah Kedazan Dusun bah!

My fussiness aside, what impressions would it leave you with if you see a sentence like below - knowing very well that it was written by a person who has his/her doctorate degrees in English?

"Did you went to the Syntax and Morphology conferrence at Seremban last two day?"

I might exaggerate this a bit, but trust me...I have seen worse! So please don't get turned off and sengaja mematikan pucuk to write to me or leave comments if you:

don't have a PhD in English (yet)
do have a PhD in English and feel like I have been back-stabbing you with an invisible red pen
don't teach English and don't know any better grammar
do teach English but know you're as kerek as I am with grammar
don't care what I say because you're in denial
do care and would like to help me membasmi ungrammaticalism
don't care because your sole purpose in life is to leave comments no matter how ungrammatical
deliberately enjoy getting me all worked up over grammaticality
would like to get your grammar corrected by me
have had enough of my perasan-bagus grammar

Sesudahlah Enida oi! Poei dongar gramophone rosak laei best. Bingit tingo dibuek eh.

Sloppy Joe's and Jane's

2009-01-18T00:02:00.001+04:00

Call me a proofreader, a faultfinder, a backstabber, or whateverticklesyourfancy. But if you teach a language (including how to WRITE in that particular language) and you do not read what you yourself write - let alone edit it - go stuff it where the sun doesn't shine. Boleh tak?

Code-switching is fine. We do that all the time because we do speak more than just our mothertongue. No worries. But eloy! Subject-Verb Agreement, Conditionals, and all the 13++ Tenses yang memang men'tense'-sionkan umat manusia...sendiri mau ingat lah, eloy!

Cuba bawak-bawak edit sikit hasil penulisan sedara-sedari tersebut. Mengikut buku Tatabahasa yang kita belajau sedekad setengah yang lalu, ada perbezaan antara:

Who would ever thought...

and

Who would ever think...

Who would have ever thought... / Who would ever have thought...

Dapatkah anda spot the difference/error? Hanya jauhari yang mengenal maknikam. So, tak nak ke bawak-bawak berkenalan dengan grammar (I mean CORRECT grammar)? Asek kasik alasan typo je. Sloppy lah!

p.s. Opocot mak engkau! Tak patah tiat, bak kata my mother! The term "mother tongue" is supposed to be two words. Bukan 'mothertongue'. Tak ada dalam kamus hidupku!

As I Drop On My Knees By Her Bed At Night...

2009-01-17T18:33:00.007+04:00

I went to the kids' room to say goodnight to my monchies. Edrick was already in the Lulla Land. Kitreena was saying her prayers silently. (She insists on saying her prayers silently lately because she needs her 'privacy' - her word exactly...privacy.) She came to bed and went silent for a while afterwards, which was very rare. At bedtime, I usually have to ask her to shut her mouth instead of her eyes! She always has something to say. But tonight she fell into a deep thought.

"Mom, I wish there is a way to make Grandma feel well again quickly."

Her words were like a cry of a single cello...from MY heart.

Define Fun

2009-01-17T12:59:00.004+04:00

Rollercoaster is an overused word lately. By myself, Ka Cher, and Lil Sis. I wish I could say it has been as fun as it is supposed to be riding one. But the word has been used mostly to describe the state of our emotion. It's not fun at all.

I thought taking Mom out today was going to be fun. Well, it was. Fun was the idea of being able to show her what I just bought. Fun was the gratefulness to God that I was given time to fulfill her hajat to see my much-talked-about property. I was about to kick myself for procrastinating taking her to see Mesra Terrace - when she had to be warded again on Christmas. I was given my second chance. That was fun...if fun is the word.

Jangan Tak Pandang Belakang

2009-01-15T12:45:00.010+04:00

Lama akak tak mengomail, tiba-tiba hari ni adalah satu kisah berlaku yang membuatkan akak musti mengomel. Cannot say cannot! Tak boleh tidak. Dan akak musti mengomel dalam bahasa ibunda yang tidak rasmi sebab kisah yang berlaku ini sangat local. (Local, as in tak pernah lah lagi akak alami sewaktu akak berada di luar negara mahupun di luar Sabah dan Sarawak.)

Anyway...
Akak ke Tesco Kajang dan berbaris lah nak menggunakan mesin ATM Maybank. Lengang hari ni, tak ramai orang. Ada sorang je pun di depan akak sedang melakukan itu. Melakukan pengeluaran wang lah. Takkan kat mesin ATM melakukan pengeluaran barang atau melakukan pengeluaran hasil dalam negeri pulak kan. Tapi rupa-rupanya keburuk-sangkaan akak itu berasas! Orang di depan akak itu telah sempat melakukan pengeluaran angin bercampur gas sulfur beliau di depan mesin ATM!

Opocot! Terlompat akak terkejut bila terdengar akan bunyi yang begitu familiar di ~~hidung~~ telinga akak. Mulanya akak sangka itu bunyi talipon dari dalam poket seluar beliau. Maklum lah bunyi dering talipon bimbit yang berbagai-bagai zaman Y2K ni. Tetapi nampaknya beliau telah mengconfirmkan sangkaan akak dengan melakukan pengeluaran set kedua gas tersebut. Dan akak pasti bunyi letupan tipis lagi terhimpit itu datang dari bahagian antara pinggang dan peha sebelah belakang tubuh beliau! Apatah lagi beliau kelihatan mengangkat sebelah kaki untuk mengurangkan kesan himpitan seraya melincirkan lagi pengeluaran gas.

Sayangnya hanya setelah melakukan pengeluaran gas set kedua dengan penuh kepuasan tak terhingga, barulah beliau menoleh ke belakang dan kelihatan agak terkejut melihat mata akak yang terbeliak memandang ke arah dari mana datangnya gas berkenaan. Mulut akak yang ternganga kesan daripada kejutan yang telah dibuat oleh sedara kita kat depan mesin ATM tu cepat-cepat akak tutup!

Akak cuba sedaya upaya untuk tidak bernafas melalui hidung. Tetapi tidak berjaya kerana jantung akak berdegup kencang impak maksima daripada gas yang telah begitu kencang dan laju - kalah RapidKL - meracun fikiran akak! Oh tidak! Lemah seluruh anggota tubuh akak. Sehinggakan akak tak dapat membuat keputusan yang waras. Sama ada tetap mahu meneruskan perjuangan mengharung gas beracun untuk mendapatkan wang tunai jugak-jugak...atau lupakan saja. Gunakan kad kredit!

Jikalau ini terjadi kepada anda, tuan-tuan dan puan-puan...apakah keputusan paling waras yang akan anda ambil?

p.s. Untuk makluman tuan-tuan dan puan-puan, beliau yang telah melakukan itu di mesin ATM Maybank Tesco Kajang tersebut bukanlah sedara akak atau sedara bau-bau ~~kentut~~ bacang dengan akak. Dan akak tak tau lah kalau ada sesaper yang nak bersedarakan beliau selepas ini. Istilah sedara kita di dalam post kali ini akak guna-pakai untuk tujuan anonymity semata-mata. Dan beliau yang akak sebut-sebut ini bukanlah jugak berbangsa Jepun. Bangsa dan kewarganegaraan beliau tidak ada kena-mengena dengan perbuatan beliau yang terlampau pada hari ini 15 January 2009. Sesungguhnya akak tidak mengamalkan sikap perkauman. Sesaper yang hendak melakukan itu di depan mesin ATM, silalah pandang belakang supaya bangsa-bangsa bersatu lagi teraniaya seperti akak ini tidak diancam oleh pencemaran udara yang boleh membuatkan akak pupus.

CRV For Sale

2009-01-14T10:32:00.003+04:00

For Sale
Honda CRV 2003 Melaka Edition:
leather seats, sidesteps, Thule bicycle roof rack, Kenwood USB/MP3 player, all new Michelin tyres, mileage 123,000km, asking price RM79,900 negotiable.

To Whom It May Concuss

2009-01-14T06:17:00.007+04:00

Don't ask me to be strong if you don't know what strength is. How much stronger do you think I should 'look' or 'be' before you recognize that it is the strength that keeps me going? How does a strong person look, or behave? What do they say? What do they do? If what I do or say is not good enough to be categorized as strong, then tell me what is. Please don't trouble yourself telling me what I already know and what I have already done.

For you to ask me to pray lots and lots...do you sincerely think I haven't prayed enough? Is that why my mother is still dying and has not miraculously gotten well and gotten up to run a marathon? For your information, I do pray lots and lots. God! I pray so much I can walk on water! Now, if I can't make my mother well again in a shake of a wand, I do whatever it takes to make her feel comfortable. And I do make donation in her name, thank you very much. I just don't announce it on The Star or Utusan Malaysia. I'm not a politician (like you).

I appreciate the attention and the good intention, Sir. And I have nothing but gratitude for your thoughtfulness. But if you don't have anything smart to say, don't try to be smart. It's not something you can try to be anyway. Just be there.

Quietly,
Enida

You'll Remember Me

2009-01-12T19:45:00.022+04:00

The truth is, when it comes to writing about Mom, I stumble a bit. Uh no, not just a bit. I stumble, I fall and I don't want to get up. Wish I could write about it as it is. But the question I'm still asking myself is "What is?" (Not what if. We're done with what-ifs.) So, the least complicated answer I console myself with is...I am in denial. And my Mom is nowhere home.

Friday January 2, 2009, the doctors made the announcement: Mom was deteriorating. Liver cirrhosis, renal failure, sepsis, DIC, SIRS, you name it! The doctors made it sound like they were medals Mom would wear on her chest when she goes marching in to heaven. Somehow, I felt like my Mom was just the 'Bed #6 Lady' to some of these life-savers. Somehow. Sometimes. Not all the time.

I was less than impressed, nonetheless.
So Mom was stepping out the door of her life, that was what they were saying without saying it. Her days were numbered. And no, they could not help. Intubation would make her suffer longer. ICU was not an option. Mom had started to bleed - and it was a matter of weeks, maybe days before she would bleed like a water-filled balloon poked all over. All to be done was to see if Mom would react to the strongest ever antibiotics they gave her.

Oh by the way, the chemo was at the lowest dose. Mom took it well. But not her body, her kidneys, her liver. She wanted so much to fight, but her body had become the battleground by then. I imagined one standing in a house and watching the walls collapsing baring one's naked spirit. The enemies aren't just at the door. They are the new walls eating at one's spirit soul-lessly. And that one...is now my mother.

Friday January 9, 2009 the doctors made a happy announcement: they let Mom go home! I was supposed to jump in excitement and disbelief. I did jump in excitement - before I started scribbling down as many questions as I could in disbelief as to why they let Mom go when she was so weak...she could not walk, she would not talk!

So it was NOT renal 'failure'. It was most probably just kidneys infection. The antibiotics did its magic and the blood poisoning was de-poisoning. So okay, go home, no more chemo, no worries. So Mom came home and life goes on. Forget about the medals she was going to wear on her chest when she goes marching in, forget about the standing in a house watching the walls collapsing baring her naked spirit, forget about the enemies at the door, the gates, the walls or what have you.

Mom came home.

But she never really came back. I am now the Mom. Together with Ka Cher, Lil Sis, Bibik, Lam and Flick. We are mothering Mom right now, these un-numbered days. Guarding her naked body, breathing spiritlessly and homelessly. Her memories have left her. Her memories are wearing those medals of our good times...marching in to heaven.

Good night, Mom.

Want To Want

2009-01-11T15:11:00.006+04:00

There's nothing wrong with wanting. To want is human. I never question you for wanting. I want too, because I do have the ability to want. I am alive. In fact, if I can...I would want to want everything. And no, I would not blame you for wanting everything either. Go ahead, want all you want. Want all you can want.

But to HAVE everything you want without wanting to prioritize...is evil!

You know the way I work. I don't ask too many WHY questions. So, with your wanting...I am asking you:

What do you really want for you?
When do you want it?
How much do you want it?
How long do you think you can stay wanting it?
What are you going to do when you get what you want?
Where are you going with what you want?
Who are you going to be when you get what you want?
Who do you want?
Whom do you want to be with?

Go ahead and want what you want. Once you have answered my WHQ's, I will know your WHY's without asking you why. Right now, all I want is to live my life for now - for the moment. I can't change the past and I don't want to anticipate the future. Worry is the last thing I want to worry about. So why worry now if I can worry later - if I worry later, or if I ever.

If I can stay wanting you, I'll want you for the rest of today. That's the longest into the future I would want to see. Tomorrow, I'll want you again and perhaps pray that I will want you for the rest of tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow I'll decide again if I want you for the rest of that day.

I have answered my own questions. If you want to know my answers, you have to want me.

About, On and In Me

2009-01-08T10:02:00.009+04:00

My children came home from school yesterday with flowers for my Wednesday.

Considering how the morning went:

me taking my brother, Ah Lam, to the Kecemasan Bukan Kritikal department at Hospital Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia for his second blood test as he was a suspect dengue patient
me going up to the 6th floor to see Mom, checking on her and my little brother Flick who had been at Mom's side for 48 hours
me coming home after all the commotion, cooking for Mom and sending the La Gourmet holdall back to Ward 6G by dinnertime
me running around to get the ball rolling (with the movers for our consignment to Moscow)
me chevying those guys at Ladachi Furniture for taking forever to replace a roller on my TV cabinet door
me doing this and that and still feeling like I wasn't doing enough.

Me me me!

It was all about me until Kitreena and Edrick came home with these bright red teentsy blooms and asked me to smell the flowers. They were no roses. But the whole world stopped spinning when I smelled the Teentsies and the two Monchies. It is all about me. The blessed little me!

*Please be aware that some facts written here can be classified as exaggeration in states (of mind) that do not tolerate free speech but encourage open burning.

Heaven's Bloom

2009-01-06T10:34:00.005+04:00

Kitreena walked Edrick to school today (of course with Bibik - I was still in bed then, making up for three days surviving with barely 3 hours of sleep). On the way back she picked up some flowers for my Tuesday. To some they might just look like weeds, or grass. But to me, I want nothing else to carpet my land in heaven but this purple blooms.

Nowhere

2009-01-01T23:29:00.007+04:00

I'm neither here nor there.
Could you come find me and wait for me...nevertheless?

Please?

Runaway Blues

2008-12-08T11:32:00.019+04:00

I was at the kitchen counter when Ka Cher came in with the IKEA stool in one hand reporting, "I found your son climbing on this stool, shoes on and all, trying to get out of the house through the window!" I didn't know whether to laugh at Edrick's desperation to get out, to applaud at his ala MacGuyver's smartness, or to cry at the thought that he was trying to run away from home!

Of course he was upset with Aunty Mas for failing his attempt to jump out the window. When I went to console my upset son, I somehow felt a rush of strange connection to the past. My past. And Ka Cher was there to share and connect them all: me, my son, my past and running away from home. I did, nonetheless, had a good laugh. Both at my son and myself, my past included.

I couldn't blame Edrick for wanting to get out of the house in dire straits (probably not so much for running away - I did advise him to at least bring some change of clothes, food and umbrella if he were to run away! Or at least get fed beforehand, like I was by Ka Cher who fed me Bubur Kacang that one fateful evening back in 1979!)

It had been raining all morning. And we were all donned up in Raya clothes ready to cheer the world up. Anybody would feel stranded given the situation, wouldn't they? Well, we ended up not going anywhere anyway. I, for one, didn't need to. All (except one) that I want, and all that fill my heart are right under my roof.

I'll keep the stool out my son's sight for now...and the next 18 years.

Come Sit By Me

2008-12-07T20:18:00.006+04:00

In this short but long journey of life
you swing you sway
you lose your way.

In this long but short trip of love
I strain I stray
yet I choose to stay.

Come sit by me
we swing the day
away.

* Enida
December 8, 2008
CH Kajang

To Know A Rose and To Keep A Tulip

2008-12-07T12:49:00.011+04:00

Read this article forwarded by a member of Yasmin Ahmad's Muallaf on Facebook today - to which my comment would just be, "Go make your own movie, Mr. Highandmighty." I am not defending Yasmin Ahmad, nor am I in total disagreement with what's written by Kamil Maslih and Arif Nizam Abdullah. But it is day and night between criticising constructively and finding faults endlessly. A critical mind is one that is able to come up with solutions prior to laying out flaws.

These journalists think that the movie had failed to portray the beauty of Islam. But they made no suggestions whatsoever on how THEY would do it or how it should've been done. I mean, if you have never seen a rose, you can't expect it to look like a tulip, can you? And to reshape a rose to look like a tulip just because YOU can't appreciate a rose...is downright bigoted.

Having said that, the beauty of God or faith is not to be portrayed and drummed about. It is to be shared as it is to be sought. What you can share and what you can find is very personal - between you and Him. If you can't appreciate or share, and if you don't like what others can, keep your opinion to yourself. Why bother sharing?

And since when did the Malaysian Muslim community appoint Kamil Maslih and Arif Nizam Abdullah to be their representatives who decide what movies are offensive and what not? And oh, hear this:

Barangkali bagi penonton di sana, tarikan utama Muallaf adalah kerana
hampir keseluruhan dialog dalam filem itu menggunakan bahasa Inggeris.

My jaw dropped to the floor when I read this statement! If this was a joke, it wasn't funny and these two reporters have just succeeded in making themselves the top two most un-funny clowns of the town!

What do you make out of this notion? That Singaporeans are so deprived of movies in English? That Singaporeans would not understand this movie if it was in full Malay/Chinese/Indian? That Singaporeans wouldn't understand the English subtitles if it was in full Malay/Chinese/Indian? That Singaporeans don't really care what Muallaf was all about - but because it is mostly in English, they watched it anyway?

You see why I read these newspapers once in two or three months at the very most? Because their reporters/journalists are so funny I am afraid I will be over-entertained and cannot stop laughing - not only at statements similar to above, but at their state of mind. Sorry state!

It's A Long (Distance) Story

2008-12-04T19:49:00.003+04:00

I so lah am going to blog about this okay. But I so lah ~~damp~~ damn exhausted also. How lah ever, I tell lah you...the poster in the photo is so lah not in Malaysia. And the movie in the poster is so lah not going to make it to our viewers at home. Never lah the less, it is so lah a good show, I am so lah going to ask Kak Yasmin if she can ship like 10 copies of the DVD to me once I berumahtangga in Mocsow and berjiran-tetanggakan agen-agen KGB serta Russian mafia. I bet you they so lah don't mind who my God is and how I worship Him.

Mind my language. I should've just gone to bed.

Three You Are!

2008-11-30T14:31:00.006+04:00

Hey ya Daddy,
It’s MY birthday today. I didn’t realize it was going to be a special day because Mommy got up late like she did yesterday. She must have gone to bed late again (the other night she had to cook a second supper for guests that arrived later than MY bedtime!). I tried not to storm into her room this morning, so I went downstairs and bugged Bibik instead.

When I opened the fridge to get some ideas on what to eat for breakfast (I usually know what I want now and I make sure I say ‘please’ to Bibik when I ask for my choice breakfast), I saw some marinated fish Mommy must’ve prepared the night before. Just before Mommy took me to the barber for my haircut later this morning, the fishy but yummy smell from the oven had filled the whole house.

I don’t really want to talk about my haircut, Daddy. I didn’t enjoy it one little bit! I kept on saying, “All done! All done!” right from the start to the end – it took the barber ten minutes to make me handsome again. It took Mommy all her talent to calm me down, but that ten minutes sure felt like ten slow hours! I didn’t enjoy the haircut one little bit, but I sure do like the way I look now. Life is not fair!

After the haircut, Mommy drove us (Kitreena and Uncle Flick came with) to a secret place. She was whispering all the time to my sister, and I didn’t really give a care because Mom and Kakak always do that. Must be the girls thing – secret this, secret that! But when Mommy came out from that secret place with two red boxes in a big red paper bag, I knew she didn’t just get the secret recipes. She got the Secret Recipe Cakes! Then, I remembered it was my birthday – after all, Mommy made me sing the famous Happy Birthday song when I was on the barber chair to distract me. She even made me imagine counting and blowing the candles. The thoughts of my birthday really got me through the trying and difficult time (such as during the ten minute haircut!)

I was so extremely excited when I saw the Vienna Brownie and the Banana Chocolate cake that I fell asleep on the way home! But of course the birthday lunch could not start without the birthday boy. That's me me me! So Mom woke me up. We were joined by Grandma, Atok, Aunty Reen, Uncle Shahril and both my cousins – Afiq and Mariessa. Uncle Lam and Uncle Flick were there too. I have a list of wishes today, Daddy. But the top few hundreds are the wishes that could only come true if you were here. I hope you will give me a phone call tonight so I can tell you what I can remember from today.

Lunch was followed by the cake ‘ceremony’, of course. It was neat to see that I didn’t get three candles on my cake. There was only one candle in the shape of the number 3. But for some reason it took me one to two good minutes to blow just one candle! You will have to watch the video clip from Mom’s camera to know what I am talking about, Dad. It was awesome, nevertheless, that I also got to cut the cake myself this year. I am pretty sure I get to do so much more next year!

Oh Dad, thank you for the card and the present! I love those numbers and I am now learning to count and match the pictures with the correct numbers. I got two birthday presents this year – the one from you, Mom and Kitreena (the numbers), and a set of play dough from Bibik. Thank you Daddy, Mommy, Kakak. Thank you Bibik.

So, the day went really well despite me thinking about you most of the time. Mommy thought it would have been really nice if you were around because you take better pictures than she does. Kakak was just busy eating, playing with Afiq and helping me open the gift, she forgot all about HER camera. Duh!

And oh, another thing…I overheard Mommy telling Kakak today about us moving to Moscow. Is that true Daddy? Do we get to be in the same house again? And it sounds like we are going to speak Russian with each other. Kakak thought we were going to change our citizenship and we were going to be in Russia forever. How many years is forever, Daddy? Because I don’t believe it when Kakak said it’s going to be a long long long long long time. Did Kakak just make that up?

Okay, I’d better go and enjoy the rest of my special-but-would-be-more-special-with-you day. I hope you enjoy looking at these pictures – although I know you enjoy ‘taking’ more than looking at pictures. Maybe my birthday next year when we are in Moscow, eh. Mmm…I imagine my cake would not say ‘Happy Birthday’. It will have something that says С ДНЁМ РОЖДЕНИЯ or something.

By the way, I saved some cakes, nuggets, corn-on-the-cobs and hugs for you, Dad. Mom said I can tuck them under the Christmas tree. Spasiba Mommy!

Your Russian Roulette Son,
Edrick

Leave It Or Live It

2008-11-29T15:03:00.002+04:00

After taking quite a bit of time drafting, deleting, writing and righting the thoughts of making an announcement...I decided to just say it as it is:

Lessons learned, changes needed and phases passed. We are leaving the country, moving to a bigger, more crowded and not necessarily better place - for the better future. Life was easy until we had to learn to handle crises. Hurt, we did and we were. But hurt was also the mistake we vowed not to make again. Effective communication, we found out, is the one-size-fits-all kinda solution. So we are wearing it now and forever more.

God is good.

All The Way Back

2008-11-23T19:25:00.009+04:00

Kitreena was missing Daddy more than usual this morning.
She drew Daddy with some whiskers because it was Sunday.
Sunday is Daddy's take-it-easy day - no shaving, no worries.
Daddy came home on November 4th after being away for four months.
Kitreena and Edrick are now counting sleeps until Daddy's home again - for good, and the best.
Kitreena was busy drawing this afternoon when Mommy wrote this.

Dear Mom,
Your son has come home to his daughter and his son. My husband has returned to your daughter-in-law. Your youngest child and I had the longest talk ever in Bali where we let ourselves out and just be. Through and through, the more we got talking about the years of us not talking, the more we realized that love actually had always had us enwrapped in silence. No matter what happened and what was done in either anger or desperation, love was the arms that pulled us back together. And your love...has been the finger we wrap our hands around - for better or for worse - learning from our imperfections.

Mom,
Thank you for asking me to come home to you. All my life, no one had ever asked me to 'come home', but you. I wept like a child when you wept with me through the wire, thousands of miles away...that one rainy morning. And I wept for that child in me who could not thank God enough for that mother she never had in her own. That child is blessed nevertheless with two mothers. And mom, thank you for leaving your door always opened just in case I need a home to run back to.

But for now I think it is my home that has instead run back to me. So I'll stay.

Wish We Had Our Dad Day

2008-11-19T10:54:00.009+04:00

Hi Daddy,
Mommy took us to the newly opened McDonald’s restaurant in Bandar Baru Bangi yesterday. It was a surprise – she made us go to bed earlier than usual the night before because she said she didn’t want me to be late for school. When I went downstairs in the morning to have breakfast, Mom said we had no time for breakfast. I had to put on my shoes quickly or I would be late for the bus.

Mom drove past the bus pick-up point. So I thought Mom was going to take me to school. But instead she took me, Edrick and Bibik to a new McDonald’s! The restaurant looked so much like the restaurant I thought I had been to before. After all, they all look alike to me! There were not many people yesterday morning despite it being a 24-hour outlet.

I got even more excited when I saw the big Play Area! But Mom did not let me play because I had to go to school right after breaky. I wasn’t happy, but Mom’s the boss!

Nevertheless, it was good to have McDonald’s breakfast yesterday. Instead of the usual McMuffin with Egg, I asked for the Hotcakes, Dad! I cleaned up both the two pieces – with Maple Syrup. Slurp! (But your pancakes are still the bestest, Daddy! I was just hungry.) When you come home, if you are too tired or too lazy to make pancakes, Mom said she will take you to McDonald’s for Hotcakes or Big Breakfast.

Edrick woke up early for the surprise breakfast as well. Lucky boy, he didn’t have to go to school right after – because he is already on school holidays that started last week. He sat up nicely at breakfast and tagged along with me even to the washroom at McDonald’s when I had to go wash my hands. After breakfast, Mom drove me to school. Edrick and Bibik came with. Even Aunty Mas came with. But they just stayed in the car while Mom took me to my Home Room.

It was a good day yesterday, Daddy.
But I know it would have been even better if you were with us and if I didn’t have to miss you.

Well, 24 more sleeps before you are home. I think I need a big calendar so I can cross some boxes and so I can stop bugging Mommy every time I lose count of the sleeps. She says she’s not counting. She doesn’t lose count of the sleeps either. She just loses sleeps. You know Mom!

Okay Dad, I hope you enjoy looking at these pictures. I sure loved the McDonald’s breakfast yesterday. But not as much as I love you! I asked Mom if she could send you hugs and kisses as attachment with this email. Mom said, of course. I hope you can open all these attachments on your Blackberry and they are not too big. My hugs are sure big, Daddy. Edrick’s too. One hundred million Gigabytes, Mom counted.

Love you Daddy.

Your Maple Syrup Daughter,
Kitreena

What Hearts Are Made Of

2008-11-16T23:45:00.010+04:00

The stories have happened.
They are just not yet written.
Here, at least.
And so, the door has been opened.
Just that...I am still standing here,
watching and guarding it,
ever so ready tu jump
and either close that door on love,
or walk out on my own strength.

My heart is not made of steel.

p.s. Wait a while with and for me. It is a long story, to tell you the truth. For the truth is always a longer story, if one is to tell all.