This is the Christmas season. I kept hearing one person after another telling me they are tired. Perhaps it is the many activities in church. Maybe it is the Christmas party or the family dinner. The shopping for gifts that one wants to bestow on one's loved ones...
The deco that make a street Christmas looking, the carols that bring nostalgia to one's heart, the presents one gives and receives, the yummy feast that one partakes yearly, and more than anything else, the gratefulness for one's love ones around, health, a reasonable amount of surplus that enables a person to be generous, they all contribute to a blessed Christmas.
Yet what does God requires of us? In Micah 6 verse eight it says "To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."
It sounded very simple. Yet it is indeed profound and very difficult to carry out. I will probably use this as my vision for the rest of my life.
Friday, December 28, 2018
(1072) Physical activities
As memories of my childhood came back, I was reflecting on how my children did while they were young in Silver City.
None of my children was co-ordinated enough to play sports that involved eye-hand co-ordination. In a big city, such children would end up glued to the TV or books. However, in a small town, there are lots of opportunities for all sort of physical and fun activities.
I think of the many fun afternoons I spent with my children, after 4pm, at the public swimming pool. They were not real swimmers, not skilful enough to save their own lives without life jackets. But hours of paddling and floating must have done wonders to connect their left and right hemispheres for certain essential tasks for school and their future jobs.
My children were blessed with playmates who are the children of my close friends. Running round a spacious garden and climbing the rambutan tree trained the body to respond to instructions from the overworked brains from the overwhelming classroom work. They would walk with their lighted lanterns on moon cake festival year after year in different neighbourhoods at night. It was fun and educational. For children who are clumsy, ability to walk without falling down as well as keeping the lantern lighted but not burning the cellophane body is no easy task.
From a small town with nothing much to do, we used to organise short day trips to nearby hot spring and lake resort during public holidays. Even sitting on rocks trying to make a picnic meal took real effort. By the time parents were brave enough to take the rambunctious group to a waterfall for an afternoon, it was a survival course on how not to fall on the big rocks.
On top of all that, music lessons were affordable. Piano and guitar were the popular choices for boys and girls in Silver City. Two of my children had at least two years of ballet. It did wonders for posture and upper-lower limbs co-ordination.
Looking back, it was no accident that we relocated to a small town long enough to provide a chance of the outdoor lifestyle for the children. God is good, he doth all things well.
None of my children was co-ordinated enough to play sports that involved eye-hand co-ordination. In a big city, such children would end up glued to the TV or books. However, in a small town, there are lots of opportunities for all sort of physical and fun activities.
I think of the many fun afternoons I spent with my children, after 4pm, at the public swimming pool. They were not real swimmers, not skilful enough to save their own lives without life jackets. But hours of paddling and floating must have done wonders to connect their left and right hemispheres for certain essential tasks for school and their future jobs.
My children were blessed with playmates who are the children of my close friends. Running round a spacious garden and climbing the rambutan tree trained the body to respond to instructions from the overworked brains from the overwhelming classroom work. They would walk with their lighted lanterns on moon cake festival year after year in different neighbourhoods at night. It was fun and educational. For children who are clumsy, ability to walk without falling down as well as keeping the lantern lighted but not burning the cellophane body is no easy task.
From a small town with nothing much to do, we used to organise short day trips to nearby hot spring and lake resort during public holidays. Even sitting on rocks trying to make a picnic meal took real effort. By the time parents were brave enough to take the rambunctious group to a waterfall for an afternoon, it was a survival course on how not to fall on the big rocks.
On top of all that, music lessons were affordable. Piano and guitar were the popular choices for boys and girls in Silver City. Two of my children had at least two years of ballet. It did wonders for posture and upper-lower limbs co-ordination.
Looking back, it was no accident that we relocated to a small town long enough to provide a chance of the outdoor lifestyle for the children. God is good, he doth all things well.
(1071) Sprains and fractures
Two months back, a friend of mine fell down and had to be wheel chair bound for 50 over days. A few days after the friend no 2 fell and moved around on two crutches for at least 30 days. Five days ago friend no 3 fell and was in a full splint, overdid the moving up and down stairs and now is in bed 24 hours a day.
All three are wonderful persons, perhaps a notch too friendly and helpful. Friend no 1 was busy organising some adventure camp for a big group of folks. Friend no 2 was a busy career woman with four children. Friend no 3 was running round organising a perfect Christmas celebration. They are all overworked and generally has too much on their platter to tend to.
Nature is good at providing rest for the weary. In a sprain, at least a week or two of resting on the sofa would help force the person involved to slow down. In a fracture, all activities ceased and the person has to involve others in helping the invalid to tend to daily necessities.
I think of crutches, walking frames, ice packs, disposable diapers... that the invalids use in the sick rooms. When my mum fell down three years ago, I practically lived in the hospital for the two operations and the next few days after the anaesthesia wore off. For months after that, I was at my brother's house early morning till after 5 pm. Little did I know that experience came in helpful later. I was there wheeling my friend no 3 into the hospital emergency department. A few days after her condition worsened, I went up to her bedroom and helped with advice and tips both for the patient and her niece. It is ironic that all and any experience is beneficial in some ways, no matter how sad or tiring it might have been.
All three are wonderful persons, perhaps a notch too friendly and helpful. Friend no 1 was busy organising some adventure camp for a big group of folks. Friend no 2 was a busy career woman with four children. Friend no 3 was running round organising a perfect Christmas celebration. They are all overworked and generally has too much on their platter to tend to.
Nature is good at providing rest for the weary. In a sprain, at least a week or two of resting on the sofa would help force the person involved to slow down. In a fracture, all activities ceased and the person has to involve others in helping the invalid to tend to daily necessities.
I think of crutches, walking frames, ice packs, disposable diapers... that the invalids use in the sick rooms. When my mum fell down three years ago, I practically lived in the hospital for the two operations and the next few days after the anaesthesia wore off. For months after that, I was at my brother's house early morning till after 5 pm. Little did I know that experience came in helpful later. I was there wheeling my friend no 3 into the hospital emergency department. A few days after her condition worsened, I went up to her bedroom and helped with advice and tips both for the patient and her niece. It is ironic that all and any experience is beneficial in some ways, no matter how sad or tiring it might have been.
Friday, December 21, 2018
(1070) Play dough
I was teaching a child who could do ok in Chinese but his English and Malay were a mess of inversion. His b and d interchanges. His h and g can be hard to distinguish one from another. For him, I resorted to making play dough in my frying pan to roll out 'a' to 'z' as a play method.
As homemakers know, home-made play dough only lasts about one week before it fragments in hot weather or become mouldy in wet weather. For those few months, my dining table was constantly like a baker's work space. I would sprinkle corn flour before the lesson and have a major wipe down after class.
I wish I could tell you he improved significantly. No such luck! Since the mom was ambitious to make him a success in all three languages, she could not wait for the natural therapy to bring result but went on to try another method before this one had time to work. I met the mother a few years in the wet market one day, it was a small town. She looked totally tired out, she aged about ten years. In two sentences, she told me her disappointment and disillusionment. I encouraged her that academic success is not everything, after all Bill Gates never completed his higher education but is the richest man at one point of history.
A dyslexic child already finds it difficult to cope with one phonetic language, to expect him to learn three different ones is like expecting a quadriplegic to run a 100m race. Of course, all of my children learn two languages, English and Malay. They are reasonably good in one but not the other. I guess that is why we call the alternate a second or the foreign language.
The past few posts dealing with dyslexia all arose because of the girl up in the north, my deep seated memory took turn to come back so that I could run through them all one by one with the mom who home schools her. It is interesting that normally I cannot list out all these, they are filed away in my off-line memory storage, some have not been retrieved for at least twenty years.
As homemakers know, home-made play dough only lasts about one week before it fragments in hot weather or become mouldy in wet weather. For those few months, my dining table was constantly like a baker's work space. I would sprinkle corn flour before the lesson and have a major wipe down after class.
I wish I could tell you he improved significantly. No such luck! Since the mom was ambitious to make him a success in all three languages, she could not wait for the natural therapy to bring result but went on to try another method before this one had time to work. I met the mother a few years in the wet market one day, it was a small town. She looked totally tired out, she aged about ten years. In two sentences, she told me her disappointment and disillusionment. I encouraged her that academic success is not everything, after all Bill Gates never completed his higher education but is the richest man at one point of history.
A dyslexic child already finds it difficult to cope with one phonetic language, to expect him to learn three different ones is like expecting a quadriplegic to run a 100m race. Of course, all of my children learn two languages, English and Malay. They are reasonably good in one but not the other. I guess that is why we call the alternate a second or the foreign language.
The past few posts dealing with dyslexia all arose because of the girl up in the north, my deep seated memory took turn to come back so that I could run through them all one by one with the mom who home schools her. It is interesting that normally I cannot list out all these, they are filed away in my off-line memory storage, some have not been retrieved for at least twenty years.
(1069) Seminar
I once paid five dollars and attended a seminar held in a paediatrician's office in Silver City. Of course it was a community service project, both for the organiser and the speaker from Kuala Lumpur.
The speaker is the mum of two dyslexic children who paid dearly to equip herself with a method that starts with the letter "O". Please google for dyslexic teaching methods and you would probably find it. I have heard that it was internationally endorsed and quite popular in all the commonwealth countries. That I heard from my friend who joined the Dyslexic Association. Don't ask me why I was not a member, perhaps because I was 200 over miles away for the vital years while my children were growing up. Now that I am here, there is no urgent need to learn more. After all, one does not meet a dyslexic person often.
That particular method taught that the teacher should not teach a to z in order. She gave very credible reasons why one should teach the letters that cannot be inverted in any way first, then we are to proceed one by one the remaining letters in a particular order. It was mind boggling. But as she puts it, she tried for years to teach her two precious special children the alphabet, it did not work. But with this method, they mastered the entire alphabet within a week.
It is important to teach writing in the air, in big strokes. Papers don't seem to work well with some children. Somehow the huge strokes, repeated many times, help the brain to retain the muscle and directional stroke memory better. I can imagine this method would help the 11 year old child I met in Washington DC many years ago. He was diagnosed at age three, his mum acquired a Master's in special education to teach him. He went to a special school that charged more than the tuition in Harvard University then in the nineteen eighties. This particular child had the perfect recall, he records every word he heard with no effort at all. Yet at age 11 he did not know too many letters of his alphabet. It was frightening, his disability was not visible at all, and he was not a retard.
The speaker is the mum of two dyslexic children who paid dearly to equip herself with a method that starts with the letter "O". Please google for dyslexic teaching methods and you would probably find it. I have heard that it was internationally endorsed and quite popular in all the commonwealth countries. That I heard from my friend who joined the Dyslexic Association. Don't ask me why I was not a member, perhaps because I was 200 over miles away for the vital years while my children were growing up. Now that I am here, there is no urgent need to learn more. After all, one does not meet a dyslexic person often.
That particular method taught that the teacher should not teach a to z in order. She gave very credible reasons why one should teach the letters that cannot be inverted in any way first, then we are to proceed one by one the remaining letters in a particular order. It was mind boggling. But as she puts it, she tried for years to teach her two precious special children the alphabet, it did not work. But with this method, they mastered the entire alphabet within a week.
It is important to teach writing in the air, in big strokes. Papers don't seem to work well with some children. Somehow the huge strokes, repeated many times, help the brain to retain the muscle and directional stroke memory better. I can imagine this method would help the 11 year old child I met in Washington DC many years ago. He was diagnosed at age three, his mum acquired a Master's in special education to teach him. He went to a special school that charged more than the tuition in Harvard University then in the nineteen eighties. This particular child had the perfect recall, he records every word he heard with no effort at all. Yet at age 11 he did not know too many letters of his alphabet. It was frightening, his disability was not visible at all, and he was not a retard.
(1068) Writing in sand
I was a special education tutor in Silver City for 12 long years. In the process of trying to teach whom others termed as unteachable, I met or talked to a few other colleagues in the area. None of us were trained, as it was a very new field in this third world country then (20 years ago).
Every single one of these teachers, homemakers, grandmas are unique and worth their weight in gold. As we can imagine, no one who thinks in terms of money would meddle with difficult and emotional children, touchy parents and the like. One in particular, I'll call her Lydia here, is knowledgeable and helpful to initiate me into her methodologies. She told me in details how to teach writing the letters of the alphabet in a basin of sand. She herself taught her pupils outdoor in her loggia. As you can appreciate, we Asians walk bare feet in our homes, no one can tolerate sand in the living room. Most home tutors use the dining table for tutoring.
I personally never have to resort to sand writing with my pupils. But I can appreciate it is a very good sensorial method that is cheap and easily available. When I was five or so, I used to go very early to kindergarten or Standard one in my first school. Thereupon I would spend an hour or more writing Chinese characters, numbers and letters (a,b,c...) with sticks on the sandy ground. Perhaps that was my sand writing therapy, unknowingly.
Every single one of these teachers, homemakers, grandmas are unique and worth their weight in gold. As we can imagine, no one who thinks in terms of money would meddle with difficult and emotional children, touchy parents and the like. One in particular, I'll call her Lydia here, is knowledgeable and helpful to initiate me into her methodologies. She told me in details how to teach writing the letters of the alphabet in a basin of sand. She herself taught her pupils outdoor in her loggia. As you can appreciate, we Asians walk bare feet in our homes, no one can tolerate sand in the living room. Most home tutors use the dining table for tutoring.
I personally never have to resort to sand writing with my pupils. But I can appreciate it is a very good sensorial method that is cheap and easily available. When I was five or so, I used to go very early to kindergarten or Standard one in my first school. Thereupon I would spend an hour or more writing Chinese characters, numbers and letters (a,b,c...) with sticks on the sandy ground. Perhaps that was my sand writing therapy, unknowingly.
(1067) Davis' Method
More than fifteen years ago, I was resident in Silver City. There is a boy whom I tutored for quite a while. My mother remembered him as the fellow who carried my cockerel home. My mum loved visiting me as she enjoyed the wet markets and the hawker food in a small town. We kept chickens that are allowed to roam the neighbourhood as we then had indulgent neighbours who liked a village atmosphere.
Back to that bird, my pupil was a typical full-blown dyslexic, boundless in energy. Within two weeks he ran the cockerel to death and cried for quite a few days for the deed. I guess the bird died of fear, not of dehydration and starvation as my children imagined. My son was mad at my pupil for a while, until he realized that death at the soup pot is no better than death in a marathon run.
My pupil was born biologically by a mom who had nine sons before him. He was given away because the poor woman could not imagine raising another rambunctious boy. Poor lady! My pupil's mom has two other biological children before him. She and her husband loved the adopted child even more than their own biological children as he came in their older years.
As the parents are rich, they brought in an international expert to treat my pupil's dyslexia. And as a tutor, I received one afternoon's training in helping the child to read. There was a follow up visit, can't remember how many months later. I was given a short interview to feed back on the child's progress. The technical problems had been solved, the remaining difficulties I faced were more of the home environment and the lack of discipline from home. Shortly after that, I moved back to my home state. From mutual friends, I learnt that my pupil was still having problems because the parents did not change in terms of their indulgence.
As I close my eyes, I can see the animated face of my "chicken killer", he was personable, fascinating, exciting to be with, and charming if he wanted something from me. Given the correct guidance, he would go far on his interpersonal skills alone. Conversely, if he was given a free rein, he could bring heart-ache and tears to any loving parents.
Back to that bird, my pupil was a typical full-blown dyslexic, boundless in energy. Within two weeks he ran the cockerel to death and cried for quite a few days for the deed. I guess the bird died of fear, not of dehydration and starvation as my children imagined. My son was mad at my pupil for a while, until he realized that death at the soup pot is no better than death in a marathon run.
My pupil was born biologically by a mom who had nine sons before him. He was given away because the poor woman could not imagine raising another rambunctious boy. Poor lady! My pupil's mom has two other biological children before him. She and her husband loved the adopted child even more than their own biological children as he came in their older years.
As the parents are rich, they brought in an international expert to treat my pupil's dyslexia. And as a tutor, I received one afternoon's training in helping the child to read. There was a follow up visit, can't remember how many months later. I was given a short interview to feed back on the child's progress. The technical problems had been solved, the remaining difficulties I faced were more of the home environment and the lack of discipline from home. Shortly after that, I moved back to my home state. From mutual friends, I learnt that my pupil was still having problems because the parents did not change in terms of their indulgence.
As I close my eyes, I can see the animated face of my "chicken killer", he was personable, fascinating, exciting to be with, and charming if he wanted something from me. Given the correct guidance, he would go far on his interpersonal skills alone. Conversely, if he was given a free rein, he could bring heart-ache and tears to any loving parents.
Thursday, December 20, 2018
(1066) Asking for direction
After attending a morning prayer meeting, my husband dropped me in an LRT station.
While looking at the consolidated public train map of the entire Klang valley, a dark skin man came and asked me something. He is probably a Bangladeshi man who came and works in my country. I retreated a few steps and looked around. Thank goodness there is a male rail policeman twenty steps away. The foreign worker handed me his hand phone and I could see that it is a photo of a station name 8 stations away.
The train came, I entered the train way behind so that I could exit where the escalator would be in my destination station. The guest worker came in and looked intently at the rail map and the blinking red light. I remember what it was like when I was a college student taking the subway for the very first time in Washington D.C. Everything was a blur and I was overwhelmed. Today, before I got down, I counted how many stations more for him. A moment prior to stepping out the train I told him loudly that there are 4 more stations, putting up four fingers in case he is not familiar with counting in Malay.
He was very puzzled that I was kind of scared of him. He is probably a brave and hard-working man who dares to venture far to earn a living. I am, however, a born and bred city person who is cautious, suspicious and usually do not talk to any stranger in a public area. It was bright day light, but a very quiet time in the train station.
While looking at the consolidated public train map of the entire Klang valley, a dark skin man came and asked me something. He is probably a Bangladeshi man who came and works in my country. I retreated a few steps and looked around. Thank goodness there is a male rail policeman twenty steps away. The foreign worker handed me his hand phone and I could see that it is a photo of a station name 8 stations away.
The train came, I entered the train way behind so that I could exit where the escalator would be in my destination station. The guest worker came in and looked intently at the rail map and the blinking red light. I remember what it was like when I was a college student taking the subway for the very first time in Washington D.C. Everything was a blur and I was overwhelmed. Today, before I got down, I counted how many stations more for him. A moment prior to stepping out the train I told him loudly that there are 4 more stations, putting up four fingers in case he is not familiar with counting in Malay.
He was very puzzled that I was kind of scared of him. He is probably a brave and hard-working man who dares to venture far to earn a living. I am, however, a born and bred city person who is cautious, suspicious and usually do not talk to any stranger in a public area. It was bright day light, but a very quiet time in the train station.
(1065) A distressed child
The third thought that came is: if a child is distressed, parents should eliminate the stress, if at all possible.
If a child suddenly
1. wets the bed, after years of dry beds
2. talks in his or her sleep, raising the voice, argues, shouts
3. grinding his or her teeth regularly
4. screams and wakes up because of nightmares in the middle of the night
5 attempts to sit up or struggle physically in bed while asleep
6. sleep walks
It is then up to the parents to intervene. My youngest, Elizabeth, was dry in bed since age eight months. During Kindergarten she started wetting the bed and screaming in the middle of the night. I found out later that the Chinese teacher was picking on her because she was too talkative in class. I went to talk to the principal and requested a change from Chinese to English stream. Subsequently I reregister her in a school that taught only Malay and English.
The abrupt change brought about an immediate result. No more manifestation of distress at night. Her home room teacher in the English stream was an Indian lady who happens to be a Pastor's wife, loving, kind, sensitive... She made my daughter her special helper and channelled the latter's boundless energy into the betterment of the class. She hugged my daughter daily for a job well done, praised her lavishly and guided the child lovingly.
Today my Elizabeth is a happy, well adjusted, friendly and caring young lady. She neither reads nor writes in Chinese. Guess there is no earthly reason why she needs to go to China to work.
If a child suddenly
1. wets the bed, after years of dry beds
2. talks in his or her sleep, raising the voice, argues, shouts
3. grinding his or her teeth regularly
4. screams and wakes up because of nightmares in the middle of the night
5 attempts to sit up or struggle physically in bed while asleep
6. sleep walks
It is then up to the parents to intervene. My youngest, Elizabeth, was dry in bed since age eight months. During Kindergarten she started wetting the bed and screaming in the middle of the night. I found out later that the Chinese teacher was picking on her because she was too talkative in class. I went to talk to the principal and requested a change from Chinese to English stream. Subsequently I reregister her in a school that taught only Malay and English.
The abrupt change brought about an immediate result. No more manifestation of distress at night. Her home room teacher in the English stream was an Indian lady who happens to be a Pastor's wife, loving, kind, sensitive... She made my daughter her special helper and channelled the latter's boundless energy into the betterment of the class. She hugged my daughter daily for a job well done, praised her lavishly and guided the child lovingly.
Today my Elizabeth is a happy, well adjusted, friendly and caring young lady. She neither reads nor writes in Chinese. Guess there is no earthly reason why she needs to go to China to work.
(1064) Fatty Acid Functional defeciency
I think I have written on this before in an earlier post. Well, since the second thought that came was this, I'll cover it again, hopefully, in a new angle.
It is a genetic aberration that came as one of 27 physical symptoms of the dyslexic syndrome. As a result of this, a well nourish child could be really thin. Whenever the child feels stressed, that is if a teacher expected something impossible or reprimanded him or her for not being able to do what came easily to others, the child would burn fatty acid, much more than what was normally consumed.
From the age of three to seven or eight, I was really short and very thin. If I show you a photo of that time, you would see my joints: elbows and knees as knobbly. My limbs were rail thin. I looked like the children in starving Africa minus the fat belly.
From the age of eight onwards, I started cooking my meals in addition to what my mum served. With high carbohydrate content and lots of shallot oil, I thrived. I was still short but gradually gained enough weight to look normal.
All my daughters were thin until puberty. They have normal appetite but somehow do not put on weight. They are each at least seven inches shorter than their brother.
My niece did not have a chance to eat enough oil. Her family eats very healthily. She has life long skin rashes, periodic eczema and some form of itch most of the year.
Brain cells are made up of fatty acids. Unless a child is given the choice of eating sufficient fatty acids in acceptable forms, the brain would not develop normally. I would suggest cold press coconut oil or olive oil if the parents could afford them. Else I thrived on peanut and sesame oil in the sixties and could not complain I did not develop to my full potential.
It is a genetic aberration that came as one of 27 physical symptoms of the dyslexic syndrome. As a result of this, a well nourish child could be really thin. Whenever the child feels stressed, that is if a teacher expected something impossible or reprimanded him or her for not being able to do what came easily to others, the child would burn fatty acid, much more than what was normally consumed.
From the age of three to seven or eight, I was really short and very thin. If I show you a photo of that time, you would see my joints: elbows and knees as knobbly. My limbs were rail thin. I looked like the children in starving Africa minus the fat belly.
From the age of eight onwards, I started cooking my meals in addition to what my mum served. With high carbohydrate content and lots of shallot oil, I thrived. I was still short but gradually gained enough weight to look normal.
All my daughters were thin until puberty. They have normal appetite but somehow do not put on weight. They are each at least seven inches shorter than their brother.
My niece did not have a chance to eat enough oil. Her family eats very healthily. She has life long skin rashes, periodic eczema and some form of itch most of the year.
Brain cells are made up of fatty acids. Unless a child is given the choice of eating sufficient fatty acids in acceptable forms, the brain would not develop normally. I would suggest cold press coconut oil or olive oil if the parents could afford them. Else I thrived on peanut and sesame oil in the sixties and could not complain I did not develop to my full potential.
(1063) Overdue baby
As I prayed for the dyslexic girl in the north, thoughts came.
The first is: was she an overdue baby?
My eldest was overdue eight days. Of course the due date is kind of arbitrary, not cast in stone. Years later, I was talking to my counsellor, who has the gift of knowledge. I happened to comment that my eldest was overdue, the rest of my children were early. She paused for a moment and said gently, he was so comfortable in my womb that he was reluctant to be born. It was when the doctor fixed a date that he would induce that my labour started the night before.
Looking back, my son is the type that is diametrically opposite of Chicken Little. Oh, the sky is falling! When the rest may panic and sweat, he would slowly get his food, his drink and move slowly and deliberately. He does not worry, he does not stress... Yet he does plan, in his slow and sure way. He is just a born optimist. I can hardly see any remnant symptoms of dyslexia or dyscalculia in him. If I select a joyful child, he is the one. Most of the time he is calm, at rest with himself and the rest of the world.
He has chosen to live in a small town, earning pittance as a special education tutor. Somehow, every one of his students is somewhat depressed. I honestly don't know how he survives and be as happy as sand flies. One such child would drain me dry. I would strive to help. He just sits back, relaxes, works steadily with one and then another. His classes could consist of up to six children, each with his or her own set of seemingly unsolvable problems. They trust him implicitly. He works with them instinctively. No such thing as lesson plan and teaching goals with his way. Yet he begets result over the years. It was amazing!
The first is: was she an overdue baby?
My eldest was overdue eight days. Of course the due date is kind of arbitrary, not cast in stone. Years later, I was talking to my counsellor, who has the gift of knowledge. I happened to comment that my eldest was overdue, the rest of my children were early. She paused for a moment and said gently, he was so comfortable in my womb that he was reluctant to be born. It was when the doctor fixed a date that he would induce that my labour started the night before.
Looking back, my son is the type that is diametrically opposite of Chicken Little. Oh, the sky is falling! When the rest may panic and sweat, he would slowly get his food, his drink and move slowly and deliberately. He does not worry, he does not stress... Yet he does plan, in his slow and sure way. He is just a born optimist. I can hardly see any remnant symptoms of dyslexia or dyscalculia in him. If I select a joyful child, he is the one. Most of the time he is calm, at rest with himself and the rest of the world.
He has chosen to live in a small town, earning pittance as a special education tutor. Somehow, every one of his students is somewhat depressed. I honestly don't know how he survives and be as happy as sand flies. One such child would drain me dry. I would strive to help. He just sits back, relaxes, works steadily with one and then another. His classes could consist of up to six children, each with his or her own set of seemingly unsolvable problems. They trust him implicitly. He works with them instinctively. No such thing as lesson plan and teaching goals with his way. Yet he begets result over the years. It was amazing!
(1062) Kundasan
My brother's family will be spending Christmas in Sabah. My sister-in-law talked about their plans with me.
I mentioned two suggestions: 1. bring drinking water to Kundasan*
2. bring a small torch in case of power failure
From friends I heard that the water supply is not that great in that hill station. In fact during a recent church camp, more than half of the campers came down with upset stomach. Apart from that, scenery is great. The weather is more than cool. I highly recommend the cow and goat milk produced there.
Sabah is a place where the electric consumption outstrips the production, hence the relevant authorities had to resort to power shedding. I was used to the sudden power black out or brown out. The first items I bought four years ago for my newly rented house were three torches. When I was alone in that rented house at night, I actually wear the small torch around my neck with a lanyard. In the outskirt of the city, black out meant literally total, I mean cannot see your fingers a few inches away, darkness.
Recently, a friend was sitting in a Mamak ( Indian Muslim) eatery, at seven thirty pm (the sun sets there at 6:45pm in December) the power snapped off. Well, candles were lit. It was determined that other shop lots had power supply. The young man who happened to be the owner's son called a grab car and speeded to the power supplier to pay his over due bills. Apparently it was common practice for such a business to owe about two thousand dollars in electricity. Even an ordinary native household would owe about one thousand dollars before power is cut off to prompt payment. There, I told my sister-in-law, please don't say you haven't been forewarned. Fully charged hand phones, a torch with new batteries, even a candle or two with working matches would be handy in the outskirts of the big cities in Sabah.
* Kundasan is an area not far from Mount Kinabalu, supposedly the highest mountain in South East Asia. Though I have read that the real geographic high point is in Papua New Guinea.
I mentioned two suggestions: 1. bring drinking water to Kundasan*
2. bring a small torch in case of power failure
From friends I heard that the water supply is not that great in that hill station. In fact during a recent church camp, more than half of the campers came down with upset stomach. Apart from that, scenery is great. The weather is more than cool. I highly recommend the cow and goat milk produced there.
Sabah is a place where the electric consumption outstrips the production, hence the relevant authorities had to resort to power shedding. I was used to the sudden power black out or brown out. The first items I bought four years ago for my newly rented house were three torches. When I was alone in that rented house at night, I actually wear the small torch around my neck with a lanyard. In the outskirt of the city, black out meant literally total, I mean cannot see your fingers a few inches away, darkness.
Recently, a friend was sitting in a Mamak ( Indian Muslim) eatery, at seven thirty pm (the sun sets there at 6:45pm in December) the power snapped off. Well, candles were lit. It was determined that other shop lots had power supply. The young man who happened to be the owner's son called a grab car and speeded to the power supplier to pay his over due bills. Apparently it was common practice for such a business to owe about two thousand dollars in electricity. Even an ordinary native household would owe about one thousand dollars before power is cut off to prompt payment. There, I told my sister-in-law, please don't say you haven't been forewarned. Fully charged hand phones, a torch with new batteries, even a candle or two with working matches would be handy in the outskirts of the big cities in Sabah.
* Kundasan is an area not far from Mount Kinabalu, supposedly the highest mountain in South East Asia. Though I have read that the real geographic high point is in Papua New Guinea.
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
(1061) Tears
I visited a friend with my husband yesterday. When she saw my latest book and heard that she and her pet were the inspiration of my creation, she burst into tears.
Folks smiled, frowned, asked funny questions ... when they found out I published. None had cried. That was totally unexpected. I had no idea her pet passed on to the happy hunting ground. Apparently she just talked about her darling when my husband what sap her about the visit. The day before, her mum had pressed her about writing a book to remember her pet.
On top of the timing of our visit, her story started on page 55. Unbeknown to me, five had been the favourite number of her pet. Now, that almost blew my mind. To think, my editor actually attempted to rearrange my sectional order prior to printing, had I listened to her advice, there would be no way that Prince's story would fall on page 55. Now my stubborn insistence actually produced a result like a departed pet coming back to reassure the grieving owner that it is ok, quite ok.
We talked for hours about all the wonderful memories of that remarkable 17 years she had with her dear pet. I suggested she taped down all her memories and send it to a ghost writer. But I warned her she would need editors, a publisher, proof-readers and maybe a designer. Publishing would open doors to speaking engagements. Speaking would entail publicity. Later on it may lead to broadcasting, since she is bubbly and is ideal for that medium of communication. One should not venture into such arena without due consideration of possibilities. After all, it is a pathway that is progressive and no return. We parted with her promise to collect all her photos and videos on the topic at hand as a first step. After that she would record everything she could remember. Talking about undue influence, there is nothing like bringing out that special story out of every person who yearns to tell.
Folks smiled, frowned, asked funny questions ... when they found out I published. None had cried. That was totally unexpected. I had no idea her pet passed on to the happy hunting ground. Apparently she just talked about her darling when my husband what sap her about the visit. The day before, her mum had pressed her about writing a book to remember her pet.
On top of the timing of our visit, her story started on page 55. Unbeknown to me, five had been the favourite number of her pet. Now, that almost blew my mind. To think, my editor actually attempted to rearrange my sectional order prior to printing, had I listened to her advice, there would be no way that Prince's story would fall on page 55. Now my stubborn insistence actually produced a result like a departed pet coming back to reassure the grieving owner that it is ok, quite ok.
We talked for hours about all the wonderful memories of that remarkable 17 years she had with her dear pet. I suggested she taped down all her memories and send it to a ghost writer. But I warned her she would need editors, a publisher, proof-readers and maybe a designer. Publishing would open doors to speaking engagements. Speaking would entail publicity. Later on it may lead to broadcasting, since she is bubbly and is ideal for that medium of communication. One should not venture into such arena without due consideration of possibilities. After all, it is a pathway that is progressive and no return. We parted with her promise to collect all her photos and videos on the topic at hand as a first step. After that she would record everything she could remember. Talking about undue influence, there is nothing like bringing out that special story out of every person who yearns to tell.
(1060) Memory in DVD form
Recently my youngest paid to convert her Kindergarten videocassette to DVD and a computer software format.
Interestingly, the sole business owner she selected mentioned that many of the missing passengers of the ill fated airliner that plunged into the Indian Ocean had their nearest and dearest convert images of them into the most modern form too. Home videos, wedding videos, birthday tapes ... came out of the closet. Folks spent a cool few hundreds to ensure the images could last through time for posterity.
If you are reading this blog, you must have heard a few of the many permutations of the possibilities of what had happened to the entire plane load of poor souls destined not to arrive in China. I have no personal view on that, any thing is possible. But whatever it was, it must be big. For hundreds of lives have been wiped out. Lots of families around the globe have to contend with the repercussions of never having any closure of their tragic loss.
Back to my daughter, she has preserved the first speech she gave to two hundred over audience that was made up of family and friends in the hall. I myself did not have a video of my campaign speech made in my Form Four (equivalent to Grade 10) year in running to become Head or Assistant Head Prefect. It was made in front of one thousand over students from both the morning and afternoon sessions on the hot assembly ground. That was the first year the students in my alma mater could vote for their Head Girl. Prior to that it was teachers and Headmistress who decided whom to be selected as Head or Assistant Head.
Interestingly, the sole business owner she selected mentioned that many of the missing passengers of the ill fated airliner that plunged into the Indian Ocean had their nearest and dearest convert images of them into the most modern form too. Home videos, wedding videos, birthday tapes ... came out of the closet. Folks spent a cool few hundreds to ensure the images could last through time for posterity.
If you are reading this blog, you must have heard a few of the many permutations of the possibilities of what had happened to the entire plane load of poor souls destined not to arrive in China. I have no personal view on that, any thing is possible. But whatever it was, it must be big. For hundreds of lives have been wiped out. Lots of families around the globe have to contend with the repercussions of never having any closure of their tragic loss.
Back to my daughter, she has preserved the first speech she gave to two hundred over audience that was made up of family and friends in the hall. I myself did not have a video of my campaign speech made in my Form Four (equivalent to Grade 10) year in running to become Head or Assistant Head Prefect. It was made in front of one thousand over students from both the morning and afternoon sessions on the hot assembly ground. That was the first year the students in my alma mater could vote for their Head Girl. Prior to that it was teachers and Headmistress who decided whom to be selected as Head or Assistant Head.
(1059) Dreams for studying abroad
My good friend Catherine has two children. Her elder son was entertaining the far-off idea of obtaining a full scholarship to pursue environmental psychology in Canada. That was an idea that lasted at least two years, I perceived. Now, overnight, the idea went into smoke out of the window! Well, one could see that Canada took a Hua Wei executive into custody. Would Canada be a safe place for an ordinary guy from a South East Asian country who happened to be a Chinese by heritage, even if he hardly speak a word of Mandarin?
Now the second boy wanted to go to America for a basic degree. Little wonder the mum was tearing her hair out. For this boy is a person of strong opinion, he did not hesitate to beat up a would be burglar to protect his neighbour before calling the police. Off hand I recall my brother-in-law had to drive all night to get to Wisconsin to bail his best friend's son out for picking a fight with some Italian mafia type. Talk about racial discrimination, perhaps I did not get beaten for being a member of the so called 'yellow' race. There had been plenty of instances of being discriminated against during the time I was there in many towns and cities across many states. I still think USA is a wonderful place in spite of that. Lately the video that went viral of the blond woman beating up a person she called Chink in a New York subway showed how low the country has descended to since Trump took office. I personally would not choose to spend a few thousands to fly to USA for vacation now, much as I am fond of that land.
Heaven help the doting mum if Junior went to America and resists the police, immigration, CIA, FBI, ICE, Homeland Security... he would be sent home in a box, his mortal remains full of bullet holes.
Now the second boy wanted to go to America for a basic degree. Little wonder the mum was tearing her hair out. For this boy is a person of strong opinion, he did not hesitate to beat up a would be burglar to protect his neighbour before calling the police. Off hand I recall my brother-in-law had to drive all night to get to Wisconsin to bail his best friend's son out for picking a fight with some Italian mafia type. Talk about racial discrimination, perhaps I did not get beaten for being a member of the so called 'yellow' race. There had been plenty of instances of being discriminated against during the time I was there in many towns and cities across many states. I still think USA is a wonderful place in spite of that. Lately the video that went viral of the blond woman beating up a person she called Chink in a New York subway showed how low the country has descended to since Trump took office. I personally would not choose to spend a few thousands to fly to USA for vacation now, much as I am fond of that land.
Heaven help the doting mum if Junior went to America and resists the police, immigration, CIA, FBI, ICE, Homeland Security... he would be sent home in a box, his mortal remains full of bullet holes.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
(1058) Children and parents
Now that I belong to the white hair wise person club, I look at my fellow members and learn a fair bit about life as a senior citizen.
There is Lydia, who passed away a few months ago. She had a full life, loving wife, good mother and dedicated teacher... Only one thing is missing, her two eligible sons are still single in their thirties. Her husband seems to think that perhaps the elder son may decide to tie the knot next year, after all, he had been with the same girl friend for at least six years.
Yesterday Amy fell down and went to the emergency room. Her sister drove at least three hours to get her to an x-ray machine. Since all the other sisters are indisposed, I accompanied them for the last hour and pushed the wheel chair in the public hospital. We three got home after midnight. At least one of the sisters has enough common sense to inform the son. When the doctor gave two weeks' medical leave, it must be pretty serious. She emerged with a full length leg cast. I learnt the next morning that her son was on the way back from Singapore.
We have Jane, her two sons do not lack female admirers. Yet both are single. Unless one knows the family dynamic, there is no earthly reason why the two handsome six feet sons are without fiancée. You see, they come from a wealthy family. The person who wields the baton is Jane, she insisted that her future daughters-in-law should stay in her mansion. Little wonder there are no takers. For my generation, Jane and Veronica both housed their in-laws. Jane bought a house and the in-laws moved in to keep an eye on the parade of maids for at least 15 years. Veronica moved in as a bride to her in-laws' bungalow and stayed in it long enough to buy up the lovely house from her brothers-in-law. Jane and Veronica are considered dutiful and filial. Sad to say, millennial girls don't buy that old fashion nonsense anymore. Should Jane and Veronica insist on staying in with their sons, the sons may not be married within the mums' life time.
I have one son, he is thirty one years old. He lives across the sea a few hundred miles away. Should he marry a local from his resident home state, I may see my future daughter-in-law once a year, either during Chinese New Year, winter solstice, or moon cake festival. Perhaps because I don't have a few millions in the bank, or I am enlightened, I have little expectations in that area. It was a joy to bring up a son I am proud to have; my sacrifice, if any, is well worth it for he is a contributing member of the society he chose to embrace. I chose not to entertain any sense of entitlement.
There is Lydia, who passed away a few months ago. She had a full life, loving wife, good mother and dedicated teacher... Only one thing is missing, her two eligible sons are still single in their thirties. Her husband seems to think that perhaps the elder son may decide to tie the knot next year, after all, he had been with the same girl friend for at least six years.
Yesterday Amy fell down and went to the emergency room. Her sister drove at least three hours to get her to an x-ray machine. Since all the other sisters are indisposed, I accompanied them for the last hour and pushed the wheel chair in the public hospital. We three got home after midnight. At least one of the sisters has enough common sense to inform the son. When the doctor gave two weeks' medical leave, it must be pretty serious. She emerged with a full length leg cast. I learnt the next morning that her son was on the way back from Singapore.
We have Jane, her two sons do not lack female admirers. Yet both are single. Unless one knows the family dynamic, there is no earthly reason why the two handsome six feet sons are without fiancée. You see, they come from a wealthy family. The person who wields the baton is Jane, she insisted that her future daughters-in-law should stay in her mansion. Little wonder there are no takers. For my generation, Jane and Veronica both housed their in-laws. Jane bought a house and the in-laws moved in to keep an eye on the parade of maids for at least 15 years. Veronica moved in as a bride to her in-laws' bungalow and stayed in it long enough to buy up the lovely house from her brothers-in-law. Jane and Veronica are considered dutiful and filial. Sad to say, millennial girls don't buy that old fashion nonsense anymore. Should Jane and Veronica insist on staying in with their sons, the sons may not be married within the mums' life time.
I have one son, he is thirty one years old. He lives across the sea a few hundred miles away. Should he marry a local from his resident home state, I may see my future daughter-in-law once a year, either during Chinese New Year, winter solstice, or moon cake festival. Perhaps because I don't have a few millions in the bank, or I am enlightened, I have little expectations in that area. It was a joy to bring up a son I am proud to have; my sacrifice, if any, is well worth it for he is a contributing member of the society he chose to embrace. I chose not to entertain any sense of entitlement.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
(1057) Working Memory
Twenty years ago, I had the challenge of working with a 7 year old girl to add to her one working space, I called it a register by computer terminology. It is documented in an earlier post classified under l.d. standing for learning disability. Last night I reread this group of articles, I think there are 20 of them.
Night before yesterday, I went for a Christmas dinner in a local hotel. My husband and I were very early. I spoke to a gentleman from Canada. Before the dinner was over, I gave him my first book. It was an impromptu gesture of good will, there was nothing pre plan about it.
Guess what, he has a daughter who is 11 years old. She is dyslexic. They determined that she has 3 working spaces, a "normal" person should have 7. We managed to touch base on this because I added Special Education to my bio data on the back cover.
Realistically, what are the chances that I should meet him, in a city of several millions? Plus the fact that he had only been living in this country for seven months. His chosen home in this country lies at least three hundred miles to the north.
Of course, it does not mean I could definitely help him and his daughter. All I can do is to point to God, prayers and childhood active games. No wonder I was commissioned to document the childhood games of my generation. With the advent of computer and hand phone games, active outdoor games are almost dead in the cities.
Night before yesterday, I went for a Christmas dinner in a local hotel. My husband and I were very early. I spoke to a gentleman from Canada. Before the dinner was over, I gave him my first book. It was an impromptu gesture of good will, there was nothing pre plan about it.
Guess what, he has a daughter who is 11 years old. She is dyslexic. They determined that she has 3 working spaces, a "normal" person should have 7. We managed to touch base on this because I added Special Education to my bio data on the back cover.
Realistically, what are the chances that I should meet him, in a city of several millions? Plus the fact that he had only been living in this country for seven months. His chosen home in this country lies at least three hundred miles to the north.
Of course, it does not mean I could definitely help him and his daughter. All I can do is to point to God, prayers and childhood active games. No wonder I was commissioned to document the childhood games of my generation. With the advent of computer and hand phone games, active outdoor games are almost dead in the cities.
(1056) Full Circle
My son told me that he had been reading up on early childhood education. Regarding dyslexia, he thinks his English teacher had been instrumental in giving him the best therapy by making him and his class go through a nine-month discipline of writing cursive sentences with fountain pen one page at a time with designing and colouring self chosen colourful designs at the bottom of each exercise page. The exercise book chosen has multicolour parallel lines designed for penmanship. He was nine years old then.
I came from six years of Chinese education. Nevertheless, I remember going through an entire academic year of that when I was in Standard 4, at ten years old. Of course at that time I hated it. I would rather spend the time chasing my brothers' kites. There was hardly any cars at that era(in the 1960s), the entire neighbourhood belonged to the children. We roamed the place seeking stones, leaves, and would climb trees to get rambutans(a tropical fruit) and had been chased by guard dogs. Well, one was young and lithe and could flee at lightning speed. What are a few painful welts bestowed by caning because Mum was upset by the tears in one's only pair of pants. I had a fun childhood, full of excitement and original clean fun made up by our fertile mind of unusual creativity. Now that I am old enough to be called grandma by strangers in Borneo, I see how all those additional tasks and training I went through helped me to become what I am today.
Fast forward half a century, now I hear that folks in the United Kingdoms actually are going back to simple penmanship to train the brain in making fine tune connections. Well, life has run a full circle.
I came from six years of Chinese education. Nevertheless, I remember going through an entire academic year of that when I was in Standard 4, at ten years old. Of course at that time I hated it. I would rather spend the time chasing my brothers' kites. There was hardly any cars at that era(in the 1960s), the entire neighbourhood belonged to the children. We roamed the place seeking stones, leaves, and would climb trees to get rambutans(a tropical fruit) and had been chased by guard dogs. Well, one was young and lithe and could flee at lightning speed. What are a few painful welts bestowed by caning because Mum was upset by the tears in one's only pair of pants. I had a fun childhood, full of excitement and original clean fun made up by our fertile mind of unusual creativity. Now that I am old enough to be called grandma by strangers in Borneo, I see how all those additional tasks and training I went through helped me to become what I am today.
Fast forward half a century, now I hear that folks in the United Kingdoms actually are going back to simple penmanship to train the brain in making fine tune connections. Well, life has run a full circle.
Monday, December 10, 2018
(1055) Tri-lingual
When I was in Borneo, I heard by chance that Swan's son went into a pre-law course. I was alarmed, I personally felt his English was not at the level to handle such a course. Anyway, I was a few hundred miles away, the fee had been paid and he already started. So I bite my tongue and said nothing.
Three years later, he failed three times. Twice in pre-law and once in another foundation course. He came out to work in contract decoration or renovation. Recently he was seconded to a supplier in wooden flooring and he was the number one employee in this country for that new company.
I am an idea person and I shared with the mum gently about his need to improve his business English. At his current level, he could be a little more than a site supervisor. But suppose in a few years' time the post of a General Manager is vacant and he could not be considered as a candidate because of insufficient language skill, then what a pity it would be.
That is the problem many of the young people face these days in my country. I know that this century belongs to China. It is extremely important to know Chinese and speak Mandarin. Yet six years in a Chinese medium school, five years in a Malay medium high school, then five years of English tertiary education left most people trilingual but good in none of the three languages. I personally went through a tremendous sort of struggle to improve my English at the expense of my mother tongue. It is not desirable, neither is it a good situation. Every one of my children do not understand written Chinese, it varies from child to child how much (spoken) Mandarin, Cantonese and Hakka they understand. Yet please do not consider me as a traitor to Chinese culture, education and heritage. I know what is good for children with traits of the autistic spectrum. I wish every dyslexic sufferer need not go through my sort of torture to master three languages. Even with instant recall in terms of audio abilities, it was not easy. Both my nephews who went through Chinese primary education coming from an English speaking home reject Mandarin. Like so many of my contemporaries' children who survived this horrendous regime, they are unlikely to read, speak or think in Mandarin for the rest of their lives. The funny thing is, I actually love Chinese poems and verses, English is my preferred language, I adore the olden literature of the Malay language; while I worked at it diligently at age 17-18 I considered it a beautiful language. Yet out of the thousands of books in my book shelves, there is no Malay book and one solitary biography of Hudson Taylor in Chinese. In terms of psychology, you may think whatever you please. I am a product of the complex system in this former British colony, multi racial, multi religious society.
Yesterday I met a missionary who speaks ten languages. I wish I have that kind of gift, but I am very grateful that my life has been enriched with the treasures I have found and acquired in all three of the languages I so valiantly work to possess. God has been more than kind in sending me a parade of fantastic teachers who coached slow me over many years into the intricacies of mining all three languages to find my gems of great worth.
Three years later, he failed three times. Twice in pre-law and once in another foundation course. He came out to work in contract decoration or renovation. Recently he was seconded to a supplier in wooden flooring and he was the number one employee in this country for that new company.
I am an idea person and I shared with the mum gently about his need to improve his business English. At his current level, he could be a little more than a site supervisor. But suppose in a few years' time the post of a General Manager is vacant and he could not be considered as a candidate because of insufficient language skill, then what a pity it would be.
That is the problem many of the young people face these days in my country. I know that this century belongs to China. It is extremely important to know Chinese and speak Mandarin. Yet six years in a Chinese medium school, five years in a Malay medium high school, then five years of English tertiary education left most people trilingual but good in none of the three languages. I personally went through a tremendous sort of struggle to improve my English at the expense of my mother tongue. It is not desirable, neither is it a good situation. Every one of my children do not understand written Chinese, it varies from child to child how much (spoken) Mandarin, Cantonese and Hakka they understand. Yet please do not consider me as a traitor to Chinese culture, education and heritage. I know what is good for children with traits of the autistic spectrum. I wish every dyslexic sufferer need not go through my sort of torture to master three languages. Even with instant recall in terms of audio abilities, it was not easy. Both my nephews who went through Chinese primary education coming from an English speaking home reject Mandarin. Like so many of my contemporaries' children who survived this horrendous regime, they are unlikely to read, speak or think in Mandarin for the rest of their lives. The funny thing is, I actually love Chinese poems and verses, English is my preferred language, I adore the olden literature of the Malay language; while I worked at it diligently at age 17-18 I considered it a beautiful language. Yet out of the thousands of books in my book shelves, there is no Malay book and one solitary biography of Hudson Taylor in Chinese. In terms of psychology, you may think whatever you please. I am a product of the complex system in this former British colony, multi racial, multi religious society.
Yesterday I met a missionary who speaks ten languages. I wish I have that kind of gift, but I am very grateful that my life has been enriched with the treasures I have found and acquired in all three of the languages I so valiantly work to possess. God has been more than kind in sending me a parade of fantastic teachers who coached slow me over many years into the intricacies of mining all three languages to find my gems of great worth.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
(1054) Dukun
If you are familiar with tropical fruits, you might have come across duku, langsak and the cross: duku-langsak.
My dad and my husband would consume kilos of them at one sitting. I might eat a few, if they are sweet. Like many tropical fruits like rambutan, durian, tarap, cempedak and nangka, I steer clear of them as should I eat too much of them, I constipate. Seventeen years ago, I visited my uncle who is a farmer. He showed me a new hybrid called dukun. The fruit was unripe, I could not taste it. It is a skinny hard wood tree, thin branches came out of the trunk and they bear tiny fruits in all directions around the thin branch. My uncle said that he had to prune out excess fruits so that the rest would grow into decent size to be sold.
Two years ago, the plumber my land lord sent to repair my kitchen tap told me that most metal rust because I was within two miles of the sea as I lived in a coastal city in north-eastern Borneo. He said certain fruits grow very well in that region, one of the fruits that his wife's farm produced was dukun. I was very excited to hear the name as I did not see much of it sold in the capital city over the years. He told me that the trees that my uncle planted were the old breed, his that the wife planted were a newer generation. My uncle's trees would grow beyond seven feet unless he prunes diligently. His, however, would not grow beyond six feet.
I find it interesting to listen to advances in agriculture. Being at the end of the supply trail as an end consumer, one just dole out money to purchase what one needs. But the scientists, the research organisations, the farmers ... kept on working hard to produce the best to earn their keep.
My dad and my husband would consume kilos of them at one sitting. I might eat a few, if they are sweet. Like many tropical fruits like rambutan, durian, tarap, cempedak and nangka, I steer clear of them as should I eat too much of them, I constipate. Seventeen years ago, I visited my uncle who is a farmer. He showed me a new hybrid called dukun. The fruit was unripe, I could not taste it. It is a skinny hard wood tree, thin branches came out of the trunk and they bear tiny fruits in all directions around the thin branch. My uncle said that he had to prune out excess fruits so that the rest would grow into decent size to be sold.
Two years ago, the plumber my land lord sent to repair my kitchen tap told me that most metal rust because I was within two miles of the sea as I lived in a coastal city in north-eastern Borneo. He said certain fruits grow very well in that region, one of the fruits that his wife's farm produced was dukun. I was very excited to hear the name as I did not see much of it sold in the capital city over the years. He told me that the trees that my uncle planted were the old breed, his that the wife planted were a newer generation. My uncle's trees would grow beyond seven feet unless he prunes diligently. His, however, would not grow beyond six feet.
I find it interesting to listen to advances in agriculture. Being at the end of the supply trail as an end consumer, one just dole out money to purchase what one needs. But the scientists, the research organisations, the farmers ... kept on working hard to produce the best to earn their keep.
(1053) Mulberry
Many years ago, I took my children to visit my cousin in the south of the peninsular. That must have been the first three years I was in Silver City, a good twenty years ago. I remember bringing two mulberry cuttings and two bottles of mulberry jam back.
For whatever reason, the two stem cuttings did not take. A few weeks later, my mum obtained three cuttings from her morning walk group. All the mobile old ladies from her estate walk between seven and eight o'clock most mornings. These cutting grew into two lovely bushes in her garden today. Apparently, there are two types of mulberry that grow in my country, a local genus and a Taiwanese kind. There were mulberry plantations in the southern part, at least it was so twenty years ago. There was a factory that produced and bottle the jam locally there then.
Fast forward twenty years, those who google internet for vitamin b 17 found that mulberry is full of that interesting nutrient that some people claimed to kill cancer cells. Some organic supplier has sourced fresh mulberry and I was asked if I would pay money in the open market for it. If I want to consume it regularly, how much would I pay for it.
That is a rather difficult question to answer. I had enjoyed sour sops in Sandakan as it was not so expensive there. Here I would not buy sour sop at $27 a kilo. Yet many would purchase it weekly because of cancer prevention.
If I pick only black and ripened mulberry, they last about three days in the fridge unless I freeze them. But if I pick the pink ones, they ripen on my dining table under the fan over a few days, not requiring refrigeration. It is a highly perishable berry, not quite as delicate as strawberry. According to my cousin, the Taiwanese kind is sweeter and the fruits are slightly bigger.
For whatever reason, the two stem cuttings did not take. A few weeks later, my mum obtained three cuttings from her morning walk group. All the mobile old ladies from her estate walk between seven and eight o'clock most mornings. These cutting grew into two lovely bushes in her garden today. Apparently, there are two types of mulberry that grow in my country, a local genus and a Taiwanese kind. There were mulberry plantations in the southern part, at least it was so twenty years ago. There was a factory that produced and bottle the jam locally there then.
Fast forward twenty years, those who google internet for vitamin b 17 found that mulberry is full of that interesting nutrient that some people claimed to kill cancer cells. Some organic supplier has sourced fresh mulberry and I was asked if I would pay money in the open market for it. If I want to consume it regularly, how much would I pay for it.
That is a rather difficult question to answer. I had enjoyed sour sops in Sandakan as it was not so expensive there. Here I would not buy sour sop at $27 a kilo. Yet many would purchase it weekly because of cancer prevention.
If I pick only black and ripened mulberry, they last about three days in the fridge unless I freeze them. But if I pick the pink ones, they ripen on my dining table under the fan over a few days, not requiring refrigeration. It is a highly perishable berry, not quite as delicate as strawberry. According to my cousin, the Taiwanese kind is sweeter and the fruits are slightly bigger.
(1052) The Young n Brave 2
My husband went overseas for a business trip. I decided to attend another church today. It was a very different experience sitting through a service in a Brethren Church compared to a Pentecostal worship.
Anyway, I am glad I went because at the end of the open worship we sang "O Holy Night". It was a lovely song. For a congregation that used to sing a'capella before musical instruments were added, it was a beautiful rendition. I well remember the time the women of a similar church sung it in the elder's house during the advent season, it was the most memorable song I heard in Malaysia, till today. Well, that was thirty two years ago, I was expecting my eldest child that year.
On the way back, I took the LRT, called subway in one country, the tube in another. Walking the short distance home, my daughter stopped to pick me up. It just so happened that she was driving her friends home, and she saw me with her sharp eyes.
I almost did not tag along. It was a good thing that I did, for a small cockroach surfaced and frightened the wit out of her. Calmly I told her to park on a roadside parking lot, I took over the driving.
When we got home, I told her that she was carrying two precious souls. They probably are their parents' only daughters. There my daughter was, not familiar at all with where they stayed., taking chances at playing chauffer. She does not have a normal sense of direction like most folks, she is "gungho" at pushing her limits like most of the young and brave. Only thing is she is not just playing with fire herself, she was driving at high speed on the express way with two young and beautiful girls from out of town as her passengers. Touch wood nothing happened. As I type this article, I feel goose bumps along my spine.
Anyway, I am glad I went because at the end of the open worship we sang "O Holy Night". It was a lovely song. For a congregation that used to sing a'capella before musical instruments were added, it was a beautiful rendition. I well remember the time the women of a similar church sung it in the elder's house during the advent season, it was the most memorable song I heard in Malaysia, till today. Well, that was thirty two years ago, I was expecting my eldest child that year.
On the way back, I took the LRT, called subway in one country, the tube in another. Walking the short distance home, my daughter stopped to pick me up. It just so happened that she was driving her friends home, and she saw me with her sharp eyes.
I almost did not tag along. It was a good thing that I did, for a small cockroach surfaced and frightened the wit out of her. Calmly I told her to park on a roadside parking lot, I took over the driving.
When we got home, I told her that she was carrying two precious souls. They probably are their parents' only daughters. There my daughter was, not familiar at all with where they stayed., taking chances at playing chauffer. She does not have a normal sense of direction like most folks, she is "gungho" at pushing her limits like most of the young and brave. Only thing is she is not just playing with fire herself, she was driving at high speed on the express way with two young and beautiful girls from out of town as her passengers. Touch wood nothing happened. As I type this article, I feel goose bumps along my spine.
(1051) The Young and Brave
The other day in the course of conversation, I mentioned about the first classmate of mine who died of a car accident at age 27 in Spain. My husband said his first course mate died on the journey from Perth to Melbourne at age 21 while still studying in university. Elizabeth said her varsity mate died of drowning at age 23.
That brought to mind all the reckless experiences I had as a student in Virginia. I went white water rafting. Climbed a hill in spring while there was ice and melting snow. Travelling after midnight on mountainous roads in winter during weekends. Being snow bound on friend's campus far away from my college. I have been very fortunate that nothing untoward happened. No freak accidents. No drunk driver within striking distance. One could survive through social whirls with very little sleep running on pure adrenalin. I thank God that the designated driver was at least six years older than most of us and he is very experienced in driving along snowy mountainous roads. After all, he was from Hong Kong and he had been driving many years in Virginia at that point.
Until today, I have not told my mom all the exciting things I have experienced in USA. To her, most of it would be unnecessary and dangerous. True to form, after I returned to my home country, I have never had the chance to do any of those things again. One is only young and brave once, as the white hair multiply on my head and responsibilities are added on, the things in the youth cannot be repeated. And neither am I interested in taking chances again.
That brought to mind all the reckless experiences I had as a student in Virginia. I went white water rafting. Climbed a hill in spring while there was ice and melting snow. Travelling after midnight on mountainous roads in winter during weekends. Being snow bound on friend's campus far away from my college. I have been very fortunate that nothing untoward happened. No freak accidents. No drunk driver within striking distance. One could survive through social whirls with very little sleep running on pure adrenalin. I thank God that the designated driver was at least six years older than most of us and he is very experienced in driving along snowy mountainous roads. After all, he was from Hong Kong and he had been driving many years in Virginia at that point.
Until today, I have not told my mom all the exciting things I have experienced in USA. To her, most of it would be unnecessary and dangerous. True to form, after I returned to my home country, I have never had the chance to do any of those things again. One is only young and brave once, as the white hair multiply on my head and responsibilities are added on, the things in the youth cannot be repeated. And neither am I interested in taking chances again.
(1050) Calling
I just came home from having lunch and chatting with someone I have known for years who is now serving as a new pastor.
In my limited experience, many pastors have a lot to say and too little time to listen. Much to my surprise, she spent hours listening to my stories of how God told me to do whatever I am doing now. In 1984, I was at a cross road to decide if I should accept Jesus into my heart. I knew even as a pre-believer that once I belong to Him, my life would no longer be mine to live how I please. I have read too many missionary biographies about how they live a life of obedience, often doing unusual stuff and at great odds, things that sounded more like fiction than real life.
I did accept the Lord at an altar call in a church in New Braunfels, Tx. With tears running down my cheeks, I walked up to kneel at the front steps to the hymn "Lamb of God, I come, I come". As I was walking towards the stage, an idea rose from my heart and appeared in my brain as a question "Are you willing to serve me in a place with no electricity and no pipe water with only two bags?"
It was such an unexpected question. Yet I did not hesitate, I said yes Lord. That prophesy came to pass during my two and half years in Sabah, many years after that moment in Texas.
In 1994, I received another prophesy. Once I ascertain that it was possible that it was from God, I have lived my life according to the calling. The first part of the prediction is I will publish books. Since I was nine years old onwards, I have been writing in one language or another. It is a hobby, not a livelihood. In college, my professor was surprised that a science student could produce short stories that could be published. To me, I have been published as a teenage writer in Chinese, English is just a second medium. But I have no intention to seek publication as an adult, it is fun to write. I enjoy blogging, but to seriously get a publishing company to print a book sounded daunting. That would be more than work, it would be stressful and I would definitely face plenty of rejection.
To date, I estimate I have written seven books. Writing is easy and fun, editing and proof reading is tough and time consuming. Now, to really print a book is a lot of back room work. When I was hospitalised with a life threatening disease, money somehow came pouring in. Folks are very caring and kind. After I recovered, there is surplus enough to publish my first book. I know, my life has been spared because I have unfinished work. Every moment I have now is icing on the cake. I don't deserve to live a long life, it is mercy operating that allows me to go on to do what was allotted to me since the beginning of time.
In my limited experience, many pastors have a lot to say and too little time to listen. Much to my surprise, she spent hours listening to my stories of how God told me to do whatever I am doing now. In 1984, I was at a cross road to decide if I should accept Jesus into my heart. I knew even as a pre-believer that once I belong to Him, my life would no longer be mine to live how I please. I have read too many missionary biographies about how they live a life of obedience, often doing unusual stuff and at great odds, things that sounded more like fiction than real life.
I did accept the Lord at an altar call in a church in New Braunfels, Tx. With tears running down my cheeks, I walked up to kneel at the front steps to the hymn "Lamb of God, I come, I come". As I was walking towards the stage, an idea rose from my heart and appeared in my brain as a question "Are you willing to serve me in a place with no electricity and no pipe water with only two bags?"
It was such an unexpected question. Yet I did not hesitate, I said yes Lord. That prophesy came to pass during my two and half years in Sabah, many years after that moment in Texas.
In 1994, I received another prophesy. Once I ascertain that it was possible that it was from God, I have lived my life according to the calling. The first part of the prediction is I will publish books. Since I was nine years old onwards, I have been writing in one language or another. It is a hobby, not a livelihood. In college, my professor was surprised that a science student could produce short stories that could be published. To me, I have been published as a teenage writer in Chinese, English is just a second medium. But I have no intention to seek publication as an adult, it is fun to write. I enjoy blogging, but to seriously get a publishing company to print a book sounded daunting. That would be more than work, it would be stressful and I would definitely face plenty of rejection.
To date, I estimate I have written seven books. Writing is easy and fun, editing and proof reading is tough and time consuming. Now, to really print a book is a lot of back room work. When I was hospitalised with a life threatening disease, money somehow came pouring in. Folks are very caring and kind. After I recovered, there is surplus enough to publish my first book. I know, my life has been spared because I have unfinished work. Every moment I have now is icing on the cake. I don't deserve to live a long life, it is mercy operating that allows me to go on to do what was allotted to me since the beginning of time.
Thursday, December 6, 2018
(1049) Recovering from drug
Elizabeth saw Uncle Jon doing a few electrical repairs in church and called him in to help with our leak. We ended up commissioning him to move our water filter to a new position and create a new direct supply to the washing machine.
He told us about how God turned his life around, from drug taking to serving God in a rehab centre. It was fascinating to me, as I lost a childhood friend to heroin. My deceased neighbourhood friend actually stayed with my family in my Junior High years. Keong's mum was hoping that getting him away from bad influence might save him, it did not. My family moved like twenty miles from the old neighbourhood to some new housing area. His mum transferred him to my brothers' school and have him board with us. His descent to living in the street was merely delayed. Keong went from drug to rehab many rounds, he was in and out of prison. Finally he died in some back lane of the Chow Kit area of knife wounds. He was twenty seven years old. At his funeral, I could not recognise him, he was old looking and much of skin and bones left. Actually he was the best looking one of the old neighbourhood group of young men.
Jon is of the opinion that once an addict is free of the habit, he must serve God and stay on in the Centre. Else after five, fifteen or twenty five years, one could relapse. Of course, these days, folks take amphetamine as it is much easier to produce than other drugs.
He told us about how God turned his life around, from drug taking to serving God in a rehab centre. It was fascinating to me, as I lost a childhood friend to heroin. My deceased neighbourhood friend actually stayed with my family in my Junior High years. Keong's mum was hoping that getting him away from bad influence might save him, it did not. My family moved like twenty miles from the old neighbourhood to some new housing area. His mum transferred him to my brothers' school and have him board with us. His descent to living in the street was merely delayed. Keong went from drug to rehab many rounds, he was in and out of prison. Finally he died in some back lane of the Chow Kit area of knife wounds. He was twenty seven years old. At his funeral, I could not recognise him, he was old looking and much of skin and bones left. Actually he was the best looking one of the old neighbourhood group of young men.
Jon is of the opinion that once an addict is free of the habit, he must serve God and stay on in the Centre. Else after five, fifteen or twenty five years, one could relapse. Of course, these days, folks take amphetamine as it is much easier to produce than other drugs.
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
(1048) Moving house
One of my long standing neighbour cleared up her house as her youngest married and moved out. She gave away furniture and things to me, her sisters, and left what the tenant wanted. I saw her moving car loads of things over about six weeks. Two lorries (trucks, called in America) came to take big items to the sisters and one son.
Interestingly, her daughter who moved from her first marital home to a condo did it differently. The first home was a one-storey town house with three rooms and two baths. It was rather small for one great-grandmother, grandfather and grandmother, husband and wife, two children less than five years old. The new condominium consists of five bedrooms and six bathrooms. The husband hired a 2-ton truck and moved a few beds, dining table and chairs over. All the inmates of the new condo have no wardrobe in their bedrooms. You see, in Malaysia we do not expect developers to provide built-in wardrobes or cabinets like in any average house in America. I was flabbergasted and asked my neighbour (that was before she moved out) how does she manage to keep clean clothes. Her own clothes she kept in a plastic drawer set. The children's clothes she keeps in baskets.
The shocking bit came when she revealed that her daughter did not move the washer to the new condo. So, how does she manage laundry? It was going to public coin-operated laundry shops, which was quite a craze lately, appearing all over the city and towns. Now that was unusual. This daughter of my friend holds two degrees. If I remember correctly, she holds a first class honours degree from a premier university in town. Why would she choose to spend two to three hours daily in a public laundry place rubbing shoulders with the poor? After all, her old machine still works in the old house an hour by car away from the new condo. Anyway, if she could afford to pay eight hundred dollars (M) per month for playgroup education for her five-year old, what is so difficult paying for the cheapest Japanese washing machine the could be had at about one thousand?
All the left behind things are still in the old house, they own the old house absolutely, perhaps they are a very busy couple. The old house is not let, neither is there any plan to sell it. That house is probably worth a cool eight hundred thousand dollars. If someone fancy the forest reserve behind it, it may fetch a rental of thousand one or two dollars a month. It is crazy to leave it to gather dust and untenanted. A fair bit of lost opportunity of cash income. But, well, millennials perceive things differently.
Yesterday, I told all these puzzling details to my eldest son. He sagely nodded his head and told me: too many old women in the condo. Well, there is old great-grandma and two grandmas. The new arrival of number three makes it necessary for the wife's mother to move in. Three children under five required three women to care for them while mum and dad go to work. Then after work, mum does not like to stay indoor suffocated with three old ladies, so she does her laundry at night, catching up with her facebook and twitter or whatever social media. Oh! I see.
Interestingly, her daughter who moved from her first marital home to a condo did it differently. The first home was a one-storey town house with three rooms and two baths. It was rather small for one great-grandmother, grandfather and grandmother, husband and wife, two children less than five years old. The new condominium consists of five bedrooms and six bathrooms. The husband hired a 2-ton truck and moved a few beds, dining table and chairs over. All the inmates of the new condo have no wardrobe in their bedrooms. You see, in Malaysia we do not expect developers to provide built-in wardrobes or cabinets like in any average house in America. I was flabbergasted and asked my neighbour (that was before she moved out) how does she manage to keep clean clothes. Her own clothes she kept in a plastic drawer set. The children's clothes she keeps in baskets.
The shocking bit came when she revealed that her daughter did not move the washer to the new condo. So, how does she manage laundry? It was going to public coin-operated laundry shops, which was quite a craze lately, appearing all over the city and towns. Now that was unusual. This daughter of my friend holds two degrees. If I remember correctly, she holds a first class honours degree from a premier university in town. Why would she choose to spend two to three hours daily in a public laundry place rubbing shoulders with the poor? After all, her old machine still works in the old house an hour by car away from the new condo. Anyway, if she could afford to pay eight hundred dollars (M) per month for playgroup education for her five-year old, what is so difficult paying for the cheapest Japanese washing machine the could be had at about one thousand?
All the left behind things are still in the old house, they own the old house absolutely, perhaps they are a very busy couple. The old house is not let, neither is there any plan to sell it. That house is probably worth a cool eight hundred thousand dollars. If someone fancy the forest reserve behind it, it may fetch a rental of thousand one or two dollars a month. It is crazy to leave it to gather dust and untenanted. A fair bit of lost opportunity of cash income. But, well, millennials perceive things differently.
Yesterday, I told all these puzzling details to my eldest son. He sagely nodded his head and told me: too many old women in the condo. Well, there is old great-grandma and two grandmas. The new arrival of number three makes it necessary for the wife's mother to move in. Three children under five required three women to care for them while mum and dad go to work. Then after work, mum does not like to stay indoor suffocated with three old ladies, so she does her laundry at night, catching up with her facebook and twitter or whatever social media. Oh! I see.
(1047) When it rains, it pours
My next door neighbour took a lease of one year but ended up staying there for eight years. She came from a town a few hours away with a few suitcases. The land lord took pity on her and left in his old house a few pieces of furniture. After the first year, they did not bother to sign any more contracts as she was a prompt paymaster.
Furniture aged and they broke down. My neighbour was at fault when the sofa broke, she did not inform the land lord. She threw it away, bought a replacement. Since the replacement was cheap and not of good quality, it broke too. After living without a sofa for close to three years, she saved up enough to move to a better house fully furnished. At this point, the land lord followed the book and asked her to replace the sofa. She replied that she was surprised that he expected the second hand sofa to last more than 8 years, but since she was busy, would he deduct the cost of the sofa and be done with it. In this instance, it was a good lesson for her to learn that one could not expect property owners to be reasonable. Since the beginning of time, the rich exploits the poor. Nothing would change that. Even if the land lord was more than kind in not increasing the rental every year, one cannot and should not assume that he would be reasonable in all ways.
Furniture aged and they broke down. My neighbour was at fault when the sofa broke, she did not inform the land lord. She threw it away, bought a replacement. Since the replacement was cheap and not of good quality, it broke too. After living without a sofa for close to three years, she saved up enough to move to a better house fully furnished. At this point, the land lord followed the book and asked her to replace the sofa. She replied that she was surprised that he expected the second hand sofa to last more than 8 years, but since she was busy, would he deduct the cost of the sofa and be done with it. In this instance, it was a good lesson for her to learn that one could not expect property owners to be reasonable. Since the beginning of time, the rich exploits the poor. Nothing would change that. Even if the land lord was more than kind in not increasing the rental every year, one cannot and should not assume that he would be reasonable in all ways.
(1046) Too expensive to be old
There is this couple who are my husband's family friends. The husband is 90 years old. He found a high prostrate reading in a government hospital annual blood test. Since the waiting list for any scan is a mile long in all government facilities, he opted to go to a private hospital. The first visit costs him more than a thousand dollars(M). The second day he was admitted because they wanted to make sure he fasted so they could get a clear picture in the scanning the next day. It was very sad that after fasting the machine was down. They kept him another night and some form of doctor-nurse miscommunication led him to eat when he should not. In fact, the wife who stayed with him loyally told him not to eat, he happily thought that it was ok to eat. Hence he was moved from 8 am slot for MRI to 3 pm. Last update, the progressive bill is M$12,500. At that point, none of the findings explain the high reading.
Note that after many tests, they know that he has a growth in the Adrenal gland. The latest test was a bone scan. At this rate, the couple seriously need to think about selling their main house which may fetch M$4.6 to 6.0 millions. They have been very healthy all their lives, so they did not consider buying health insurance until they were past 70, which was too late -- it would be exorbitant to purchase any form of health insurance at that age bracket.
Health care cost is jumping sky high in this country. Next to education, hospitals and care for the aged are good fields to invest in. But heaven helps one who is old and sick and has no money to burn.
Note that after many tests, they know that he has a growth in the Adrenal gland. The latest test was a bone scan. At this rate, the couple seriously need to think about selling their main house which may fetch M$4.6 to 6.0 millions. They have been very healthy all their lives, so they did not consider buying health insurance until they were past 70, which was too late -- it would be exorbitant to purchase any form of health insurance at that age bracket.
Health care cost is jumping sky high in this country. Next to education, hospitals and care for the aged are good fields to invest in. But heaven helps one who is old and sick and has no money to burn.
(1045) Russia and Malaysia
I had some free time these few days, and I spend it analysing statistics I have on you, dear readers. The most surprising piece of fact is: if I divide page views by the number of visitors from any one country, Russia is the champion: the figure is 44.0 pages/ visitor. I take my hat off to you, my readers from Russia. It is extremely complimentary and yet humbling. Thank you for your encouragement!
Apart from reading a few translated Russian novels, I don't know much about Russia. Yet by the looks of things, quite a few Russians probably could paint quite an accurate picture of Malaysia from reading my blog. For such a huge country, it is amazing that the inhabitants are good in second and third languages.
A few years ago I read a book my brother, the globetrotter, purchased. It was written by a Western writer who travelled by train from the eastern tip of Russia to the extreme west. He spent many nights in little towns as well as big cities. During the few months I kept the travel log, I actually read it twice because the writer was able to bring the people he met across to me. Sad to say, I did not keep that book. Most books came in, I enjoyed reading them, and then I passed them on to other booklovers.
One thing Malaysia and Russia have in common is graft. Malaysia is resource rich, if managed properly, it should be richer than Singapore and Scandinavian countries. However, when I left Sabah more than a year ago, some aborigine folks living in the city are living on two meals a day because real income in terms of purchasing power is outpaced by inflation. A beautiful land with petroleum, minerals, palm oil, fish, ... yet a vast majority of the income was stripped by federal demands. We, in the capital, enjoy wonderful infrastructure but in many cities and towns in Sabah and Sarawak it was like a time capsule from my childhood in the late sixties. It is very sad!
Apart from reading a few translated Russian novels, I don't know much about Russia. Yet by the looks of things, quite a few Russians probably could paint quite an accurate picture of Malaysia from reading my blog. For such a huge country, it is amazing that the inhabitants are good in second and third languages.
A few years ago I read a book my brother, the globetrotter, purchased. It was written by a Western writer who travelled by train from the eastern tip of Russia to the extreme west. He spent many nights in little towns as well as big cities. During the few months I kept the travel log, I actually read it twice because the writer was able to bring the people he met across to me. Sad to say, I did not keep that book. Most books came in, I enjoyed reading them, and then I passed them on to other booklovers.
One thing Malaysia and Russia have in common is graft. Malaysia is resource rich, if managed properly, it should be richer than Singapore and Scandinavian countries. However, when I left Sabah more than a year ago, some aborigine folks living in the city are living on two meals a day because real income in terms of purchasing power is outpaced by inflation. A beautiful land with petroleum, minerals, palm oil, fish, ... yet a vast majority of the income was stripped by federal demands. We, in the capital, enjoy wonderful infrastructure but in many cities and towns in Sabah and Sarawak it was like a time capsule from my childhood in the late sixties. It is very sad!
Monday, December 3, 2018
(1044) Being a Nobody
My husband and my youngest child went to The Emperor of Japan's Birthday Celebration near Jalan Ampang recently. She looked very young, cut her hair short. By society's standard, she is a nobody.
By nature, she is an extrovert. While I kept quiet and observed the crowd in years past, she talked to one and all. A few people were curious and with great diplomacy, asked how she came to be invited. Well, my husband served as an office bearer in a cultural organisation, since he is an alumni of an exchange program in Japan. This year, I saw the event as a great temptation. Food has never held much attraction to me. These days, there are meals that I take vegetables and complex carbohydrates only. Wah Yu beef or not, if my body indicated that the next day's meal better be simple to digest, I would stick with vegetables and fruits. It is important to control my diet to be kind to my digestive system if I intend to live long enough to complete my mission here on earth. Plus, looking at all the many types of desserts, I can't take any because of the presence of white sugar, it is better not to go than exercise iron discipline.
It has never bothered me that I can't dress to the nines or wear imported shoes. What other people think of dowdy me matters not at all to me. If I need to, I'll dress up a little to fit in, if not, I'll purposely dress down to be dismissed at a glance. Being a wall flower is very useful, one who is "invisible" hears all sorts of things not intended for one's ears. It is interesting to be under estimated. It is freeing oneself from the meaningless social talk.
Next year, Elizabeth said she'll go again even though the food was disappointing. She enjoyed one teriyaki chicken and the beef was smooth in texture only. She thought the style of cooking could be improved upon. She enjoyed meeting people one seldom meets in her circles. However, she enjoyed the pear of Fukushima (not sure of my spelling!), she thought that was the best pear she has ever tasted, after all a little bit of radiation won't kill.
By nature, she is an extrovert. While I kept quiet and observed the crowd in years past, she talked to one and all. A few people were curious and with great diplomacy, asked how she came to be invited. Well, my husband served as an office bearer in a cultural organisation, since he is an alumni of an exchange program in Japan. This year, I saw the event as a great temptation. Food has never held much attraction to me. These days, there are meals that I take vegetables and complex carbohydrates only. Wah Yu beef or not, if my body indicated that the next day's meal better be simple to digest, I would stick with vegetables and fruits. It is important to control my diet to be kind to my digestive system if I intend to live long enough to complete my mission here on earth. Plus, looking at all the many types of desserts, I can't take any because of the presence of white sugar, it is better not to go than exercise iron discipline.
It has never bothered me that I can't dress to the nines or wear imported shoes. What other people think of dowdy me matters not at all to me. If I need to, I'll dress up a little to fit in, if not, I'll purposely dress down to be dismissed at a glance. Being a wall flower is very useful, one who is "invisible" hears all sorts of things not intended for one's ears. It is interesting to be under estimated. It is freeing oneself from the meaningless social talk.
Next year, Elizabeth said she'll go again even though the food was disappointing. She enjoyed one teriyaki chicken and the beef was smooth in texture only. She thought the style of cooking could be improved upon. She enjoyed meeting people one seldom meets in her circles. However, she enjoyed the pear of Fukushima (not sure of my spelling!), she thought that was the best pear she has ever tasted, after all a little bit of radiation won't kill.
(1043) Bed bugs 2
My husband is going for a trip to a neighbouring country for a few days this month, I will grab the opportunity to varnish bedroom 2. While my youngest plans to visit shopping malls and distant places, I will have less people at home to complain about the strong smell.
A look at a friend's worn out parquet flooring warns me of leaving my rooms not properly maintained. After all, who wants to spend money to strip the wood off and put in tiles. I like wood because it is cool and not cold. Moreover, worn out wood strips make good hiding places for tiny insects like bed bugs. After being bitten in a stay over, I was careful to boil my clothing upon returning. Now I will think twice before visiting anywhere but a clean and well kept hotel.
Reading about the Lion Air tragedy, I wonder about travelling on budget airline. Unless I have the fund to purchase air tickets from a reputable airline, should I take such risk? After all, there are a lot of fun places to visit in my own country by car or by rail, must I fly?
My son says it was a new model of plane from Boeing. If a passenger knowingly book a flight on a new model, then he assumes the risk of the test flight. But what if he is ignorant, he pays with his life nevertheless. I thought of the many flights I took to Borneo, I shuddered that anything could have happened. My son begs to differ, he said Air Asia does not operate like Lion Air. Lion Air simply expanded too fast, too soon and flouting too many regulations. I suppose it is a matter of opinion, thousands of passengers travelled on Lion Air, and until the tragedy occurred, no one thinks twice about flying on any airline.
I suppose life and death is held in the hand of God, none of us would go one day earlier than He determine. But I suppose I should still be a good steward and live my life with due caution.
A look at a friend's worn out parquet flooring warns me of leaving my rooms not properly maintained. After all, who wants to spend money to strip the wood off and put in tiles. I like wood because it is cool and not cold. Moreover, worn out wood strips make good hiding places for tiny insects like bed bugs. After being bitten in a stay over, I was careful to boil my clothing upon returning. Now I will think twice before visiting anywhere but a clean and well kept hotel.
Reading about the Lion Air tragedy, I wonder about travelling on budget airline. Unless I have the fund to purchase air tickets from a reputable airline, should I take such risk? After all, there are a lot of fun places to visit in my own country by car or by rail, must I fly?
My son says it was a new model of plane from Boeing. If a passenger knowingly book a flight on a new model, then he assumes the risk of the test flight. But what if he is ignorant, he pays with his life nevertheless. I thought of the many flights I took to Borneo, I shuddered that anything could have happened. My son begs to differ, he said Air Asia does not operate like Lion Air. Lion Air simply expanded too fast, too soon and flouting too many regulations. I suppose it is a matter of opinion, thousands of passengers travelled on Lion Air, and until the tragedy occurred, no one thinks twice about flying on any airline.
I suppose life and death is held in the hand of God, none of us would go one day earlier than He determine. But I suppose I should still be a good steward and live my life with due caution.
(1042) Stress and falling hair
When my niece was facing her Cambridge equivalent exam, her long hair fell heavily. My sister-in-law was alarmed enough to take her to her company doctor.
At the beginning of this year, I was working at arranging my manuscript for my second book. In my head I was telling myself that by the time the second book physically arrives, I would then start translating my father's essay on his family's humble beginnings as immigrants in this country. I know fully well there are two places where I could recognise every character but fail to understand the proverbs or the historical stories he referred to. Well, I simply have to search for an expert who is well read who could tell me what those characters mean. By the time my final manuscript went to the printer, my hair started falling. It was frightening! At the shower twice the normal amount fell. While dry sheet wiping, more hair showed up than dust.
At some point, I realised it was caused by the impending plan to tackle the essay. Since God already paid for the translation of the eight folktales, he will pay for the reverse of the essay. I thank God that my translator is as good in Chinese as English. For what I need now is Chinese to English translation, which is not common at all. I went on to photo copy my dad's manuscript since I have only one copy. The third book will be my tribute to him, he is a much better writer than I but he had spent all his life making a living for his children. He said that writing could not make a viable means of earning a living. But I suppose I am far more fortunate than him, I did not live from hand to mouth. I serve a living God who provides. If He says publish, I dare not hide my work. I still am rather uncomfortable with playing the role of an authoress. I much rather less people know I write books than more. So you won't find me promoting my books. Let others sell them. I still operate as a wall flower. After all, lowly grass won't be uprooted by a hurricane, but tall trees would. Here I can say what my heart yearns to say, since I stay anonymous, no one can accuse me of showing off.
At the beginning of this year, I was working at arranging my manuscript for my second book. In my head I was telling myself that by the time the second book physically arrives, I would then start translating my father's essay on his family's humble beginnings as immigrants in this country. I know fully well there are two places where I could recognise every character but fail to understand the proverbs or the historical stories he referred to. Well, I simply have to search for an expert who is well read who could tell me what those characters mean. By the time my final manuscript went to the printer, my hair started falling. It was frightening! At the shower twice the normal amount fell. While dry sheet wiping, more hair showed up than dust.
At some point, I realised it was caused by the impending plan to tackle the essay. Since God already paid for the translation of the eight folktales, he will pay for the reverse of the essay. I thank God that my translator is as good in Chinese as English. For what I need now is Chinese to English translation, which is not common at all. I went on to photo copy my dad's manuscript since I have only one copy. The third book will be my tribute to him, he is a much better writer than I but he had spent all his life making a living for his children. He said that writing could not make a viable means of earning a living. But I suppose I am far more fortunate than him, I did not live from hand to mouth. I serve a living God who provides. If He says publish, I dare not hide my work. I still am rather uncomfortable with playing the role of an authoress. I much rather less people know I write books than more. So you won't find me promoting my books. Let others sell them. I still operate as a wall flower. After all, lowly grass won't be uprooted by a hurricane, but tall trees would. Here I can say what my heart yearns to say, since I stay anonymous, no one can accuse me of showing off.
(1041) Autoimmune disorder
I just read in MIT News Nov/Dec 2018 page 4 that Glaucoma could be caused by an autoimmune response.
During my last visit to a Government Hospital, I met a mother and daughter team. Since that afternoon was a Rheumatism Clinic, I automatically assumed that the mother came for a check up. It was, surprisingly speaking, the daughter who has an autoimmune disease.
A usual check up meant a wait of two to three hours, if not longer. Patients had plenty of time to read, to play with hand phone or talk with friendly fellow patients. I gathered that the mother is hale and hearty, she was a former government worker. Since the government pensions off the workers generously, she has the leisure to volunteer at a Taoist temple. She claims that she has unusually thick skin, she does what she thinks is right, and the rest of the opposing volunteers could go fly kites. Since she has a comfortable pension, she could afford to be big-hearted and treat fellow volunteers to tea and coffee, snacks and desserts. She not only finds meaning in serving her Gods, she finds fellowship in laughing and working with fellow volunteers.
Her daughter, however, is not so fortunate. The young lady is often stressed by the pressure that came from pursuing her career. It is the right job, but she herself could not manage the unavoidable pressure. On top of that, she has a long standing boy friend whom she is having second thoughts of marrying. I find it strange that one could have the same boy friend for ten years. If he is the right person, then what are they waiting for? If he is not, then why waste time? Well, the mum said that some inheritance is involved, the young lady is somewhat perturbed by the thought that he is after her money. Here, I feel bad for the daughter, inheritance is supposed to smooth one's way in life; not to complicate it.
I exchanged a few pleasantries with the daughter, at the counter and the weighing-measuring blood pressure room. She is worried that a second autoimmune disorder is involved. She looked doomed by worries. I commented that autoimmune response is often caused by some hidden underlying reasons. Mine was caused by the fact that I did not react well to my handicaps that came from dyslexia. Dyslexia is not a curse, it is a host of possible talents that bring with it many short comings. One simply has to accept the handicaps, over come them and maximise the talents. I did that after my marriage, I had the leisure to be a homemaker who observes the mothers and children in my neighbourhood and my church. Later I got to know a few mothers of my children's friends and classmates. Looking at the many varied relationships, I learnt about myself and my mother. By looking back, I was able work out a few knots that bothered me. In time to come, I attended a few seminars to do with inner healing. When the right counsellor turned up, I met up with her for more than ten sessions. God is more than willing to heal, if and when those who need healing are willing to open their hearts and ask Him.
Twenty six years on, I still go for my half yearly check-ups, I take minimal medicine. Whenever I forget to take my pills, I thank God that I don't need them. If I felt poorly, I increased the meds by one notch. God had healed me from the two years when I could hardly stand up and walk. Doctors play a big part too. After all plants are created by God, medicine is mostly distilled from plants by scientists. Then clever men and women innovated and created similar compounds to experiment with. I am grateful to God and man, otherwise I would be in a wheelchair today.
During my last visit to a Government Hospital, I met a mother and daughter team. Since that afternoon was a Rheumatism Clinic, I automatically assumed that the mother came for a check up. It was, surprisingly speaking, the daughter who has an autoimmune disease.
A usual check up meant a wait of two to three hours, if not longer. Patients had plenty of time to read, to play with hand phone or talk with friendly fellow patients. I gathered that the mother is hale and hearty, she was a former government worker. Since the government pensions off the workers generously, she has the leisure to volunteer at a Taoist temple. She claims that she has unusually thick skin, she does what she thinks is right, and the rest of the opposing volunteers could go fly kites. Since she has a comfortable pension, she could afford to be big-hearted and treat fellow volunteers to tea and coffee, snacks and desserts. She not only finds meaning in serving her Gods, she finds fellowship in laughing and working with fellow volunteers.
Her daughter, however, is not so fortunate. The young lady is often stressed by the pressure that came from pursuing her career. It is the right job, but she herself could not manage the unavoidable pressure. On top of that, she has a long standing boy friend whom she is having second thoughts of marrying. I find it strange that one could have the same boy friend for ten years. If he is the right person, then what are they waiting for? If he is not, then why waste time? Well, the mum said that some inheritance is involved, the young lady is somewhat perturbed by the thought that he is after her money. Here, I feel bad for the daughter, inheritance is supposed to smooth one's way in life; not to complicate it.
I exchanged a few pleasantries with the daughter, at the counter and the weighing-measuring blood pressure room. She is worried that a second autoimmune disorder is involved. She looked doomed by worries. I commented that autoimmune response is often caused by some hidden underlying reasons. Mine was caused by the fact that I did not react well to my handicaps that came from dyslexia. Dyslexia is not a curse, it is a host of possible talents that bring with it many short comings. One simply has to accept the handicaps, over come them and maximise the talents. I did that after my marriage, I had the leisure to be a homemaker who observes the mothers and children in my neighbourhood and my church. Later I got to know a few mothers of my children's friends and classmates. Looking at the many varied relationships, I learnt about myself and my mother. By looking back, I was able work out a few knots that bothered me. In time to come, I attended a few seminars to do with inner healing. When the right counsellor turned up, I met up with her for more than ten sessions. God is more than willing to heal, if and when those who need healing are willing to open their hearts and ask Him.
Twenty six years on, I still go for my half yearly check-ups, I take minimal medicine. Whenever I forget to take my pills, I thank God that I don't need them. If I felt poorly, I increased the meds by one notch. God had healed me from the two years when I could hardly stand up and walk. Doctors play a big part too. After all plants are created by God, medicine is mostly distilled from plants by scientists. Then clever men and women innovated and created similar compounds to experiment with. I am grateful to God and man, otherwise I would be in a wheelchair today.
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