About five weeks ago, I recorded two windows of time that I could travel to northern Borneo. I jotted down estimated airfare, calculated the number of weeks I could stay and have a unique amount for each of the unequal time period.
I then prayed that God in His sovereign way would show me which time I should fly, whether it is on May 19 or July 12. If the amount of money received is equal to or more than x which is linked to May 19, then I would leave on that date. However, if the amount received is equal to or more than y, which is significantly more than x, then I should leave on July 12 which is linked to y.
My intelligent youngest daughter, who is mathematical, asked what if the amount is more than or equal to x+y. Well, would it then not be clear cut that I would be going twice?
If by now you, my poor reader, is totally confused, read on: the rest of the blog has nothing much to do with complicated numbers.
Less than half an hour ago, my husband heard from his old friends that they have banked in some funds from overseas. The amount remitted clearly indicated that I should go on July 12. I thank God for these wonderful people.
This adventure started on the last Sunday of September, 1984. I walked down the aisle of a church in New Braunfels, Texas, fully convicted that I should accept Jesus as my personal saviour. As I was still walking, a thought asked: are you accepting me as your saviour or lord? I asked, what is lord? You should do as your lord asks you. Then, I said I would accept God as my Saviour and Lord. The thought went on to say, would you then be willing to go to a place with no pipe water or electricity supply with two bags to serve me? Without hesitation, I said yes.
Five years ago, after a series of improbable answers to specific prayers, I went to northern Borneo. First trip was to use a hotel voucher bought by my husband during a Christmas charity fund drive. Second trip was sponsored by my mum. The night after I returned from the second trip, I had a vivid dream in colours (most times I dream in black and white) which led to an interpretation that said: if you choose northern Borneo, I will give you a new life there. Of course I want a God-given new life. I therefore prayed and received a whole year's rental money. Next I prayed for an apartment at a rate well below market value and ended up renting a two-storey three-room house with a nice piece of land behind the house. I made a number of trips there to add enough things to make the empty house a home. On the last week of that calendar year, I found the job as a contract English teacher in a government college. Hence, after hearing a call in a dream the first trip, I had a dream promising me a new life there after the second trip. A year later, I had a job there. My eldest son chose to accompany me there to work as a special education tutor.
I was there two and a half years exactly when the door closed. My work permit expired. The land lord wanted to increase rental significantly, and God said return to Peninsular Malaysia. I stayed on long enough to move my son to a suite of two rooms. Gave away loads to things to a good friend's maid. I returned home to hospitalization and I fought to live. July 12, 2019 is a very meaningful date, I left the hospital exactly two years ago to the day. If you were to ask me: what next? I really cannot tell you. But I know that I could communicate with my would be illustrator to the will be published book and tell her the project is on.
Few weeks back, I was much privileged to meet up with an at least 35-year veteran missionary director who spent almost his entire working life in the far east working with the aborigines in North Borneo. He gave me long, long list of things to look out for and to do: if I will "run the marathon" in researching and preparing a book on the aborigines' children games. It will be a project that may take more than 10 years as my access to the really rural area is restricted. Anyway, wherever the hand phone coverage reaches, no children would play old games anymore. But he did say it is a very interesting assignment, if those games are to be recorded and published as a resource to be used as therapy for children with learning disabilities. I quipped that if the task takes 14 years, his answer is he still wants to buy a copy - it must be the first edition - when he is 75 years old. Interesting!
If you have been following this blog the last few years, you probably know that I claimed to be a dyslexic who first heard of the condition after age 21. For 12 years as my children were growing up in Silver City, I worked at home as a special education tutor. The following 12 years I was an unpaid listener to depressed and suicidal friends. I started recycling all sorts of things and stopped buying clothes or house hold things. According to my children, I prayed and received whatever I need. God is a very present help in my house. Folks in church either thought I was nuts or they cannot help but have respect for me. I am a graduate who is reasonably intellectual but I live a life that is simple to the point that is strange in this affluent society. For many years I have survived on one pair of slippers and another pair of formal shoes.
Here, I'll end with my favourite quotation : If you restrict earthly things, you set your thoughts free for the spiritual. Peter Hoeg in Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow
Monday, April 29, 2019
Saturday, April 27, 2019
(1088) Comfort food
I had claypot yee mee (wheat noodle fried dry cooked in meat broth with vege, egg, meat ball and fish cake.) for dinner.
During my silver city days, my family and I would eat in Stadium claypot noodle stall. Quite a number of locals had protested that there were many other noodle stalls with more delicious items which cost the same amount. What they said is true, yet there is something about the above food that feeds more than an empty stomach. It is a comfort food, like college students in USA ordering pizza at midnight after many hours of wringing the brains in producing papers for submission.
Another similar situation is to enjoy a bowl of thick Manhattan clam chowder when it was snowing outside. Perhaps it was the heat, maybe it was the carbohydrate that was immediately available for burning to warm the freezing body parts. Of course the hot climate here does not call for calorie laden food like that. Yet on a cool rainy night, a glass of hot Milo (chocolate drink from Nestle) does hit certain spot head on.
For my children, there was nothing better than French fries whenever I do not eat with them. For most of my life I could not stomach any fried food without suffering from oral ulcers. Even when my child was having a birthday party in McDonald's, I could not eat more than three fries. It is strange that after a life-threatening disease and certain treatments, now the first food I turn to when I start coughing is French fries.
During my silver city days, my family and I would eat in Stadium claypot noodle stall. Quite a number of locals had protested that there were many other noodle stalls with more delicious items which cost the same amount. What they said is true, yet there is something about the above food that feeds more than an empty stomach. It is a comfort food, like college students in USA ordering pizza at midnight after many hours of wringing the brains in producing papers for submission.
Another similar situation is to enjoy a bowl of thick Manhattan clam chowder when it was snowing outside. Perhaps it was the heat, maybe it was the carbohydrate that was immediately available for burning to warm the freezing body parts. Of course the hot climate here does not call for calorie laden food like that. Yet on a cool rainy night, a glass of hot Milo (chocolate drink from Nestle) does hit certain spot head on.
For my children, there was nothing better than French fries whenever I do not eat with them. For most of my life I could not stomach any fried food without suffering from oral ulcers. Even when my child was having a birthday party in McDonald's, I could not eat more than three fries. It is strange that after a life-threatening disease and certain treatments, now the first food I turn to when I start coughing is French fries.
Friday, April 26, 2019
(1087) Teenage depression
Last blog I recorded woes of my contemporaries as moms of children in their twenties. This blog I will try to say something about teenagers' perspective.
By chance I heard of depression and suicidal thoughts of two teenagers: one who has passed the phase and the other who just got into the middle of it. Since I don't work with that age group, the info came from adults who are aware of it.
That reminded me of a lady I have heard about. As a student, she attempted suicide in Australia. It was not successful. She graduated and returned to her hometown and managed to get a job and later got married. We would imagine good things from then on... No, she left her husband with her infant daughter for about a year. Lots of prayers were said from well wishers, the impossible happened: she returned to her husband and they have a second child.
Life often is more than just career and child rearing. Both the lady's family and the husband's family play a part too. I have attended the husband's care group once and therefore know him vaguely. I can well imagine how he has to tread carefully as if he is stepping on thin ice. I have much sympathies for him. But still, he must be either very brave or simple minded to marry her in spite of her past history. As far as I can see, the lady came from moneyed back ground and finance is not a factor in most of the conflict. If the lady's parents are not loving to her, I honestly don't think they would spend hundreds of thousands to send her studying abroad. If the lady lacked extra cash, she would not be able to live in a house of her own when she moved out of her marital home. As to whether the misunderstandings, conflicts, quarrels and any ill feelings were merely storms in a teacup, only the key players themselves know.
Interestingly all three suicidal females came from comfortable backgrounds and small families. Perhaps if they were poor, they would be spending all their time and energy on climbing the economic ladder. Feelings would take a second seat to practical things like supplementing one's allowance. When a person needs to plot and plan to work her way out of poverty, there is little incentive to wallow in depressive thoughts. Perhaps that is why when people have more material things, their emotional well being may be more vulnerable.
By chance I heard of depression and suicidal thoughts of two teenagers: one who has passed the phase and the other who just got into the middle of it. Since I don't work with that age group, the info came from adults who are aware of it.
That reminded me of a lady I have heard about. As a student, she attempted suicide in Australia. It was not successful. She graduated and returned to her hometown and managed to get a job and later got married. We would imagine good things from then on... No, she left her husband with her infant daughter for about a year. Lots of prayers were said from well wishers, the impossible happened: she returned to her husband and they have a second child.
Life often is more than just career and child rearing. Both the lady's family and the husband's family play a part too. I have attended the husband's care group once and therefore know him vaguely. I can well imagine how he has to tread carefully as if he is stepping on thin ice. I have much sympathies for him. But still, he must be either very brave or simple minded to marry her in spite of her past history. As far as I can see, the lady came from moneyed back ground and finance is not a factor in most of the conflict. If the lady's parents are not loving to her, I honestly don't think they would spend hundreds of thousands to send her studying abroad. If the lady lacked extra cash, she would not be able to live in a house of her own when she moved out of her marital home. As to whether the misunderstandings, conflicts, quarrels and any ill feelings were merely storms in a teacup, only the key players themselves know.
Interestingly all three suicidal females came from comfortable backgrounds and small families. Perhaps if they were poor, they would be spending all their time and energy on climbing the economic ladder. Feelings would take a second seat to practical things like supplementing one's allowance. When a person needs to plot and plan to work her way out of poverty, there is little incentive to wallow in depressive thoughts. Perhaps that is why when people have more material things, their emotional well being may be more vulnerable.
Monday, April 22, 2019
(1086) The hazards of bringing up children
On the way back from Penang I stopped by my old haunt and visited with three old friends from my mothers' group eons ago.
We had lunch at a new noodle joint and chatted. Aida just came back from Harbin. She has had long standing problem with depression. Lately she is much better than many years ago. After all, her husband has chosen to return to this country after being away for at least 25 years abroad as an ex-pat manager.
Sheila was an IT expert turned homemaker since her husband makes a good living. She is a meticulous house keeper. While she was on the way to Aida's house after lunch, the latter mentioned that Sheila takes prescription drug to ward against panic attacks. I was shocked. While I have known for some time that she has had neurological concerns, I didn't realize that she was not coping with prolong stress.
Carrie is a very vocal and sociable person. She is bubbly and cheerful. However, my husband and I had lunch with her hubby not too long ago and Carrie's darling mentioned that she was having fits over the elder son's sabbatical break. We know that the young man was working while waiting to be accepted into graduate school. He was working in a completely different field to earn money for further studies. I can well understand the kind of strain he was under, working long hours in something he has absolutely no interest in. If he wanted a three-month break before another job or continuing his education, it is to be expected.
While I want to know how Carrie's elder son is doing, I did not want to bring up the explosive topic. I asked Aida and Sheila instead. Neither of them knew about the issue. Aida mentioned that her own problem was much worse than what Carrie faced. Aida's elder daughter has been working at a job that does not pay a living wage even though the young lady graduated as a medical tech. After much advertisement Aida sent to her daughter, the latter summoned Aida and husband for a conference. The daughter lives in a house the parents owned three hours away from the family home. For Chinese, such family meetings usually centred around a meal. The three some had lunch in a private room in a nice restaurant. Mom Aida walked out of the room to take an important call, she came back and saw her daughter crying.
The long and short of it was darling daughter wanted to leave that town and get a job in Singapore. She complained that her mum had been harassing her about resigning from her much loved job. Dad has been subsidising where her pay was not enough for her living standard. She has given notice and would leave that job at the end of the month. Now mom is the bad person that caused all the problem. Aida was very cool about it, she encouraged her husband to take a vacation with the daughter concerned. After all, the person who brought up children is usually the bad guy, the parent away seemed the good guy. She seemed to take all these in her stride, it is all in a day's work. It's quite ok her daughter is without a job. It's quite ok for her daughter to work any where she fancies, after all the girl is twenty five years old.
What I can't understand is why three women I spent 12 years with, relatively stable persons, all end up needing psychiatric medication after age 50. They are all good wives, good mothers and good friends to me. I suppose I am very fortunate that I have no complaints about any of my children. Neither do I need tranquilizer to get through the day and sleeping pill at night. Parenting could be hazardous.
We had lunch at a new noodle joint and chatted. Aida just came back from Harbin. She has had long standing problem with depression. Lately she is much better than many years ago. After all, her husband has chosen to return to this country after being away for at least 25 years abroad as an ex-pat manager.
Sheila was an IT expert turned homemaker since her husband makes a good living. She is a meticulous house keeper. While she was on the way to Aida's house after lunch, the latter mentioned that Sheila takes prescription drug to ward against panic attacks. I was shocked. While I have known for some time that she has had neurological concerns, I didn't realize that she was not coping with prolong stress.
Carrie is a very vocal and sociable person. She is bubbly and cheerful. However, my husband and I had lunch with her hubby not too long ago and Carrie's darling mentioned that she was having fits over the elder son's sabbatical break. We know that the young man was working while waiting to be accepted into graduate school. He was working in a completely different field to earn money for further studies. I can well understand the kind of strain he was under, working long hours in something he has absolutely no interest in. If he wanted a three-month break before another job or continuing his education, it is to be expected.
While I want to know how Carrie's elder son is doing, I did not want to bring up the explosive topic. I asked Aida and Sheila instead. Neither of them knew about the issue. Aida mentioned that her own problem was much worse than what Carrie faced. Aida's elder daughter has been working at a job that does not pay a living wage even though the young lady graduated as a medical tech. After much advertisement Aida sent to her daughter, the latter summoned Aida and husband for a conference. The daughter lives in a house the parents owned three hours away from the family home. For Chinese, such family meetings usually centred around a meal. The three some had lunch in a private room in a nice restaurant. Mom Aida walked out of the room to take an important call, she came back and saw her daughter crying.
The long and short of it was darling daughter wanted to leave that town and get a job in Singapore. She complained that her mum had been harassing her about resigning from her much loved job. Dad has been subsidising where her pay was not enough for her living standard. She has given notice and would leave that job at the end of the month. Now mom is the bad person that caused all the problem. Aida was very cool about it, she encouraged her husband to take a vacation with the daughter concerned. After all, the person who brought up children is usually the bad guy, the parent away seemed the good guy. She seemed to take all these in her stride, it is all in a day's work. It's quite ok her daughter is without a job. It's quite ok for her daughter to work any where she fancies, after all the girl is twenty five years old.
What I can't understand is why three women I spent 12 years with, relatively stable persons, all end up needing psychiatric medication after age 50. They are all good wives, good mothers and good friends to me. I suppose I am very fortunate that I have no complaints about any of my children. Neither do I need tranquilizer to get through the day and sleeping pill at night. Parenting could be hazardous.
(1085) Sweet, sour and spicy fish
Place: Sungai Bakap rest stop on the North-south Highway, South bound
Food: Nasi Gulai Ikan
Cook: Encik Ahmad
I've enjoyed the sweet and sour and slightly spicy fried fish in red sauce with white rice.
This blog is not about food. This dish brought back memories during my stint as a software trainer in the centre of Kuala Lumpur. I was paid one thousand two hundred in 1984-1985. During those days I commuted to work on pink mini buses. It was customary to stuff in as many passengers as possible in the tiny bus. Any one taller than 5 feet 2 inches could not stand up straight in the bus. Many dashing young males would hang on as "heroes" at the door so that they need not bend their lanky frames. These mini bus drivers were often as fast as grand prix drivers, each journey was more exciting than the last. Strange that I had not seen nor experienced any accident involving mini buses for a period of a few years.
It was difficult to survive on that amount of money for the first six months. I had to be very careful with lunches so as to save money to buy the right type of working outfits. Transportation cost was fixed. Most days I would pack cheap lunches from the food stalls in the side lanes. Malay food was a good choice. A pack of white rice with fried egg, one veg and some spicy sauce would cost $2.50. Once a week, usually on a Friday, I would treat myself to Gulai Ikan. It was the high light of the week. After all, on Saturday and Sunday my parents would feed me.
I was above 21, single and enjoyed my work. Once I accumulated five sets of working attire, life is a little easier. I just had to watch my court shoes (close toe) and make sure I purchase the next pair before the only pair I owned expired.
During this period of time, I met my husband when I went to train a bunch of engineers in a factory in the free trade zone. Thinking back, I wondered why I have not had the opportunity of eating Gulai Ikan since 1985. Perhaps because once I got married, I started my cooking adventure in the different kitchens through the years. Perhaps, cost was no longer a factor on the rare occasions we ate out.
Food: Nasi Gulai Ikan
Cook: Encik Ahmad
I've enjoyed the sweet and sour and slightly spicy fried fish in red sauce with white rice.
This blog is not about food. This dish brought back memories during my stint as a software trainer in the centre of Kuala Lumpur. I was paid one thousand two hundred in 1984-1985. During those days I commuted to work on pink mini buses. It was customary to stuff in as many passengers as possible in the tiny bus. Any one taller than 5 feet 2 inches could not stand up straight in the bus. Many dashing young males would hang on as "heroes" at the door so that they need not bend their lanky frames. These mini bus drivers were often as fast as grand prix drivers, each journey was more exciting than the last. Strange that I had not seen nor experienced any accident involving mini buses for a period of a few years.
It was difficult to survive on that amount of money for the first six months. I had to be very careful with lunches so as to save money to buy the right type of working outfits. Transportation cost was fixed. Most days I would pack cheap lunches from the food stalls in the side lanes. Malay food was a good choice. A pack of white rice with fried egg, one veg and some spicy sauce would cost $2.50. Once a week, usually on a Friday, I would treat myself to Gulai Ikan. It was the high light of the week. After all, on Saturday and Sunday my parents would feed me.
I was above 21, single and enjoyed my work. Once I accumulated five sets of working attire, life is a little easier. I just had to watch my court shoes (close toe) and make sure I purchase the next pair before the only pair I owned expired.
During this period of time, I met my husband when I went to train a bunch of engineers in a factory in the free trade zone. Thinking back, I wondered why I have not had the opportunity of eating Gulai Ikan since 1985. Perhaps because once I got married, I started my cooking adventure in the different kitchens through the years. Perhaps, cost was no longer a factor on the rare occasions we ate out.
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
(1084) Eating the right food as medical therapy
Noodle Town
No 15 Jalan USJ 1/1A
Regalia Business Centre
Subang Jaya
I had bitter melon noodle there this evening. It happened to be one of the best I have had in the Klang valley.
No. I did not go into the business of drumming business for restaurants. Ever since the month I started to work in north eastern Borneo, I have been eating bitter melon at least twice a week. While I was working as a contract lecturer there, I was having chest pain. Since I dread going for check up, I prayed that God would send an "angel" to tell me what to eat to get rid of the pain.
That very Sunday, I was having lunch with a bunch of church members. The English Pastor's elderly widowed aunt talked to me out of the blue about the efficacy of bitter melon. She was a prayer warrior in her mid-eighties. Her idea of leisure is to read Chinese medical books. She gave me a comprehensive lecture on what bitter melon could do for my good health, the talk lasted more than an hour.
I may be a lazy person, but I am very obedient. From that day onward, I have been consuming bitter melon in different forms. In Sabah, one could eat bitter melon stuffed with fresh fish meat -- called yong tau foo as a collective name-- every morning in many places. So, I started out eating two pieces every morning with whatever breakfast I chose: rice, porridge or noodle. Lo and behold, two weeks later, the pain was gone. As long as I eat four pieces of bitter melon stuffed with fish meat every week, there was no pain.
A few years later, I found out from taking cat scan and MRI that there was scarring tissue in my lungs, probably due to excessive coughing caused by haze. I still eat bitter melon a few times a week in my home state. And I know that I would probably have better health and live longer in a rural area than in a polluted metropolitan city.
Hence, Borneo is a very attractive place for me now.
No 15 Jalan USJ 1/1A
Regalia Business Centre
Subang Jaya
I had bitter melon noodle there this evening. It happened to be one of the best I have had in the Klang valley.
No. I did not go into the business of drumming business for restaurants. Ever since the month I started to work in north eastern Borneo, I have been eating bitter melon at least twice a week. While I was working as a contract lecturer there, I was having chest pain. Since I dread going for check up, I prayed that God would send an "angel" to tell me what to eat to get rid of the pain.
That very Sunday, I was having lunch with a bunch of church members. The English Pastor's elderly widowed aunt talked to me out of the blue about the efficacy of bitter melon. She was a prayer warrior in her mid-eighties. Her idea of leisure is to read Chinese medical books. She gave me a comprehensive lecture on what bitter melon could do for my good health, the talk lasted more than an hour.
I may be a lazy person, but I am very obedient. From that day onward, I have been consuming bitter melon in different forms. In Sabah, one could eat bitter melon stuffed with fresh fish meat -- called yong tau foo as a collective name-- every morning in many places. So, I started out eating two pieces every morning with whatever breakfast I chose: rice, porridge or noodle. Lo and behold, two weeks later, the pain was gone. As long as I eat four pieces of bitter melon stuffed with fish meat every week, there was no pain.
A few years later, I found out from taking cat scan and MRI that there was scarring tissue in my lungs, probably due to excessive coughing caused by haze. I still eat bitter melon a few times a week in my home state. And I know that I would probably have better health and live longer in a rural area than in a polluted metropolitan city.
Hence, Borneo is a very attractive place for me now.
Monday, April 8, 2019
(1083) Life's challenges
The first few years I came back to the capital city, I was listening to two ladies. One you have read about in the last blog.
The other travels between Thailand and my city. I guess any person who marries a foreigner takes a chance of having to choose between two countries. I almost did that. Had I stayed on in Texas after college, I could have ended up marrying a naval pilot many years ago.
My friend seemed to have improved from her difficult days for years. She reconciled with her husband and children. She was lucky to be able to keep her own home in her hometown and divide her time between her marital and her personal home.
Her son is working and her daughter will be going to work on her second tertiary qualification. Things sound ideal. Yet she is unhappy. After 34 years, I was shocked when I realized she was not even a permanent resident of her husband's country today. She did not renew it after some misunderstanding.
After thousands of hours of listening, I finally realized her real problem is not her husband. I am not saying that he is perfect. But the central issue is her clinginess to her children. Until she is happy with herself and builds her own life apart from her husband and children, she would be lost.
Yet, I don't know how to tell her without hurting her. After all, I am not a counsellor. My policy is I listen and I empathize, I don't give advice. Therefore I do not plan to tell her anything. It is a good thing that she has other friends. Once I fly to Borneo for a few months, she probably would not call me. I have come so far with her, she has to advance with others from now on.
The other travels between Thailand and my city. I guess any person who marries a foreigner takes a chance of having to choose between two countries. I almost did that. Had I stayed on in Texas after college, I could have ended up marrying a naval pilot many years ago.
My friend seemed to have improved from her difficult days for years. She reconciled with her husband and children. She was lucky to be able to keep her own home in her hometown and divide her time between her marital and her personal home.
Her son is working and her daughter will be going to work on her second tertiary qualification. Things sound ideal. Yet she is unhappy. After 34 years, I was shocked when I realized she was not even a permanent resident of her husband's country today. She did not renew it after some misunderstanding.
After thousands of hours of listening, I finally realized her real problem is not her husband. I am not saying that he is perfect. But the central issue is her clinginess to her children. Until she is happy with herself and builds her own life apart from her husband and children, she would be lost.
Yet, I don't know how to tell her without hurting her. After all, I am not a counsellor. My policy is I listen and I empathize, I don't give advice. Therefore I do not plan to tell her anything. It is a good thing that she has other friends. Once I fly to Borneo for a few months, she probably would not call me. I have come so far with her, she has to advance with others from now on.
(1082) Getting ready to return to Borneo
I just had a 48 hour visit with a long time friend. I listened to her for at least seven years through her darkest hours.
She is happy. Her life is full. I enjoyed the peace and comfort I felt in the old double storey link house she slowly converted into a rooming house. Her son who worked in Singapore sent her a stipend. She stays for free as her tenants more than covered her rental, water and electric bills. She is 18 credits away from obtaining her Masters Degree. Not bad for a 53 year old single mother. I am very pleased for her progress. As I am waiting for a sign to go for a writing break in Borneo, I want to be sure she is alright.
When I was in hospital recovering from a serious illness, I met this lady (who was a perfect stranger up to that moment) who transports special children in her van. When she heard that I blog about special children, she asked me if I have a Chinese blog site. I don't. That was two years ago. I felt bad about denying the Chinese speaking community a chance to read my blogs. Yet I am totally out of touch. For I don't even sms in Chinese because I don't know much about Han Yu Pin Yin.
Recently I thought of the idea of pod-casting in Mandarin. My technical advisor is in Borneo. In a few days' time I may be able to get some much needed advice from a friendly software engineer. Who knows, I may be able to slowly provide a listening side to this blog.
My dear friend from the hospital in Putrajaya or her daughter who is English speaking, by August I hope to have a voice translation of my special education blog. When that happens, I hope that what little I know might be of help to the Chinese speaking community at large.
She is happy. Her life is full. I enjoyed the peace and comfort I felt in the old double storey link house she slowly converted into a rooming house. Her son who worked in Singapore sent her a stipend. She stays for free as her tenants more than covered her rental, water and electric bills. She is 18 credits away from obtaining her Masters Degree. Not bad for a 53 year old single mother. I am very pleased for her progress. As I am waiting for a sign to go for a writing break in Borneo, I want to be sure she is alright.
When I was in hospital recovering from a serious illness, I met this lady (who was a perfect stranger up to that moment) who transports special children in her van. When she heard that I blog about special children, she asked me if I have a Chinese blog site. I don't. That was two years ago. I felt bad about denying the Chinese speaking community a chance to read my blogs. Yet I am totally out of touch. For I don't even sms in Chinese because I don't know much about Han Yu Pin Yin.
Recently I thought of the idea of pod-casting in Mandarin. My technical advisor is in Borneo. In a few days' time I may be able to get some much needed advice from a friendly software engineer. Who knows, I may be able to slowly provide a listening side to this blog.
My dear friend from the hospital in Putrajaya or her daughter who is English speaking, by August I hope to have a voice translation of my special education blog. When that happens, I hope that what little I know might be of help to the Chinese speaking community at large.
Thursday, April 4, 2019
(1081) Human Nature
A friend from Singapore mentioned she stopped volunteering at a second hand store after two years.
There is politics involved in the management and cliques among the volunteers. She helped there because she had free time and liked working with one particular volunteer for her choice of time-slot.
When she realized how a group ganged up against her because she was naïve and assumed everyone was as honest as she was, she ran away like a bolt of lightning.
She remembered how a middle-age man walked in and had a look on all the items offered. My friend's buddy asked if he found anything he liked. He said in an even tone of voice, " Well. As I expected, there is really nothing worth buying. If anything good comes in, it would have been snapped up by some volunteers."
My friend's buddy was equal to any accusation. She answered sweetly, " No. That is not true. I live in a tiny little apartment, if what you said is so, my pad would be filled to overflowing. Thank you for visiting." She opened the door very politely and smiled at him as he walked out.
What my friend learned is that human nature is such that often what others thought the worst is really true. What I learned from my 10 hours of volunteering is when items which are exceptionally good come through my hands, I would take the trouble to give it to the poor directly rather than dropping them at the recycling centre. Therefore I would go through lots of trouble to ensure that such items would not fall into the hands of some Mrs BMW.
There is politics involved in the management and cliques among the volunteers. She helped there because she had free time and liked working with one particular volunteer for her choice of time-slot.
When she realized how a group ganged up against her because she was naïve and assumed everyone was as honest as she was, she ran away like a bolt of lightning.
She remembered how a middle-age man walked in and had a look on all the items offered. My friend's buddy asked if he found anything he liked. He said in an even tone of voice, " Well. As I expected, there is really nothing worth buying. If anything good comes in, it would have been snapped up by some volunteers."
My friend's buddy was equal to any accusation. She answered sweetly, " No. That is not true. I live in a tiny little apartment, if what you said is so, my pad would be filled to overflowing. Thank you for visiting." She opened the door very politely and smiled at him as he walked out.
What my friend learned is that human nature is such that often what others thought the worst is really true. What I learned from my 10 hours of volunteering is when items which are exceptionally good come through my hands, I would take the trouble to give it to the poor directly rather than dropping them at the recycling centre. Therefore I would go through lots of trouble to ensure that such items would not fall into the hands of some Mrs BMW.
(1080) Volunteering at a community recycling centre
When my youngest daughter went to volunteer at a recycling centre to fulfil her 10 hour community service requirement of a university course, I tagged along and served out of partly being curious and a little of "nosy parkerism".
Here I must state that I greatly admire the work these dedicated volunteers do in my neighbourhood. They sell donated clothes at nominal prices to refugees and illegal immigrants. There is a van that sell second hand but serviceable shoes and slippers in poor areas of town during week day working hours. I heard that volunteers would drive to other states in poor little towns to sell whatever items donated but not saleable in the city. Interestingly such items include clothes, shoes, household tools, kitchen implements, travel cases, children's toys ...
It was quite a few years ago, at least six. As far as I remember I worked three 4 hour shifts in the mornings. Most volunteers appeared promptly at eight am in front of the shop lot. The key holder opened up the place and assigned the various volunteers to different stations. I was placed in the section to process white and black paper. All the other ladies are regulars and for them it was a social occasion. At 8:30am a big size commanding looking woman got out of a big BMW with an Indonesian maid in tow. She was assigned next to me working coloured printed glossy paper. We tore the donated paper into small shreds with gloved hands. Each of us wore masks over our noses and mouths for hygienic reasons.
After an hour or so different things came in from the locked recycle boxes after they were sorted by the leader (key holder) and his team. (My daughter as a university student was placed there for an overview of the entire recycling effort) A small bag of clothes came in, the holder gave it to me to put in the bin right behind me in the shelves. Before I could throw it in, Mrs BMW asked for it. She threw the content out and looked over all the items. They were lovely and expensive sports wear: tennis skirts, golf shirts, yoga tights, leotards for ballet ... all kinds of colours and of well-known brands, every single one of them in small size. She took eight of the twelve items for various individuals of her vast extended family as a matter of her right. Nobody in the room bat an eye lid. I was watching closely every movement and listening avidly to every word uttered and inferring expressions not verbalised.
At 11:30 am the car came for the duo and the lady in charged of food deferentially invited her to pack fried beehoon (a form of rice noodle) and liquid dessert (red bean soup) before leaving. For the rest of us mortals, tea break is at 12 pm. As a total stranger, I must say that the people in charged are extremely polite and nice to me and my daughter. My daughter and I enjoyed the treats tremendously. This organisation is an off shoot from a group in Taiwan. They are serious Buddhists and life long vegetarians.
This event happened so very long ago that I have well forgotten it. What triggered the memory I will write as the next blog.
Here I must state that I greatly admire the work these dedicated volunteers do in my neighbourhood. They sell donated clothes at nominal prices to refugees and illegal immigrants. There is a van that sell second hand but serviceable shoes and slippers in poor areas of town during week day working hours. I heard that volunteers would drive to other states in poor little towns to sell whatever items donated but not saleable in the city. Interestingly such items include clothes, shoes, household tools, kitchen implements, travel cases, children's toys ...
It was quite a few years ago, at least six. As far as I remember I worked three 4 hour shifts in the mornings. Most volunteers appeared promptly at eight am in front of the shop lot. The key holder opened up the place and assigned the various volunteers to different stations. I was placed in the section to process white and black paper. All the other ladies are regulars and for them it was a social occasion. At 8:30am a big size commanding looking woman got out of a big BMW with an Indonesian maid in tow. She was assigned next to me working coloured printed glossy paper. We tore the donated paper into small shreds with gloved hands. Each of us wore masks over our noses and mouths for hygienic reasons.
After an hour or so different things came in from the locked recycle boxes after they were sorted by the leader (key holder) and his team. (My daughter as a university student was placed there for an overview of the entire recycling effort) A small bag of clothes came in, the holder gave it to me to put in the bin right behind me in the shelves. Before I could throw it in, Mrs BMW asked for it. She threw the content out and looked over all the items. They were lovely and expensive sports wear: tennis skirts, golf shirts, yoga tights, leotards for ballet ... all kinds of colours and of well-known brands, every single one of them in small size. She took eight of the twelve items for various individuals of her vast extended family as a matter of her right. Nobody in the room bat an eye lid. I was watching closely every movement and listening avidly to every word uttered and inferring expressions not verbalised.
At 11:30 am the car came for the duo and the lady in charged of food deferentially invited her to pack fried beehoon (a form of rice noodle) and liquid dessert (red bean soup) before leaving. For the rest of us mortals, tea break is at 12 pm. As a total stranger, I must say that the people in charged are extremely polite and nice to me and my daughter. My daughter and I enjoyed the treats tremendously. This organisation is an off shoot from a group in Taiwan. They are serious Buddhists and life long vegetarians.
This event happened so very long ago that I have well forgotten it. What triggered the memory I will write as the next blog.
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