My husband paid a nominal amount during a charity fund raiser and obtained a coupon for two nights' stay in a fairly new hotel in Sandakan.
I was disappointed as I was hoping for somewhere in London, Melbourne, Chiangmai, or Hong Kong. After offering to let one of my children to travel with daddy, each one refused to go. Reasons are varied: no friends there, nothing much to see or do there, it is a gruffy old town ... In the end when we found economical air tickets by Air Asia, I decided to come myself.
The only place I have been to in Borneo is Sibu, Sarawak before coming to Sandakan. To be brutally frank, I was not impressed at all with Sibu. But my missionary friends are right, Sandakan is much more attractive than Sibu. I like the coastal scenery. For being the second largest city in Sabah, it has a laid back charm like Ipoh.
My husband and I enjoyed the only Korean eatery: Seoul Palace(I think). He had beef and I ordered an omelet. We went to have western lunch near the Alice Keith house. Scones were on promotion. The beef stew offered was delicious! The best place we ate in was the Sea King: we had a steam red snapper Cantonese style (Sandakan is also called Little Hong Kong), beef cooked with black beans (highly recommended), fried kalamari ring(squid) and a simple garlic fried vegetable.
Neither my husband nor I are big on wild life, we spent virtually all our meals chatting with our friends. It actually turned out to be a trip to renew friendship.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
(212) New Top Ten
134 Upbringing
168 A change of Heart by Jeffrey Archer
89 Never Stop on the Motorway by Jeffrey Archer
664 Nightshade by Nora Roberts
575 Hide and Seek by James Patterson
91 Shoeshine Boy by Jeffrey Archer
647 The Return of Rafe MacKade by Nora Roberts
686 Night Smoke by Nora Roberts
653 The Pride of Jared MacKade by Nora Roberts
981 In a Free State by V.S.Naipaul
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(211) Sanctuary
We met a couple from Tawau who are building their vacation home in the interior of Sabah that is about four hours' drive from the nearest petrol station. They are planting fruit trees for a start. Now they have a cabin that boasts of a large living area and a small bed room. In stages, they plan to add a kitchen, an indoor toilet and a wash room. Ultimately they want to have a self-sustaining farm to move to in a few years' time. They have a stream in their property so there is no real need to dig a well. For electricity they are thinking of solar panels and a small generator to supply a few energy efficient tubes.
This couple reminds us of another we met in Tanjung Malim. The latter bought a link house with some government idle land behind their house bordering a forest reserve. The part-time mechanic cum hospital assistant who was a pastor in his earlier years planted fruit trees, vegetables and root vegetables on the open land. He shares his harvests with his neighbors gladly and therefore no one has a motive to complain about his using the public land.
The idea of being self-sufficient is fairly attractive to me, born and bred in the city. But I suppose it would require a fair bit of effort to learn to plant crops, even for our own consumption. One has to be convinced enough to devote financial resources towards purchasing or leasing some land to create a sanctuary.
This couple reminds us of another we met in Tanjung Malim. The latter bought a link house with some government idle land behind their house bordering a forest reserve. The part-time mechanic cum hospital assistant who was a pastor in his earlier years planted fruit trees, vegetables and root vegetables on the open land. He shares his harvests with his neighbors gladly and therefore no one has a motive to complain about his using the public land.
The idea of being self-sufficient is fairly attractive to me, born and bred in the city. But I suppose it would require a fair bit of effort to learn to plant crops, even for our own consumption. One has to be convinced enough to devote financial resources towards purchasing or leasing some land to create a sanctuary.
(210) A Change of Hearts
I am extremely surprised to see (168) A Change of Heart (written on 12/1/2013) garnered 60 viewing and rose to the second highest ranking within a little more than a month.
When my brother won a scholarship to a college in New York state, my father told him not to return but to gain resident status. He did stay on long enough to earn a Masters degree. After that he went to work in China and Hong Kong. When my turn came, I was given a sound telling to for choosing to return to a country that father said bode a dim future for me. Of course he was glad that I was around to care for him whenever he was sick. Now that he is no longer around to see what financial strait USA has been reduced to, I realize I am correct to listen to an all knowing God rather than to decide based on the then current circumstances.
Looking at my generation of Chinese men and women, generally we have done well despite reverse discrimination in broad educational policies. Those who are good in academics managed to gain entrance into Singapore, USA, Australia, New Zealand ... Even those who are not wealthy managed to win scholarships and financial aid to study abroad. A handful who are not academically inclined managed to start businesses and made good. It could be a hawker stall, small restaurants, machinist factory, packaging contractor, computer retail, hand phone booths in shopping centers, stalls selling crystal jewelry, service center offering cleaning service ...
Although it is not easy to live under discrimination, I personally think that my brothers and I work three times as hard as those who are favored. In the short term, it was frustrating. However, we were forced to strive harder and aim for excellence. My eldest brother sat for our O-level national language paper quite a few times to get a good grade. I was lucky that I managed to qualify for a Credit at first try. For my generation, my siblings and I all possess at least one foreign degree.
For the next generation, Victor is working now with two foreign degrees. Mandy is finishing her local private college degree. Kenneth and Elizabeth are both working towards local public university degrees. Whatever government policies are, those who have the will shall find a way. The rest of the children are still young or have opted for other avenues.
There is, however, one snag that exists: for those who were side-lined whom later chose Christianity, a few received clear callings to relocate to neighboring countries. The people group they have to work with look like the main race in our country, have similar religion and language roots. One missionary from my home town struggled for years to love the tribe he has dedicated his life to win. It was not until he realized the bitterness he held toward these people because of our governmental decisions that he had the breakthrough he had worked years to gain. I am fortunate that even though I did not receive any local uni offer, I could choose between an US and a Singaporean offer. But interestingly, I was not called to work with any regional tribes. I am called to work with the learning disabled, at first children and later adults. With the advent of the world wide web, I could literally reach all countries, every race regardless of time zone and geographical differences. For years I have functioned in English, but now I am required to speak in Mandarin and Cantonese to reach my targets.
When my brother won a scholarship to a college in New York state, my father told him not to return but to gain resident status. He did stay on long enough to earn a Masters degree. After that he went to work in China and Hong Kong. When my turn came, I was given a sound telling to for choosing to return to a country that father said bode a dim future for me. Of course he was glad that I was around to care for him whenever he was sick. Now that he is no longer around to see what financial strait USA has been reduced to, I realize I am correct to listen to an all knowing God rather than to decide based on the then current circumstances.
Looking at my generation of Chinese men and women, generally we have done well despite reverse discrimination in broad educational policies. Those who are good in academics managed to gain entrance into Singapore, USA, Australia, New Zealand ... Even those who are not wealthy managed to win scholarships and financial aid to study abroad. A handful who are not academically inclined managed to start businesses and made good. It could be a hawker stall, small restaurants, machinist factory, packaging contractor, computer retail, hand phone booths in shopping centers, stalls selling crystal jewelry, service center offering cleaning service ...
Although it is not easy to live under discrimination, I personally think that my brothers and I work three times as hard as those who are favored. In the short term, it was frustrating. However, we were forced to strive harder and aim for excellence. My eldest brother sat for our O-level national language paper quite a few times to get a good grade. I was lucky that I managed to qualify for a Credit at first try. For my generation, my siblings and I all possess at least one foreign degree.
For the next generation, Victor is working now with two foreign degrees. Mandy is finishing her local private college degree. Kenneth and Elizabeth are both working towards local public university degrees. Whatever government policies are, those who have the will shall find a way. The rest of the children are still young or have opted for other avenues.
There is, however, one snag that exists: for those who were side-lined whom later chose Christianity, a few received clear callings to relocate to neighboring countries. The people group they have to work with look like the main race in our country, have similar religion and language roots. One missionary from my home town struggled for years to love the tribe he has dedicated his life to win. It was not until he realized the bitterness he held toward these people because of our governmental decisions that he had the breakthrough he had worked years to gain. I am fortunate that even though I did not receive any local uni offer, I could choose between an US and a Singaporean offer. But interestingly, I was not called to work with any regional tribes. I am called to work with the learning disabled, at first children and later adults. With the advent of the world wide web, I could literally reach all countries, every race regardless of time zone and geographical differences. For years I have functioned in English, but now I am required to speak in Mandarin and Cantonese to reach my targets.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
(207) Crisis with aged relative
I went to a place south of here to visit my eldest aunt. She fell a few times the day before and was hospitalized yesterday. My two cousins took their mum to the public hospital at 8 am. Finally, at 2:30 pm we managed to visit her, two visitors at a time, in the ward after she was settled in. We were given special concession to visit during non-visiting hours for we came from out of town.
My cousin May took my mum up first. After my mum came down, May took me up. In the intervening 5 minutes, my aunt had forgotten that my mum visited. She was surprised to see me and asked why I came alone and not bring anyone with me as it was a long drive. I suppose at that moment reality struck, her short term memory loss was so pronounced that I could expect that she would not recognize who I am some time in the foreseeable future. But she has known me for as many years as I have lived. I remember my deceased grand ma said that this aunt came to help care for me as a new born and cook for my mum while my grand ma was looking after my two other siblings and cook for the rest of the extended family. You see, special food full of ginger, wine and vinegar is usually cooked for the lactating mother. We were quite poor then that the best food was given to the new mum.
May was her usual bustling, efficient self, after all she was formerly a school principal. She tended to everything that needed to be done as she was required to spend every night in the hospital caring for her mum. There is a severe shortage of trained nurses for public hospitals as many went to earn the high salaries in the middle eastern countries. My cousin Leon was very subdued and he was near tears when my mum and I asked about the details of the several falls. Meanwhile, my husband and son was waiting in another area with my God sister.
According to the x-rays taken, the fracture was located at the top of the femur which is actually in the hip joint. An operation seemed indicated. On the other hand, my aunt is 85 years old. While she has hypertension, her overall health is good. Her blood sugar is perfectly normal and she has a BMI to be envied. Well, we can only pray that she will heal with traction and bed rest. Should she be operated on and not survive, that she would go painlessly.
My cousin May took my mum up first. After my mum came down, May took me up. In the intervening 5 minutes, my aunt had forgotten that my mum visited. She was surprised to see me and asked why I came alone and not bring anyone with me as it was a long drive. I suppose at that moment reality struck, her short term memory loss was so pronounced that I could expect that she would not recognize who I am some time in the foreseeable future. But she has known me for as many years as I have lived. I remember my deceased grand ma said that this aunt came to help care for me as a new born and cook for my mum while my grand ma was looking after my two other siblings and cook for the rest of the extended family. You see, special food full of ginger, wine and vinegar is usually cooked for the lactating mother. We were quite poor then that the best food was given to the new mum.
May was her usual bustling, efficient self, after all she was formerly a school principal. She tended to everything that needed to be done as she was required to spend every night in the hospital caring for her mum. There is a severe shortage of trained nurses for public hospitals as many went to earn the high salaries in the middle eastern countries. My cousin Leon was very subdued and he was near tears when my mum and I asked about the details of the several falls. Meanwhile, my husband and son was waiting in another area with my God sister.
According to the x-rays taken, the fracture was located at the top of the femur which is actually in the hip joint. An operation seemed indicated. On the other hand, my aunt is 85 years old. While she has hypertension, her overall health is good. Her blood sugar is perfectly normal and she has a BMI to be envied. Well, we can only pray that she will heal with traction and bed rest. Should she be operated on and not survive, that she would go painlessly.
Monday, February 11, 2013
(201) Perfect Match by Jodi Picoult
In Perfect Match, Nina Frost (Assistant District Attorney) lost it when her own son was raped by a priest. Instead of putting faith in the faulty legal system, she shot the child abuser dead in court.
My daughter read this book some time ago but she remembered this plot and said that it was one of the best she came across. I was born with a slant with words and grew up with adults telling me that I should become a lawyer to use my gift. Some how I did not but quite a few of my closest friends are in the legal profession.
Perhaps I was rather sheltered, I honestly can claim that I did not personally know of any child abuse victims in my country. Well, in the East, such things are buried and everyone concerned considered it best forgotten. And so, my readers probably wondered why I choose to elaborate on response to such a book.
A short recap: I suffered emotionally from some form of learning disability as a child. At 21, I witnessed first hand how angry a full blown dyslexic child was when taunted by peers that he could not read. The trip I made to a self diagnosis became a life long passion. I worked with my own children. Then I took in other people's children to help them to over come obstacles in learning. Ultimately I become a listener to women who might have overcome all the learning obstacles but whose lives were plagued by unresolved anger, frustration, irrational fears and whatever emotional scars caused by the desperate fight many years ago.
Recently I heard of two children in my church. A teenage boy who aimed high to become a medical doctor found that he was not made for studying the sciences at age 16. In fact no matter how hard he worked, his grades fell. Until now I hesitate to get involved. Both the mother (who is kind of a friend) and the teenager are Chinese educated. Even if I reveal my blog name and ask them to read the relevant blog, they are not going to understand enough to help the situation.
The other child is seven years old. His parents sent him to a Chinese primary school. He is already displaying the classic symptoms of not being able to cope in class. In fact his back ground is rather interesting. His mother possesses two degrees and is an educator in a local college. His father, I don't know his educational back ground, works in a restaurant selling a local delicacy. Since both sets of grand parents have money, the boy will turn out ok in the end. But even as I think about their decision to put him in a Chinese school, I get angry. He may end up with much baggage and lots of emotional scarring. I somehow survived with my perfect recall (long ago I probably functioned as a photostat machine, which explained why I excelled in Chinese which is made up of unique ideograms), and now I can still pick up knowledge easily as I can elect to turn on an in built tape recorder. But funnily enough, I live in a house full of English books but you would be hard pressed to find a single Chinese book. No, I don't hate the Chinese language. On the contrary, I do love Chinese literature and Chinese poems. At some point, I should rewrite my entire set of blogs in Chinese. But I delay and I drag my feet. I suppose it is all a matter of time. My next person to listen to is talking to me in Cantonese now. In a few years' time I would have acquired all the working vocabulary in Cantonese to explain about the learning process and the emotional journey she struggled through. By then, it would be easier to type in Chinese characters without bothering with Han Yu Pin Yin.
My daughter read this book some time ago but she remembered this plot and said that it was one of the best she came across. I was born with a slant with words and grew up with adults telling me that I should become a lawyer to use my gift. Some how I did not but quite a few of my closest friends are in the legal profession.
Perhaps I was rather sheltered, I honestly can claim that I did not personally know of any child abuse victims in my country. Well, in the East, such things are buried and everyone concerned considered it best forgotten. And so, my readers probably wondered why I choose to elaborate on response to such a book.
A short recap: I suffered emotionally from some form of learning disability as a child. At 21, I witnessed first hand how angry a full blown dyslexic child was when taunted by peers that he could not read. The trip I made to a self diagnosis became a life long passion. I worked with my own children. Then I took in other people's children to help them to over come obstacles in learning. Ultimately I become a listener to women who might have overcome all the learning obstacles but whose lives were plagued by unresolved anger, frustration, irrational fears and whatever emotional scars caused by the desperate fight many years ago.
Recently I heard of two children in my church. A teenage boy who aimed high to become a medical doctor found that he was not made for studying the sciences at age 16. In fact no matter how hard he worked, his grades fell. Until now I hesitate to get involved. Both the mother (who is kind of a friend) and the teenager are Chinese educated. Even if I reveal my blog name and ask them to read the relevant blog, they are not going to understand enough to help the situation.
The other child is seven years old. His parents sent him to a Chinese primary school. He is already displaying the classic symptoms of not being able to cope in class. In fact his back ground is rather interesting. His mother possesses two degrees and is an educator in a local college. His father, I don't know his educational back ground, works in a restaurant selling a local delicacy. Since both sets of grand parents have money, the boy will turn out ok in the end. But even as I think about their decision to put him in a Chinese school, I get angry. He may end up with much baggage and lots of emotional scarring. I somehow survived with my perfect recall (long ago I probably functioned as a photostat machine, which explained why I excelled in Chinese which is made up of unique ideograms), and now I can still pick up knowledge easily as I can elect to turn on an in built tape recorder. But funnily enough, I live in a house full of English books but you would be hard pressed to find a single Chinese book. No, I don't hate the Chinese language. On the contrary, I do love Chinese literature and Chinese poems. At some point, I should rewrite my entire set of blogs in Chinese. But I delay and I drag my feet. I suppose it is all a matter of time. My next person to listen to is talking to me in Cantonese now. In a few years' time I would have acquired all the working vocabulary in Cantonese to explain about the learning process and the emotional journey she struggled through. By then, it would be easier to type in Chinese characters without bothering with Han Yu Pin Yin.
(200) The Pact by Jodi Picoult
I find that I not only need to think deeply when I read a Picoult book, I also learn interesting facts. Two apparently happy and well adjusted teenagers were found with one shot in the head and the other fell down with a head wound. It is every parent's nightmare!
Emily, the dead girl, was her mother's pride and joy. Her mother loved her very, very much. To that, no one would dispute. But, look a little closer, did the woman love Emily as a person or as a successful image that brought her pride?
I met some one lately who was a little like Emily's mom, Melanie. This woman brought her son, Byron, to work in a non-profit book room because Byron, who was quite a scholar academically, refused to go to college and he refused to go to work. The reason for being a recluse was he could not take criticism. Since everyone who takes a hefty pay cut to work in the religious center would likely to be kind, we all hope that Byron would find the book room a safe refuge. One thing everyone observed is that Byron would not utter a single word in the presence of his mother. Did she speak on his behalf all the time? Did she make fun of his opinion? Yet when his mother stays away, he is not exactly chatty but he would talk. Did his family insist on him taking up a profession that he absolutely fears? It was obvious they have the necessary money. And Byron would qualify, with his excellent grades.
In The Pact, the last picture painted by Emily was evaluated by an expert. The skull found in her self portrait indicated possible preoccupation with death. The way that black and red were juxtaposed in the background was a documented hint about suicide. The painting of clouds and rain are drawn by people who are depressed and/or suicidal. The eyes are symbolic of a person's thoughts. In Emily's self portrait, she painted gathering downpour in the empty eye sockets. The long developed eye lashes and a highly realistic tongue sent off warning signals about sexual abuse. Apparently, victims of sexual abuse fixate on tongues, eye lashes, wedge shaped objects and belts. When someone paints a floating image, the person doesn't have a feeling of control in his or her life.
Although The Pact is probably a fictional story, it is a story that I can learn from. As parents, we should not insist on the future that we visualize on our reluctant children. Emily was bright, pretty, talented and probably had a winning personality. But she could not reconcile between an unexpected pregnancy with college, she could not face an early marriage while she dealt with the feeling of being unworthy and being dirty/tainted with an act of sex abuse years ago that she hid. She could not see how she could live the ten years between her present self and the future of being a painter. And so she planned and pressurized her beloved to kill her since she could not kill herself on her own.
Emily, the dead girl, was her mother's pride and joy. Her mother loved her very, very much. To that, no one would dispute. But, look a little closer, did the woman love Emily as a person or as a successful image that brought her pride?
I met some one lately who was a little like Emily's mom, Melanie. This woman brought her son, Byron, to work in a non-profit book room because Byron, who was quite a scholar academically, refused to go to college and he refused to go to work. The reason for being a recluse was he could not take criticism. Since everyone who takes a hefty pay cut to work in the religious center would likely to be kind, we all hope that Byron would find the book room a safe refuge. One thing everyone observed is that Byron would not utter a single word in the presence of his mother. Did she speak on his behalf all the time? Did she make fun of his opinion? Yet when his mother stays away, he is not exactly chatty but he would talk. Did his family insist on him taking up a profession that he absolutely fears? It was obvious they have the necessary money. And Byron would qualify, with his excellent grades.
In The Pact, the last picture painted by Emily was evaluated by an expert. The skull found in her self portrait indicated possible preoccupation with death. The way that black and red were juxtaposed in the background was a documented hint about suicide. The painting of clouds and rain are drawn by people who are depressed and/or suicidal. The eyes are symbolic of a person's thoughts. In Emily's self portrait, she painted gathering downpour in the empty eye sockets. The long developed eye lashes and a highly realistic tongue sent off warning signals about sexual abuse. Apparently, victims of sexual abuse fixate on tongues, eye lashes, wedge shaped objects and belts. When someone paints a floating image, the person doesn't have a feeling of control in his or her life.
Although The Pact is probably a fictional story, it is a story that I can learn from. As parents, we should not insist on the future that we visualize on our reluctant children. Emily was bright, pretty, talented and probably had a winning personality. But she could not reconcile between an unexpected pregnancy with college, she could not face an early marriage while she dealt with the feeling of being unworthy and being dirty/tainted with an act of sex abuse years ago that she hid. She could not see how she could live the ten years between her present self and the future of being a painter. And so she planned and pressurized her beloved to kill her since she could not kill herself on her own.
(199) Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult
This week belongs to Picoult books. I have been reading quite a few of them: Vanishing Acts, The Pact, Perfect Match and Salem Falls. Each of these involved sexual abuse or assault of minors. Each book is different.
In Vanishing Acts she dealt with multiple issues: kidnapping, stealing identities, alcoholism, and child abuse as well as neglect. While reading this, I think of a Klang mother who lost her son on his first day of school. It was unthinkable for her son to be claimed by a woman with dark glasses in plain sight of a teacher on duty in the waiting area after school. Until today, the boy was not found. A few years ago, a reporter interviewed the family on the boy's birthday and found the family keeping a place for the missing child at the dinner table. Actually, a relative who visited Southern Thailand claimed he saw the boy begging by the way side, but by the time the parents rushed there he was nowhere to be seen. It is not unusual for such a child to be maimed and used for earning money by crooks.
A few weeks ago, a boy called William walked out of his family car one evening and vanished. A huge man hunt was mounted, much money was offered for clues to recovering him. Sad to say, his body was found about a week later in the river. Many people commented on face book, much of it was sympathetic and some filled with anger. The shocking part was the bereaved mom chose to read those messages and was so upset that she made a public apology to the Chinese media. It was perhaps a not very wise decision to leave three children locked in a car while both parents went to see washing machines in an electrical appliance shop. The story went into a twist when the autopsy found some old wounds in the skull and some smart reporters unearthed a report of physical abuse by the father a few months back. A further high point was having clips of the grandmother turning up at the cremation wailing as she had not met up with William, whom she brought up, for a long six months.
I suppose no mothers who love their children deserve to lose them, whether in not taking leave to be in the sending and the picking up of the child on his first day of school; or in desiring to be alone with her husband to find the dream washing machine! But I firmly agree with Delia (the central character in Vanishing Acts) that if her birth mother chose to be blind to the sexual abuse carried out by her boy friend and later second husband, then she deserved to be alone and could not expect visitations from her only living daughter and little grand daughter.
In Vanishing Acts she dealt with multiple issues: kidnapping, stealing identities, alcoholism, and child abuse as well as neglect. While reading this, I think of a Klang mother who lost her son on his first day of school. It was unthinkable for her son to be claimed by a woman with dark glasses in plain sight of a teacher on duty in the waiting area after school. Until today, the boy was not found. A few years ago, a reporter interviewed the family on the boy's birthday and found the family keeping a place for the missing child at the dinner table. Actually, a relative who visited Southern Thailand claimed he saw the boy begging by the way side, but by the time the parents rushed there he was nowhere to be seen. It is not unusual for such a child to be maimed and used for earning money by crooks.
A few weeks ago, a boy called William walked out of his family car one evening and vanished. A huge man hunt was mounted, much money was offered for clues to recovering him. Sad to say, his body was found about a week later in the river. Many people commented on face book, much of it was sympathetic and some filled with anger. The shocking part was the bereaved mom chose to read those messages and was so upset that she made a public apology to the Chinese media. It was perhaps a not very wise decision to leave three children locked in a car while both parents went to see washing machines in an electrical appliance shop. The story went into a twist when the autopsy found some old wounds in the skull and some smart reporters unearthed a report of physical abuse by the father a few months back. A further high point was having clips of the grandmother turning up at the cremation wailing as she had not met up with William, whom she brought up, for a long six months.
I suppose no mothers who love their children deserve to lose them, whether in not taking leave to be in the sending and the picking up of the child on his first day of school; or in desiring to be alone with her husband to find the dream washing machine! But I firmly agree with Delia (the central character in Vanishing Acts) that if her birth mother chose to be blind to the sexual abuse carried out by her boy friend and later second husband, then she deserved to be alone and could not expect visitations from her only living daughter and little grand daughter.
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