In this town, rubbish collection is centralised. There is one or two collection points in one housing estate, depending on the size of the area.
When I first moved here, I was pleased that the point is within walking distance from my residence. For the first week, I would wake up at 6:10 am and would get outdoor by 6:30 am. It is natural to throw the rubbish before I get my breakfast. I did that until the soup noodle waitress told me gently and tactfully that nobody in this town would visit the rubbish collection point that early.
Well, I stopped leaving that early. It is not because I have any fears of my safety walking around before the sun rays hit my skin. I figure: when in Rome, do as the Romans. From all my early walks, I have only met folks walking to the bus stop on the main road. There were maids sharing a heavy load to tip out at the dumpster. Once there were two native boys, tidily dressed with packed lunch and bottles of drinking water, going to work at some manual labour. Of course every morning I see the sweepers in fluorescent uniforms who were busy sweeping.
What really shocked me was an entire family, from wiry father in his twenties, to pregnant mother in her late teens and teenage pretty girl in her head scarf, to children of different ages and sexes were grubbing at the dump site. I presumed they live at the single room beside the car wash facility - I counted eight of them.
My son told me those are the undocumented aliens. The only way they could earn their daily bread was to collect and sell the recyclable rescued from the dumpsters. I asked how come there is no one above 35 years old. He said the content of the batteries or other high tech stuff probably killed those who habitually handle such toxic things without gloves, barrier overalls or face/nose masks.
I mulled on what I heard and seen. For now, I segregate the recyclables from garbage-a small step to assist the task of recycling.
Sunday, September 1, 2019
(1147) The Marble Collector by Cecelia Ahern
This is a delightful tale told in a breath-taking manner. When my brothers were young, I remember at least two marble seasons. We were poor then. The boys in the neighbourhood played with clay marbles. There were no tar roads in the housing estate during that era. We lived in one unit among the rows of tiny wooden houses built on land owned by one individual. My grandma used to pay $3 per month to the landlord. When my father bought a brick house, my grandma sold the wooden house for $3,000, she signed the sale and purchase document with an X in front of a local Justice of Peace with the lawyer and the purchaser in attendance.
Those houses were condemned and taken down years ago. A few years after 1969(the year my family moved away), most of our old neighbours moved out after us too. The area then became a place for housing foreign workers.
I have not visited my childhood haunt for years. The only landmark remaining is my first Primary school. Along the Old Klang Road, 4 1/2 Mile is almost the mid point between Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya. Folks value the location for its proximity to the two cities.
Those houses were condemned and taken down years ago. A few years after 1969(the year my family moved away), most of our old neighbours moved out after us too. The area then became a place for housing foreign workers.
I have not visited my childhood haunt for years. The only landmark remaining is my first Primary school. Along the Old Klang Road, 4 1/2 Mile is almost the mid point between Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya. Folks value the location for its proximity to the two cities.
(1146) Glue sniffers
One day I walked past a pizza joint and saw five tweens and teens crashed higgledy-piggledy on slabs of carton pieces along the side walk on the shaded side away from the elements.
It was a school day. All of them, judging on their heights and sizes, should be in school. No, those are not illegal immigrants. They are not even documented workers' children. Apparently each one has a home somewhere. There are fathers and mothers. At night they go home. It was only between 8am to 5pm that they sleep along the side walks of commercial areas.
My land lady said that those throwaway kids have been sniffing glue for many years. They were stunted, some could be as old as past their twenties but look like twelve year olds. Poor diets, damaged brain cells, compromised respiratory systems by toxic fumes prevented them from growing to their full potential sizes.
Strangely, each one of the five were well dressed. Perhaps a little scruffy due to the lack of hygiene amenities. One small (about nine years old by size) boy has his hair dyed blond.
As far as I could see without staring, they were all boys. Assuming those I talked to were right, these are local children - perhaps they are of Malay parentage or are native descended. They are too fair to be Indians or Africans, yet too dark to be Chinese or even Kadazans. If they are locals, then they have identity cards. Even if they missed the academic trains in schools, they could work legally. For basic, low wage jobs, it is an employees' market. Business owners find it very difficult to get workers with documents. Jobs go begging for takers.
Perhaps it is easier to beg for fifty cents here and a dollar there. Or with the tiny bodies, it is possible to squeeze into business buildings or homes to steal computers and flat screen TVs.
It was a school day. All of them, judging on their heights and sizes, should be in school. No, those are not illegal immigrants. They are not even documented workers' children. Apparently each one has a home somewhere. There are fathers and mothers. At night they go home. It was only between 8am to 5pm that they sleep along the side walks of commercial areas.
My land lady said that those throwaway kids have been sniffing glue for many years. They were stunted, some could be as old as past their twenties but look like twelve year olds. Poor diets, damaged brain cells, compromised respiratory systems by toxic fumes prevented them from growing to their full potential sizes.
Strangely, each one of the five were well dressed. Perhaps a little scruffy due to the lack of hygiene amenities. One small (about nine years old by size) boy has his hair dyed blond.
As far as I could see without staring, they were all boys. Assuming those I talked to were right, these are local children - perhaps they are of Malay parentage or are native descended. They are too fair to be Indians or Africans, yet too dark to be Chinese or even Kadazans. If they are locals, then they have identity cards. Even if they missed the academic trains in schools, they could work legally. For basic, low wage jobs, it is an employees' market. Business owners find it very difficult to get workers with documents. Jobs go begging for takers.
Perhaps it is easier to beg for fifty cents here and a dollar there. Or with the tiny bodies, it is possible to squeeze into business buildings or homes to steal computers and flat screen TVs.
Saturday, August 31, 2019
(1145) Being vegetarian
I sat down with my dinner at a church pot bless. At the periphery of my sightline, I saw Elsa walking around the two tables laden with at least twenty variety of dishes. She was holding a plate filled with two scoops of white rice.
Elsa's mum is a vegetarian. Her dad practises a see-food-eat-food diet. Elsa is short and slight for her age. She could probably help herself to the food stuff at the side of the big rectangular buffet tables. Definitely she could not reach what were placed in the inner reaches of the long and wide space.
Interestingly no one walk up to help her. I did think about rising to offer some help but she disappeared from the serving area momentarily. Shortly after that some one sat down next to me and we started an interesting conversation.
Personally I don't eat chicken. Neither do I cook chicken dishes. Yet my husband and children would eat their favourite fried chicken or curry chicken I bought for dinner at home now and then.
Of course the dynamix of each family is different. Elsa's mum observes a restricted dietary list. The son and the father are easy going and eat any food within sight. For Elsa, it was sad. She refused to eat what was served and would prefer to go hungry than give in.
I often wonder how my Chinese vegetarian friends train their children not to eat meat outside of home. One of my primary school classmates was born a Taoist but turned into a strict vegetarian Buddhist with the faith of a Taiwanese sect at the age of 21. Her husband joined her in terms of both religion and dietary practises after marriage. Her son never eat meat of any kind and he has been residing in New Zealand since age 12. He is past 30 years old now and is the dad of a 3 year old daughter. His wife is a vegetarian too.
Elsa's mum is a vegetarian. Her dad practises a see-food-eat-food diet. Elsa is short and slight for her age. She could probably help herself to the food stuff at the side of the big rectangular buffet tables. Definitely she could not reach what were placed in the inner reaches of the long and wide space.
Interestingly no one walk up to help her. I did think about rising to offer some help but she disappeared from the serving area momentarily. Shortly after that some one sat down next to me and we started an interesting conversation.
Personally I don't eat chicken. Neither do I cook chicken dishes. Yet my husband and children would eat their favourite fried chicken or curry chicken I bought for dinner at home now and then.
Of course the dynamix of each family is different. Elsa's mum observes a restricted dietary list. The son and the father are easy going and eat any food within sight. For Elsa, it was sad. She refused to eat what was served and would prefer to go hungry than give in.
I often wonder how my Chinese vegetarian friends train their children not to eat meat outside of home. One of my primary school classmates was born a Taoist but turned into a strict vegetarian Buddhist with the faith of a Taiwanese sect at the age of 21. Her husband joined her in terms of both religion and dietary practises after marriage. Her son never eat meat of any kind and he has been residing in New Zealand since age 12. He is past 30 years old now and is the dad of a 3 year old daughter. His wife is a vegetarian too.
Thursday, August 29, 2019
(1144) Missed the train
This is the third week my son and I attempt to teach a 16 year old young man English using the hearing route.
We borrow junior books from the library. At first I read and the student listens. If he does not ask any question, I then proceed to ask questions in Chinese or Malay. If he could answer them correctly then I know he understands at that reading level using the audio mode.
With suggestion from my son who has taught him for two years, I moved from nursery books to kindergarten level material. Slowly the books could be gauged to be Standard 3 in a Chinese school. Next I moved on to subject books like science and cartoon drawing manuals. Our student is artistic and could sketch quite well. Here we look at the pictures and talk about them in English.
During these three weeks of experimentation, I have established that he actually look at the shape of words, not the spelling. Hence for him, the look say method may work. I have been here about eight weeks. It took many weeks to gain trust. Apparently he was beaten badly by an ex-headmistress who tutored him for quite a few years before he came to be taught by my son. On the first day he saw me, he wanted to leave, two brothers who knew me from 5 years ago reassured him I don't punish people physically. He was still suspicious and asked if I was a friend of teacher Susan. Of course I wasn't, I am not a local person. He certainly went through trauma for his early years of education.
Bearing in mind I personally have no training, no talent to teach reading like this, everyday I pray about lessons and teaching methodology. Three days ago I kept having the impression of "conversations". I dug out a TOEFL listening script, my son and I chose a 2 minute conversation on him. It worked. Though he never attempted to speak anything more than one or two words in English at one time, he actually understood about 70% of the simulated conversation.
We borrow junior books from the library. At first I read and the student listens. If he does not ask any question, I then proceed to ask questions in Chinese or Malay. If he could answer them correctly then I know he understands at that reading level using the audio mode.
With suggestion from my son who has taught him for two years, I moved from nursery books to kindergarten level material. Slowly the books could be gauged to be Standard 3 in a Chinese school. Next I moved on to subject books like science and cartoon drawing manuals. Our student is artistic and could sketch quite well. Here we look at the pictures and talk about them in English.
During these three weeks of experimentation, I have established that he actually look at the shape of words, not the spelling. Hence for him, the look say method may work. I have been here about eight weeks. It took many weeks to gain trust. Apparently he was beaten badly by an ex-headmistress who tutored him for quite a few years before he came to be taught by my son. On the first day he saw me, he wanted to leave, two brothers who knew me from 5 years ago reassured him I don't punish people physically. He was still suspicious and asked if I was a friend of teacher Susan. Of course I wasn't, I am not a local person. He certainly went through trauma for his early years of education.
Bearing in mind I personally have no training, no talent to teach reading like this, everyday I pray about lessons and teaching methodology. Three days ago I kept having the impression of "conversations". I dug out a TOEFL listening script, my son and I chose a 2 minute conversation on him. It worked. Though he never attempted to speak anything more than one or two words in English at one time, he actually understood about 70% of the simulated conversation.
(1143) An Amazing Answer
At the end of this period, I received orders to return to my hometown. I packed and got rid of many items to fit the remaining household into two small rooms for my son. Return I did to a series of appointments and lengthy hospitalisation. I almost died with a skeletal 84 pounds but somehow it was not time to go yet. Almost two years to the day I was discharged from the hospital, I flew back to Seldorado because of a confirmation release of Malaysian $3,407. I prayed specifically for x amount of money and tell God that I would fly to join my son for a specific period of time. The condition is that the sum was to come from a totally unexpected source with no strings attached.
It was during my 2 years of absence that the object of this blog, my now 14 year old target of prayer, progressed from failing to the top class. According to my son, there are four classes, A, B, C and D. The student was in D class for Remove class (an extra year for Chinese Primary students who switched over to Malay Secondary School). By Form 2 he was in A class. I was utterly amazed that he was getting 78% for English and 81% for Maths during the last test. After learning Maths for 6 years in Chinese, he has to switch to learning Maths in Malay. I attribute the spectacular improvement because God answers prayers.
Now that I am back in Seldorado, my new targets for prayers are two biracial boys of 15 and 16 years old. Neither of them seem to be able to do automatic reading in Chinese, English and Malay. I doubt if either could pass any subjective test in any of the three languages at Grade 3 level. As the holy spirit whispers, I am attempting to lead them to read English in un orthodox ways. May God bless and multiply my efforts.
It was during my 2 years of absence that the object of this blog, my now 14 year old target of prayer, progressed from failing to the top class. According to my son, there are four classes, A, B, C and D. The student was in D class for Remove class (an extra year for Chinese Primary students who switched over to Malay Secondary School). By Form 2 he was in A class. I was utterly amazed that he was getting 78% for English and 81% for Maths during the last test. After learning Maths for 6 years in Chinese, he has to switch to learning Maths in Malay. I attribute the spectacular improvement because God answers prayers.
Now that I am back in Seldorado, my new targets for prayers are two biracial boys of 15 and 16 years old. Neither of them seem to be able to do automatic reading in Chinese, English and Malay. I doubt if either could pass any subjective test in any of the three languages at Grade 3 level. As the holy spirit whispers, I am attempting to lead them to read English in un orthodox ways. May God bless and multiply my efforts.
Monday, August 26, 2019
(1142) Suicidal boy
Five years ago I came to Seldorado with my son, he undertook a tuition group of six out of which there is a suicidal 11 year old boy. Suffice to say the great challenge is the "I want to die!" preteen who would vomit out of fright because a dragon dance troupe was practising within ear range. It is made of loud booms of drums and shrill cymbal clangs.
I worked out of my repertoire of twelve years of experience of teaching many types of mildly or severely challenged children. None of any methods I know worked with the 11 year old. He is fair skin, somewhat good looking in a Chinese way. When there was no loud noise, his heart would beat normally and he would pour out his grievances of being punished in school for untidy handwriting. Yes, I myself have written many pages of "I must write beautiful scripts" for various Chinese and English Grade School mistresses. At this stage of my life, most writing is done by computer and smart phone, it no longer mattered that I had a mild dash of dyspraxia(which is part of the symptoms of dyslexia).
An old lady who was a prayer warrior in my church heard my concerns and suggested that I spend serious time praying for these students in tongues weekly. That I did for slightly more than one year two months. On every Tuesday, from 5 to 7 am I would dutifully pray that every one of my son's students would live out the perfect will of God's plans for them. At 7:01 I would proceed downstairs to answer the hungry calls of my pet chickens in my 22x60 square feet backyard. I would cut the grass manually until the sun was too hot for outdoor activity.
To be continued ...
I worked out of my repertoire of twelve years of experience of teaching many types of mildly or severely challenged children. None of any methods I know worked with the 11 year old. He is fair skin, somewhat good looking in a Chinese way. When there was no loud noise, his heart would beat normally and he would pour out his grievances of being punished in school for untidy handwriting. Yes, I myself have written many pages of "I must write beautiful scripts" for various Chinese and English Grade School mistresses. At this stage of my life, most writing is done by computer and smart phone, it no longer mattered that I had a mild dash of dyspraxia(which is part of the symptoms of dyslexia).
An old lady who was a prayer warrior in my church heard my concerns and suggested that I spend serious time praying for these students in tongues weekly. That I did for slightly more than one year two months. On every Tuesday, from 5 to 7 am I would dutifully pray that every one of my son's students would live out the perfect will of God's plans for them. At 7:01 I would proceed downstairs to answer the hungry calls of my pet chickens in my 22x60 square feet backyard. I would cut the grass manually until the sun was too hot for outdoor activity.
To be continued ...
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
(1141) Chicken Haven
About twenty years after the experience of rearing chickens in Silver City, my son and I found ourselves a few hundred miles away in a big island in the town of Seldorado. We bought a few chicks available that are flown in from some city weekly, and we proceeded to rear chickens again. After two and a half years, we gathered eight hens who lay more than enough eggs for personal consumption. We would sell individual egg for $1.50 to church friends. But one month before either of us fly back to the Klang valley, we would save all the eggs to be hand carried back in the plane.
Then suddenly, my marching order arrived and I was to return to the home town. Within a month I gave away lots of stuff I accumulated over some twenty months. The hardest thing to part with were my healthy and good looking egg layers. Most of them were laying one egg per day. I prayed and told God I didn't know what to do with the hens, it would be such a pity to kill them. Three of them just started laying a week ago. There were to be about a productive two year period of egg laying. The following Sunday the quiet holy spirit whispered, " Go ask the lady who make tea if she keeps chickens." I was too shy and scared to ask, the moment passed.
The following week I turned up earlier in church and met that lady face to face in front of the kitchen. This time I drew enough courage and told her I have chickens to give away as I was leaving town. My son was going to move to the second floor of a shop lot and he could not keep pets. The next day we caught the chickens and kept them in rabbit cages and loaded three cages of 8 chickens in the back of our truck. We found that our new friend squat on the hilly slope of Trick Hills. They live in two small cottages on two levels of the 30 degrees slope. Their native black chickens live in "apartments": each hen has a room with one window and one door each. There were like twelve units on three floors. At a glance we know that any one of our fat chickens could not fit into any of the units.
Later we heard that the husband of our new friend is a carpenter. He was so tickled with the big fat hens that he used old lumber to build the eight hens a detached house coop. He placed the coop strategically to block the big hole in his old fence. I gave one condition before handing over the hens: the new owners should not kill any of the animals until it stopped laying eggs. As each of the chickens was given a name by Elizabeth, they should be allowed to live as long as they are productive layers. That was almost three years ago.
Last Sunday I met my friend and heard that there is one chicken left, it still is laying eggs. It warmed my heart that my God cared not only for me, He cared enough for my chickens to find them owners who would take care of them and let them live out their happy lives.
Then suddenly, my marching order arrived and I was to return to the home town. Within a month I gave away lots of stuff I accumulated over some twenty months. The hardest thing to part with were my healthy and good looking egg layers. Most of them were laying one egg per day. I prayed and told God I didn't know what to do with the hens, it would be such a pity to kill them. Three of them just started laying a week ago. There were to be about a productive two year period of egg laying. The following Sunday the quiet holy spirit whispered, " Go ask the lady who make tea if she keeps chickens." I was too shy and scared to ask, the moment passed.
The following week I turned up earlier in church and met that lady face to face in front of the kitchen. This time I drew enough courage and told her I have chickens to give away as I was leaving town. My son was going to move to the second floor of a shop lot and he could not keep pets. The next day we caught the chickens and kept them in rabbit cages and loaded three cages of 8 chickens in the back of our truck. We found that our new friend squat on the hilly slope of Trick Hills. They live in two small cottages on two levels of the 30 degrees slope. Their native black chickens live in "apartments": each hen has a room with one window and one door each. There were like twelve units on three floors. At a glance we know that any one of our fat chickens could not fit into any of the units.
Later we heard that the husband of our new friend is a carpenter. He was so tickled with the big fat hens that he used old lumber to build the eight hens a detached house coop. He placed the coop strategically to block the big hole in his old fence. I gave one condition before handing over the hens: the new owners should not kill any of the animals until it stopped laying eggs. As each of the chickens was given a name by Elizabeth, they should be allowed to live as long as they are productive layers. That was almost three years ago.
Last Sunday I met my friend and heard that there is one chicken left, it still is laying eggs. It warmed my heart that my God cared not only for me, He cared enough for my chickens to find them owners who would take care of them and let them live out their happy lives.
(1140) Gender of chicks
Hatching was a thin and bad-tempered female chicken. My family became its owner when we moved into a semi-detached house in Silver City. Around that time I befriended an old retired lady teacher whom I called Mrs Lee. She sold me fertilised eggs at $1.20 each. I bought six and Hatching jealously guarded her adopted eggs and hatched them day and night.
It was funny that Hatching insisted on hatching her eggs in the garden under the noni tree. I attempted to move those eggs to a sheltered spot in the porch but she refused to co-operate. My fingers and toes were pecked many a time in those attempts. As it rained often in Silver City towards the end of the year, only two eggs hatched 21 days later.
The two chicks were drop-dead cute. One is mostly white with yellow spots. The other is a dull brown with a few black spots. Kenneth wanted the white chick but Elizabeth won the right playing one-two-som. Using their right hands, players could choose to be scissors, rock or paper. Should scissors meet paper, scissors would win. If rock meets scissors, then rock wins. When paper meets rock, then paper wins. The white chick was named snow white. Elizabeth dreamed about the many eggs to come out of snow white. She eats two half boiled eggs every morning. Three months later, we slowly realized that snow white was not a female.
Since we then lived within the city limits, actually we were not supposed to have chickens in our garden. But since the neighbours were so very agreeable and did not complain, we do not keep the loud cocks. Accordingly snow white at first crow was given to our right hand neighbour to slaughter. You see, there are many privileges of tolerating eccentric neighbours keeping chickens. I seemed to remember a few pieces of choice meat came back as curry chicken. Only my husband who usually ignored the chickens had the heart to eat those chicken pieces.
It was funny that Hatching insisted on hatching her eggs in the garden under the noni tree. I attempted to move those eggs to a sheltered spot in the porch but she refused to co-operate. My fingers and toes were pecked many a time in those attempts. As it rained often in Silver City towards the end of the year, only two eggs hatched 21 days later.
The two chicks were drop-dead cute. One is mostly white with yellow spots. The other is a dull brown with a few black spots. Kenneth wanted the white chick but Elizabeth won the right playing one-two-som. Using their right hands, players could choose to be scissors, rock or paper. Should scissors meet paper, scissors would win. If rock meets scissors, then rock wins. When paper meets rock, then paper wins. The white chick was named snow white. Elizabeth dreamed about the many eggs to come out of snow white. She eats two half boiled eggs every morning. Three months later, we slowly realized that snow white was not a female.
Since we then lived within the city limits, actually we were not supposed to have chickens in our garden. But since the neighbours were so very agreeable and did not complain, we do not keep the loud cocks. Accordingly snow white at first crow was given to our right hand neighbour to slaughter. You see, there are many privileges of tolerating eccentric neighbours keeping chickens. I seemed to remember a few pieces of choice meat came back as curry chicken. Only my husband who usually ignored the chickens had the heart to eat those chicken pieces.
(1139) Two Chickens
When we moved to a house in Solok Mansion, there were two chickens left by the previous tenants. One of them was black and the other is brown. We named the first Black Chicken and the second Hatching. The latter one was predictably wanting to hatch after every clutch of eggs. Nothing would get it out of the stupor of wanting to appropriate any egg in sight for hatching.
Until that month, we knew nothing about live chickens. But soon we realized what efficient garbage disposal machines they are. Apart from onion skin, just about any scraps from the kitchen were fair game for the chickens to eat. If there were eight adult chickens in the garden, they would run and rush at any scraps. Even fish heads were pecked at until only the biggest part of the head bone would be left like a miss shaped round pearl. Back bones would be pecked and repeated hitting actions would reduce it to small bones and therefore would be swallowed.
Once my husband threw out half a watermelon that was scooped out. A few hours later the red parts were eaten with gusto. Even the white part of the flesh was soon eaten, all that was left was the green skin, it soon dried up and became wrinkled bits. For as long as we were in that house, there was no kitchen waste. My trash was really all dry as the troop of chickens cleared up any food remnants.
Until that month, we knew nothing about live chickens. But soon we realized what efficient garbage disposal machines they are. Apart from onion skin, just about any scraps from the kitchen were fair game for the chickens to eat. If there were eight adult chickens in the garden, they would run and rush at any scraps. Even fish heads were pecked at until only the biggest part of the head bone would be left like a miss shaped round pearl. Back bones would be pecked and repeated hitting actions would reduce it to small bones and therefore would be swallowed.
Once my husband threw out half a watermelon that was scooped out. A few hours later the red parts were eaten with gusto. Even the white part of the flesh was soon eaten, all that was left was the green skin, it soon dried up and became wrinkled bits. For as long as we were in that house, there was no kitchen waste. My trash was really all dry as the troop of chickens cleared up any food remnants.
Friday, August 9, 2019
(1138) Life-time jobs
My first assignment was to take over an Arts remedial English class until the end of the semester. It was in a medium-size lecture hall. There were about twenty rows of seats in the form of wooden benches rising from the front to the back. Ninety per cent of the students in front were girls in black, literally head cover that falls to their knees and they wore a black robe that cover them such that I can't see their slippers. Once they sat down, I could see flowery and colourful cloth peeping out from under the robe. Most of the guys were at the back of the lecture hall, sometimes I see a few colourfully clad girls sitting at the back but a few seats from the guys.
My first lesson, I did try to invite the back benchers down to the middle of the hall. Try as I might, they refused to come down. Using my voice projection, I doubted if they could hear me from 35 feet away and forty feet higher than my teacher's platform. By the second lesson, I realized that they were there to earn their 80% attendance to allow them to sit for their final examination. Therefore I concentrated on the front students and slowly teach them, not attempting to finish every teaching goal but rather make sure they understand and really learn something new every single lesson. That goal must have led those majority number to perform well, much to my surprise, I was invited back the following semester as a regular part-timer.
It was interesting to find that those back benchers were all scholarship holders. They seemed to see English as a source of corruption, therefore they refused to be corrupted. Anyway, they were going to become Government servants and need not speak a word of English in their daily work. I elect to leave them alone, well, they are well set for life. There is no need to teach a second language to them who have the guarantee of a life time promise of employment.
My first lesson, I did try to invite the back benchers down to the middle of the hall. Try as I might, they refused to come down. Using my voice projection, I doubted if they could hear me from 35 feet away and forty feet higher than my teacher's platform. By the second lesson, I realized that they were there to earn their 80% attendance to allow them to sit for their final examination. Therefore I concentrated on the front students and slowly teach them, not attempting to finish every teaching goal but rather make sure they understand and really learn something new every single lesson. That goal must have led those majority number to perform well, much to my surprise, I was invited back the following semester as a regular part-timer.
It was interesting to find that those back benchers were all scholarship holders. They seemed to see English as a source of corruption, therefore they refused to be corrupted. Anyway, they were going to become Government servants and need not speak a word of English in their daily work. I elect to leave them alone, well, they are well set for life. There is no need to teach a second language to them who have the guarantee of a life time promise of employment.
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
(1137) Teaching days
I was teaching computer systems and methods in Help Institute. While the school of computer was having a break, the secretarial head who was combative and controlling thought I was too free and spending too much time reading in the college library. She conscripted me to teach remedial English to her girls. Out of the tiny library, I checked out two English reference books. Neither of them was useful as the students' grammar was atrocious. In the end two of my colleagues from the English Department was kind to loan me their extra exercises with answers.
Of many people, none would see me as an English teacher. In the first place, I started out in a Chinese medium primary school. Secondly, at age thirteen I could not string a simple sentence in English to ask a direct question on my first day in my secondary school. Looking back, that shrewd lady did me a great favour while she was bullying me. She backed me into a corner and I had to perform the seemingly impossible.
.....................................
Less than a year later, I resigned and applied to a Master's program. At six month pregnant, I applied for a part-time job teaching English in the Arts Faculty of Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. As the original teacher went into the hospital for an emergency operation that would put her out of action for at least six weeks, I was the only candidate at one day's notice. At this point I must mention that even though I majored in Science, my small college only offered Bachelor of Arts. Looking at my B.A. Honours in my college diploma, the Chairman asked, " Where did you teach English last?" "Help." In a sense it was a truthful answer. I was accepted on a temporary basis until the end of the semester.
It was actually quite a hilarious journey. I was just one lesson ahead of my year one Arts students. Half an hour before class, Rachel or Nicole took turns to coach me for at least one month until I could figure out how to use the Teacher's copy. There were three books, yellow , red and green. I was in my first year of marriage, as green and game as another young person. I thought, "Since my English is better than the students, with some preparation I surely could swing it." Thank goodness there were lesson plans, teaching goals, texts, questions, exercises, home work, as well as answers printed in a most easy to use manner. Thus that was the real beginning of me becoming an English teacher.
Of many people, none would see me as an English teacher. In the first place, I started out in a Chinese medium primary school. Secondly, at age thirteen I could not string a simple sentence in English to ask a direct question on my first day in my secondary school. Looking back, that shrewd lady did me a great favour while she was bullying me. She backed me into a corner and I had to perform the seemingly impossible.
.....................................
Less than a year later, I resigned and applied to a Master's program. At six month pregnant, I applied for a part-time job teaching English in the Arts Faculty of Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. As the original teacher went into the hospital for an emergency operation that would put her out of action for at least six weeks, I was the only candidate at one day's notice. At this point I must mention that even though I majored in Science, my small college only offered Bachelor of Arts. Looking at my B.A. Honours in my college diploma, the Chairman asked, " Where did you teach English last?" "Help." In a sense it was a truthful answer. I was accepted on a temporary basis until the end of the semester.
It was actually quite a hilarious journey. I was just one lesson ahead of my year one Arts students. Half an hour before class, Rachel or Nicole took turns to coach me for at least one month until I could figure out how to use the Teacher's copy. There were three books, yellow , red and green. I was in my first year of marriage, as green and game as another young person. I thought, "Since my English is better than the students, with some preparation I surely could swing it." Thank goodness there were lesson plans, teaching goals, texts, questions, exercises, home work, as well as answers printed in a most easy to use manner. Thus that was the real beginning of me becoming an English teacher.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
(1136) chili mania
I was sitting in my alternate breakfast place at 6:30 am (the sun rises at 5:45am this part of the year) looking at a bowl of bland healthy looking dry rice noodle in a few drops of onion oil and black sauce. In my hometown I would be given a tiny saucer of pickle chili in soy sauce. Here I look at a small container of self serve watery chili sauce in vinegar.
A few years back I was feeling so deprived that I dreamed of chili padi(tiny green spicy chili pepper) at night. Normally I don't eat much spicy food. But after about eight months of bland Cantonese cooking, I yearned for hot spicy chili. I went to the local Giant looking for raw chili pepper. Would you believe it? Eleven tiny chili padi was labelled at $3.93. In the end I didn't buy. A week later I flew back to my hometown and collected every piece of chili served to take home to be consumed at my leisure. My daughter Elizabeth couldn't believe her eyes, I would take a small container whenever we eat out so I could build a collection of raw chili pieces in soy sauce in the freezer. That continued for weeks. It is strange that one misses some food type when we move far to another town or state.
This trip I intend to buy some bottle chili sambal (chili paste made from a recipe that includes belachan - dried small prawns) way before the total depravation state.
A few years back I was feeling so deprived that I dreamed of chili padi(tiny green spicy chili pepper) at night. Normally I don't eat much spicy food. But after about eight months of bland Cantonese cooking, I yearned for hot spicy chili. I went to the local Giant looking for raw chili pepper. Would you believe it? Eleven tiny chili padi was labelled at $3.93. In the end I didn't buy. A week later I flew back to my hometown and collected every piece of chili served to take home to be consumed at my leisure. My daughter Elizabeth couldn't believe her eyes, I would take a small container whenever we eat out so I could build a collection of raw chili pieces in soy sauce in the freezer. That continued for weeks. It is strange that one misses some food type when we move far to another town or state.
This trip I intend to buy some bottle chili sambal (chili paste made from a recipe that includes belachan - dried small prawns) way before the total depravation state.
Monday, August 5, 2019
(1135) shop lifting
I was reading girl talk by Lois Walfrid Johnson. There is a story in there that talked about shop lifting.
Many years ago I had a brush with that. I saw a classmate steal a handkerchief with the help of another friend. That was way before CCTV became a standard feature in all supermarkets.
Naturally I was confused and I chose to tell my mum about it. She gave me advice on choosing not to accompany them shopping. I remembered going swimming and watching the Saturday morning cheap cinema show with them once or twice more. Slowly we drifted apart.
The girl who took the handkerchief had a traumatic teenage life. She was devastated when her mom wanted to send her to a public school. My friend wanted her mom to send her to the private school her twin sisters went to. In a fit of anger, she tore her school leaving certificate . Her mom and dad were too busy or too disappointed to help her apply for a replacement. She stopped school.
At age sixteen she became pregnant and she married her present husband. She went through a tough time raising up two sons and a daughter in a big extended family. She is a strong person and could weather all kinds of insults and slights.
With her husband working for his elder brother in the family car accessory shop, at least it was a financially stable life. She gained the favour of her father-in-law and was given the back half of a house to stay in rent free. When her two boys were off her hands, she started a shop. She took care of marketing while her husband managed the service end. When we met again, she was a business woman but I was a homemaker. She was the one to advise me not to get into any business venture. As she used the proverb that said she was sitting on top of a tiger's back, that meant she could not get down even if she wanted to. If she gives up, where will her thirty two employees get their monthly pay?
We lost touch after I relocated to Silver City. I wonder what she is doing now? Probably still shouldering the responsibility of running a big work shop and working like a workaholic.
Many years ago I had a brush with that. I saw a classmate steal a handkerchief with the help of another friend. That was way before CCTV became a standard feature in all supermarkets.
Naturally I was confused and I chose to tell my mum about it. She gave me advice on choosing not to accompany them shopping. I remembered going swimming and watching the Saturday morning cheap cinema show with them once or twice more. Slowly we drifted apart.
The girl who took the handkerchief had a traumatic teenage life. She was devastated when her mom wanted to send her to a public school. My friend wanted her mom to send her to the private school her twin sisters went to. In a fit of anger, she tore her school leaving certificate . Her mom and dad were too busy or too disappointed to help her apply for a replacement. She stopped school.
At age sixteen she became pregnant and she married her present husband. She went through a tough time raising up two sons and a daughter in a big extended family. She is a strong person and could weather all kinds of insults and slights.
With her husband working for his elder brother in the family car accessory shop, at least it was a financially stable life. She gained the favour of her father-in-law and was given the back half of a house to stay in rent free. When her two boys were off her hands, she started a shop. She took care of marketing while her husband managed the service end. When we met again, she was a business woman but I was a homemaker. She was the one to advise me not to get into any business venture. As she used the proverb that said she was sitting on top of a tiger's back, that meant she could not get down even if she wanted to. If she gives up, where will her thirty two employees get their monthly pay?
We lost touch after I relocated to Silver City. I wonder what she is doing now? Probably still shouldering the responsibility of running a big work shop and working like a workaholic.
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
(1134) Friendship
I am in North-eastern Borneo. After leaving this place for slightly more than two years, I spent days mending my son's pants. Believe it or not, there is one remaining pair of short pants from a purchase in Cheng Rai in year 2000. I remember that was back in a time that a Malaysian dollar was changed for 14 Thai Bahts. We bought six pairs as the price was unbelievably low.
In the sewing box, I found a small heart hand made by my close friend in Form 6. She gave that to me prior to my leaving for USA to attend college. That little pink heart visited the States, travelling through Virginia and Texas and went back to my home country.
You may ask me, if I treasure such a small keep sake, why am I not in touch with her today?
I believe that friends should come from the same stations in life. Had I married my second choice suitor, I guess I would still be friends with her. Her husband is a person who has dollar signs in his eyes. My husband and I came from lower middle class. Of course as he was an engineer and I used to lecture, we did well before the children came. The minute I resigned and went part-time, our standard of living dropped.
My friend did not change much, she is probably the same warm, caring and fun person I was attracted to at age 18. But I have changed. In listening to my mum's advice, I did not choose inherited wealth. In choosing to spend time training my children to be all that God designed them to be, I learn to be content with whatever little I have.
I believe if I meet her today, we would still enjoy spending time with each other. The fact that she had worked in UK and had headed a foreign bank in the middle east would not come between us. Yet as her career probably ends at age 60, mine has barely begun. The life of a writer often starts later in life. Once again, our lives are out of phase. When she was building a successful career, I was minding children and dabbling in special education. Now that my troop of children are grown and independent, I could finally pursue my calling. Certain things are not meant to be. My friendship with her was like two ships passing each other, both could dock next to each other for a limited period of time. Then each would go its own way. I kept my little pink heart to remind me of her, of how much she meant to me for a few years of my life.
In the sewing box, I found a small heart hand made by my close friend in Form 6. She gave that to me prior to my leaving for USA to attend college. That little pink heart visited the States, travelling through Virginia and Texas and went back to my home country.
You may ask me, if I treasure such a small keep sake, why am I not in touch with her today?
I believe that friends should come from the same stations in life. Had I married my second choice suitor, I guess I would still be friends with her. Her husband is a person who has dollar signs in his eyes. My husband and I came from lower middle class. Of course as he was an engineer and I used to lecture, we did well before the children came. The minute I resigned and went part-time, our standard of living dropped.
My friend did not change much, she is probably the same warm, caring and fun person I was attracted to at age 18. But I have changed. In listening to my mum's advice, I did not choose inherited wealth. In choosing to spend time training my children to be all that God designed them to be, I learn to be content with whatever little I have.
I believe if I meet her today, we would still enjoy spending time with each other. The fact that she had worked in UK and had headed a foreign bank in the middle east would not come between us. Yet as her career probably ends at age 60, mine has barely begun. The life of a writer often starts later in life. Once again, our lives are out of phase. When she was building a successful career, I was minding children and dabbling in special education. Now that my troop of children are grown and independent, I could finally pursue my calling. Certain things are not meant to be. My friendship with her was like two ships passing each other, both could dock next to each other for a limited period of time. Then each would go its own way. I kept my little pink heart to remind me of her, of how much she meant to me for a few years of my life.
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
(1133) Why buy a 7 room house
Here is a tale between a mistress and a big house:
My friend and her young family out grew a 4 room terrace house. She went house hunting. Hundreds of viewing and possibly thirty agents later, she did not buy any property.
A middle-age real estate expert showed her two good buys that fitted her budget and criteria, they went for tea for it was a hot day. He asked, " I hate to give up but unless you tell me what kept you from deciding for the two I showed you, I could not keep on wasting your time."
She replied, " Really, if you can find me a house with 7 rooms which is not a mansion, then maybe we have a deal."
Four months later, he showed her a rental detached two storey house in a good neighbourhood. She bargained and cut the price down low. But since the owner has gotten tired of refurbishing old tired units to seek new tenants, he decided to sell to recoup the cash to invest into building another brand new house.
She painted the house, made some minor repairs and moved in. Ten years later, her two boys went abroad to study. Her husband suggested buying two connected four room condos and selling the old monster. For some reason, she objected. Therefor she ended with a house that is really too big in her golden years.
Now you are probably asking in your heart why does a family of four require a 7 room house? Here goes: Master bedroom and bath: husband and wife.
Bedroom 1 and 2 for the two boys when they start fighting
Bedroom 3 for the in-laws when they visit
Bedroom 4 is for home theatre viewing
Bedroom 5 is for the computers
The last small room with bath next to kitchen is for the maid
Oct 2019
Update
I received news that her grandchild was born. Interestingly the new family resides in a different geographical region. Her idea of having one son and his family live in her house and the other son and family live in a new house to be built in the empty back lot was clearly defeated by her daughter-in-law. I would be interested to look see what kind of woman her son chose. Probably an improved version of the most capable mum with lots of diplomacy and emotional quotient.
My friend and her young family out grew a 4 room terrace house. She went house hunting. Hundreds of viewing and possibly thirty agents later, she did not buy any property.
A middle-age real estate expert showed her two good buys that fitted her budget and criteria, they went for tea for it was a hot day. He asked, " I hate to give up but unless you tell me what kept you from deciding for the two I showed you, I could not keep on wasting your time."
She replied, " Really, if you can find me a house with 7 rooms which is not a mansion, then maybe we have a deal."
Four months later, he showed her a rental detached two storey house in a good neighbourhood. She bargained and cut the price down low. But since the owner has gotten tired of refurbishing old tired units to seek new tenants, he decided to sell to recoup the cash to invest into building another brand new house.
She painted the house, made some minor repairs and moved in. Ten years later, her two boys went abroad to study. Her husband suggested buying two connected four room condos and selling the old monster. For some reason, she objected. Therefor she ended with a house that is really too big in her golden years.
Now you are probably asking in your heart why does a family of four require a 7 room house? Here goes: Master bedroom and bath: husband and wife.
Bedroom 1 and 2 for the two boys when they start fighting
Bedroom 3 for the in-laws when they visit
Bedroom 4 is for home theatre viewing
Bedroom 5 is for the computers
The last small room with bath next to kitchen is for the maid
Oct 2019
Update
I received news that her grandchild was born. Interestingly the new family resides in a different geographical region. Her idea of having one son and his family live in her house and the other son and family live in a new house to be built in the empty back lot was clearly defeated by her daughter-in-law. I would be interested to look see what kind of woman her son chose. Probably an improved version of the most capable mum with lots of diplomacy and emotional quotient.
(1132) Atmosphere?!
Atmosphere! Lately I have been idly wondering how come I did not write when I was in Borneo.
One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.
I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?
Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.
I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.
One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.
I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?
Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.
I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.
(1131) Envy the Night by Michael Koryta
Like many well written books, I could sense the atmosphere of the place the author set this book in. I don't claim to have visited Wisconsin, I doubt if I will ever have the chance. It is not simply finances alone, I often visit a place because I have a friend there. Much as I ponder, I doubt I could name even a contact from Wisconsin. With due respect to those who hail from that state, or those who love the place; I would continue to look out for books written about Wisconsin so that I could get better acquainted with it.
For whatever reason, I think of Lee Child when I read Frank Temple III. If you think I am a thriller fan, then you are mistaken. I read thrillers because I enjoy good writing. All the better if it is set in a place I want to know better. It will be a bonus if I like the characters. This book fulfilled all three criteria, wonderful!
For whatever reason, I think of Lee Child when I read Frank Temple III. If you think I am a thriller fan, then you are mistaken. I read thrillers because I enjoy good writing. All the better if it is set in a place I want to know better. It will be a bonus if I like the characters. This book fulfilled all three criteria, wonderful!
(1130) Grasping Heaven by Tami L. Fisk
As books published by mission bodies go, this is a lovingly arranged one.
I cannot pretend to have finished reading it, more like I have read all I cared for within the time left. It is not worth the trouble to take it home and worry about how and when to return it to its owner.
If there is a focused life, this is probably a good example. If one could store up treasure in heaven, Tami found a way.
However, not everyone has the inclination to qualify as medical doctors. Neither are many called. Therefore, should one could bake beautifully, then bake for the enjoyment of the tasters. Should one choose to garden as a passion, then work on a garden for the King's pleasure. I happened to love to write, I certainly pray for many to read and be inspired in ways I originally did not intend. More than anything else, I hope my writing would steer my readers to think deeply.
"The good die young".
I cannot pretend to have finished reading it, more like I have read all I cared for within the time left. It is not worth the trouble to take it home and worry about how and when to return it to its owner.
If there is a focused life, this is probably a good example. If one could store up treasure in heaven, Tami found a way.
However, not everyone has the inclination to qualify as medical doctors. Neither are many called. Therefore, should one could bake beautifully, then bake for the enjoyment of the tasters. Should one choose to garden as a passion, then work on a garden for the King's pleasure. I happened to love to write, I certainly pray for many to read and be inspired in ways I originally did not intend. More than anything else, I hope my writing would steer my readers to think deeply.
"The good die young".
Monday, June 10, 2019
(1129) The Appeal by John Grisham
It is bad enough that big corporations has money and clout, now things are even worse with internet Moghuls owning amounts greater than the combined GDP of a few sizable countries.
But I guess there is no way things would improve or move backwards. Changes are here to stay. To those who read up on current affairs, 1MDB is old news. Possibly the beautiful girl from Mongolia who was blown to bits by c4 explosives was ancient facts, forgotten and ignored by folks who are bombarded with more news on mass shootings.
With US and China heading towards a total confrontation in the foreseeable future, perhaps the world's situation seemed more important that how the judiciary of any country functions. Yet could we really have any democracy without justice?
But I guess there is no way things would improve or move backwards. Changes are here to stay. To those who read up on current affairs, 1MDB is old news. Possibly the beautiful girl from Mongolia who was blown to bits by c4 explosives was ancient facts, forgotten and ignored by folks who are bombarded with more news on mass shootings.
With US and China heading towards a total confrontation in the foreseeable future, perhaps the world's situation seemed more important that how the judiciary of any country functions. Yet could we really have any democracy without justice?
(1128) A Time to Kill by John Grisham
This is a memorable story from Grisham.
Most of the time, there is a racist attitude deep in our hearts, whether we admit it or not.
However, I want to highlight one of my daughters' Headmistresses. She is known as the colour blind principal in my neighbourhood. In most Government high schools, At least one or the other of the Head Girl or Head Boy has to be of the majority race. Not so in this school, one year they had three Heads, two male and one female - all three of a minority race.
The headmistress, of course, is of the majority race. That is a certainty, nowadays. She actually treated each of her charges equally, she does not look at the skin colour, nor does she look at the religion or background.
To illustrate what a great person she is, I have to tell you a real story. I went to eat in the Mamak (Indian Muslim) eatery opposite the school mentioned above. A smiling young man served me. It was a quiet lull, the boss started chatting with me, for he is friendly soul. I told him I went to the school opposite to see a teacher who was very good to my girl.
He told me that my server is a student of the school opposite. His father had abandoned his mum years ago. To make ends meet, each child found part-time jobs to help the mum. Because of circumstances, the family had to move out of state to claim a wooden house and a bit of land in the mum's home town. The young man is short of one year to graduation, he did not want to change school and talked to his Headmistress. At the same time his boss supported his decision and allowed him to stay above the shop in a store room. With some stipend the Headmistress and the Parents Teacher Association managed come up with, some kindness from the Headmistress, the eatery owner, his Form Teacher, and the custodian in his school, he managed to hold his own and was doing well in school academically.
This young man, is of a third race, a much smaller group compared to that of the Head Prefects.
Most of the time, there is a racist attitude deep in our hearts, whether we admit it or not.
However, I want to highlight one of my daughters' Headmistresses. She is known as the colour blind principal in my neighbourhood. In most Government high schools, At least one or the other of the Head Girl or Head Boy has to be of the majority race. Not so in this school, one year they had three Heads, two male and one female - all three of a minority race.
The headmistress, of course, is of the majority race. That is a certainty, nowadays. She actually treated each of her charges equally, she does not look at the skin colour, nor does she look at the religion or background.
To illustrate what a great person she is, I have to tell you a real story. I went to eat in the Mamak (Indian Muslim) eatery opposite the school mentioned above. A smiling young man served me. It was a quiet lull, the boss started chatting with me, for he is friendly soul. I told him I went to the school opposite to see a teacher who was very good to my girl.
He told me that my server is a student of the school opposite. His father had abandoned his mum years ago. To make ends meet, each child found part-time jobs to help the mum. Because of circumstances, the family had to move out of state to claim a wooden house and a bit of land in the mum's home town. The young man is short of one year to graduation, he did not want to change school and talked to his Headmistress. At the same time his boss supported his decision and allowed him to stay above the shop in a store room. With some stipend the Headmistress and the Parents Teacher Association managed come up with, some kindness from the Headmistress, the eatery owner, his Form Teacher, and the custodian in his school, he managed to hold his own and was doing well in school academically.
This young man, is of a third race, a much smaller group compared to that of the Head Prefects.
(1127) The Testament by John Grisham
Giving away a vast fortune to charity is stuff of headlines. Sometimes it does actually happen. What I really like about this book is the second chance it accords to Nate O'Riley.
What would you think about a woman who knowingly took a baby and groom the child to be a future care giver so that she would have a kind of willing 'slave' when she is old and unable to walk and manage her own affairs?
If she then wrote a will and leave behind a sufficient amount for the now 35-year-old former carer with no marketable skills whatsoever to live the rest of her life on, does it absolve her guilt of ruining the girl's life?
If somehow, the trusted executor played the girl out and left her penniless at the mercy of relatives? Then the track record of this executor who adopted orphans, who supported the homeless just seemed to be marred by one thing that seemed out of character to the entire pattern. And if this executor happened some day use one of the younger adopted children for the same purpose as the earlier testator, how would you feel?
It is a good thing that the final arbiter is not our judges but God in the final analysis. However, if we believe that there is no God, then all is lost.
What would you think about a woman who knowingly took a baby and groom the child to be a future care giver so that she would have a kind of willing 'slave' when she is old and unable to walk and manage her own affairs?
If she then wrote a will and leave behind a sufficient amount for the now 35-year-old former carer with no marketable skills whatsoever to live the rest of her life on, does it absolve her guilt of ruining the girl's life?
If somehow, the trusted executor played the girl out and left her penniless at the mercy of relatives? Then the track record of this executor who adopted orphans, who supported the homeless just seemed to be marred by one thing that seemed out of character to the entire pattern. And if this executor happened some day use one of the younger adopted children for the same purpose as the earlier testator, how would you feel?
It is a good thing that the final arbiter is not our judges but God in the final analysis. However, if we believe that there is no God, then all is lost.
(1126) The Brethren by John Grisham
It is an interesting read on what three former justices could get up to when put behind bars. When they were pardoned and let loose, each of them spent their time doing different things.
I think of a retired couple who ended up transporting and feeding their troop of grand children with the help of maids in three houses situated within walking distance of each other. Once the pastor actually admonish them, with good intention, not to do too much for their beloved sons. Then seven years down the line, the good pastor himself made his own house the stomping ground for his son's three children under the age of five.
Most retirees who accumulated a certain amount of money while working end up taking three overseas trip every year for as long as they fancy travelling.
Yet the real athletic ones took sports full time when they retire. Then there are those who garden full time...
What will you do when you have the time, money and leisure?
If you have no hobby, no fun plans, you may belong to the group who up and die within a year. That's hard to believe, but the statistics bore witness to those lonely souls who could not find any cause to live for.
I think of a retired couple who ended up transporting and feeding their troop of grand children with the help of maids in three houses situated within walking distance of each other. Once the pastor actually admonish them, with good intention, not to do too much for their beloved sons. Then seven years down the line, the good pastor himself made his own house the stomping ground for his son's three children under the age of five.
Most retirees who accumulated a certain amount of money while working end up taking three overseas trip every year for as long as they fancy travelling.
Yet the real athletic ones took sports full time when they retire. Then there are those who garden full time...
What will you do when you have the time, money and leisure?
If you have no hobby, no fun plans, you may belong to the group who up and die within a year. That's hard to believe, but the statistics bore witness to those lonely souls who could not find any cause to live for.
(1125) The Runaway Jury by John Grisham
One of my brother-in-law is a US citizen, he has been chosen to serve as part of a jury before.
Most jury duty is tedious, boring and not dangerous. But what the panel of jury went through in this book is extraordinary.
Which is worse: a rigged jury or a corrupt judge? In many parts of the world, justice is for sale if you have the right amount and know the right people.
But, there is an ultimate judge: God. I will try and quote proverbs: the net of justice may be made up of holes but nothing much escapes it. (sky net grey grey, holey and no escape. Said in Cantonese) The wheel of justice grinds exceedingly slowly.
Most jury duty is tedious, boring and not dangerous. But what the panel of jury went through in this book is extraordinary.
Which is worse: a rigged jury or a corrupt judge? In many parts of the world, justice is for sale if you have the right amount and know the right people.
But, there is an ultimate judge: God. I will try and quote proverbs: the net of justice may be made up of holes but nothing much escapes it. (sky net grey grey, holey and no escape. Said in Cantonese) The wheel of justice grinds exceedingly slowly.
(1124) The Firm by John Grisham
Mitch graduated at the top of his Law class, yet he chose to work for a questionable firm under investigation. In the end he co-operated with the investigators and ended up having to run away. He successfully rescued his blood brother from detention and managed to disappear together with his wife as three fugitives in the high sea.
I have had no such exciting experience myself. But a friend of mine did once upon a time thought her husband was going to kill her. She ran! Interestingly it was people closest to him who helped her retrieve her "effects". Then her close friends helped her to transport those boxes from his home town to her hometown.
I met her as a neighbour more than 10 years ago. She was very suspicious then and it took me a while to draw close to her. Perhaps because I love to write stories and she loves to write poems, we see eye to eye about many things in life. If we ever get to collaborate together, we may be able to alternate chapters on our favourite topics: special education and marriage.
I have had no such exciting experience myself. But a friend of mine did once upon a time thought her husband was going to kill her. She ran! Interestingly it was people closest to him who helped her retrieve her "effects". Then her close friends helped her to transport those boxes from his home town to her hometown.
I met her as a neighbour more than 10 years ago. She was very suspicious then and it took me a while to draw close to her. Perhaps because I love to write stories and she loves to write poems, we see eye to eye about many things in life. If we ever get to collaborate together, we may be able to alternate chapters on our favourite topics: special education and marriage.
(1123) The Broker by John Grisham
Here is another one of Grisham's go to another country and disappear story. I have a soft spot for his tales.
This time it is a power broker who spent years in prison. At the end of the President's (who failed to be re-elected) first term, CIA wanted a pardon for a guy with sensitive information in his head, he was pardoned, sent to another country, assisted to assimilate and the establishment wanted him killed. The object is to see who came out to kill so they would know who bought the software. By now, there was a trail of dead bodies.
Miraculously, the fugitive survived and returned to USA. Circumstances changed and he was given a reprieve by fate. He still needed to run, he still needed to melt into the background, but by then he had the necessary skills to survive longer.
Six years ago, I flew to northern Borneo because of a cryptic prophesy in 1984 and a sense of adventure. Next month I am returning to the same town because I want a new life. Unlike the power broker, I committed no crime. I just want to blend into a small town and be a nobody. I want to be free to live and write, in a simple and humble manner, and earn a living without owing a debt of any kind to anybody.
This time it is a power broker who spent years in prison. At the end of the President's (who failed to be re-elected) first term, CIA wanted a pardon for a guy with sensitive information in his head, he was pardoned, sent to another country, assisted to assimilate and the establishment wanted him killed. The object is to see who came out to kill so they would know who bought the software. By now, there was a trail of dead bodies.
Miraculously, the fugitive survived and returned to USA. Circumstances changed and he was given a reprieve by fate. He still needed to run, he still needed to melt into the background, but by then he had the necessary skills to survive longer.
Six years ago, I flew to northern Borneo because of a cryptic prophesy in 1984 and a sense of adventure. Next month I am returning to the same town because I want a new life. Unlike the power broker, I committed no crime. I just want to blend into a small town and be a nobody. I want to be free to live and write, in a simple and humble manner, and earn a living without owing a debt of any kind to anybody.
(1122) Bubba Tea
Remember the neighbourhood girl at risk of being groomed as a drug mule? She is working in a Bubba Tea Café. In fact the tea mania started in Hong Kong, permeated to Taiwan and I think it multiplied in many places as a craze!
I personally have not had any. But back to my youngest daughter's teenage years, she used to share her classmate's tea after school whenever their Bus stopped and waited in front of a famous boy's school which is within walking distance of a shopping centre. That boy school is famous for producing many doctors trained in Malaysian universities. The shopping centre, however, is notorious for students spending their days there playing truant. I used to know the item as pearl milk tea in Cantonese.
Now, the craze is such that in a student area, there are five such shops on one short street doing roaring business. A typical plastic tall container of Bubba Tea on average contains fifteen spoonful of sugar. Grand mothers and aunties fall in love with it and it is the coolest drink of choice around town. If soft drinks caused diabetes in youngsters, then "teh tarik" might be the cause of diabetes for the middle age. "teh tarik" is hot, sweet milk tea being poured from one metallic container to another many times. The air that dissolves into the tea gives it a smooth taste. Then Bubba Tea may become the culprit that caused the aged to become diabetic.
There was at least one teenage girl in some part of China that landed in hospital after her entire digestive tract was occluded with the "pearls" which was made from sticky tapioca flour. She was sick enough to be termed critical but her addiction to the tea is going to survive the hospitalization.
Such a cup of tea costs between M$8.00 to M$20.00 ++. In a famous café, the average wait is 1 - 2 hours. They are usually taken away to consume at the aficionados' leisure.
I personally have not had any. But back to my youngest daughter's teenage years, she used to share her classmate's tea after school whenever their Bus stopped and waited in front of a famous boy's school which is within walking distance of a shopping centre. That boy school is famous for producing many doctors trained in Malaysian universities. The shopping centre, however, is notorious for students spending their days there playing truant. I used to know the item as pearl milk tea in Cantonese.
Now, the craze is such that in a student area, there are five such shops on one short street doing roaring business. A typical plastic tall container of Bubba Tea on average contains fifteen spoonful of sugar. Grand mothers and aunties fall in love with it and it is the coolest drink of choice around town. If soft drinks caused diabetes in youngsters, then "teh tarik" might be the cause of diabetes for the middle age. "teh tarik" is hot, sweet milk tea being poured from one metallic container to another many times. The air that dissolves into the tea gives it a smooth taste. Then Bubba Tea may become the culprit that caused the aged to become diabetic.
There was at least one teenage girl in some part of China that landed in hospital after her entire digestive tract was occluded with the "pearls" which was made from sticky tapioca flour. She was sick enough to be termed critical but her addiction to the tea is going to survive the hospitalization.
Such a cup of tea costs between M$8.00 to M$20.00 ++. In a famous café, the average wait is 1 - 2 hours. They are usually taken away to consume at the aficionados' leisure.
(1121) False Impression by Jeffrey Archer
Years after I blogged about Archer's books, I still am amazed by the thousands of searches targeting a few of those blogs.
Today, I found another Archer book but I am hard pressed to think of something to say after reading it. Perhaps this book is about famous pictures and a blue blood family. To be perfectly honest, the only time I wished to own or look at a picture daily, I was standing in one of the D.C. museums. It was a rather large picture, a forest and meadow scene. I actually bought a post card reproduction of it and brought it back to my home country. Each time I was in DC, I went back to admire it. The last time I saw it, I was pregnant with my number two. Little wonder she has really expensive tastes today, more than any of my other children.
As to blue bloods, the closest I came to it was when I befriended an ordinary-looking foreign student in my college. After graduation, I visited her in her home country; I was shocked to find that she came from the second richest family in that tiny nation. The following visit I made to that country I went to shop for my wedding finery. I found Sheridan sheets on sale and I bought the entire set of Chippendale, I think. During the third visit, she came to my hotel and related a most preposterous incident. We laughed and laughed about it.
Her mum gave her brother a sound shelling for not courting me while he had the opportunity in the States. The old lady would have preferred a foreign-educated person like me who was well brought up and know my place in life, after all I was educated in Chinese in the earlier years. My poor scholarly father drilled lots of archaic principles into me, his only literary heir in the Chinese language. According to my friend, her brother took all that angry words in silence. He realized that his chosen wife paled in terms of these traits which are unseen.
I honestly think her brother found me boring. He was one of those Asian students who tries to bed the blonds. I quite like him and actually attended a few mixers and perhaps a dance weekend double dating: his sister and a white friend, he and I. You see, life overseas is far from that of the home countries, the kind of qualities you look for in a girl friend and a wife are miles apart. At that point of time, I was all fired up to get my Ph.D. in artificial intelligence some day, although that term has not even been coined yet. I was not seeking to snare a husband yet, although he was rather eligible. Nevertheless, it was very flattering to have his mother having such high opinions of ordinary me.
Today, I found another Archer book but I am hard pressed to think of something to say after reading it. Perhaps this book is about famous pictures and a blue blood family. To be perfectly honest, the only time I wished to own or look at a picture daily, I was standing in one of the D.C. museums. It was a rather large picture, a forest and meadow scene. I actually bought a post card reproduction of it and brought it back to my home country. Each time I was in DC, I went back to admire it. The last time I saw it, I was pregnant with my number two. Little wonder she has really expensive tastes today, more than any of my other children.
As to blue bloods, the closest I came to it was when I befriended an ordinary-looking foreign student in my college. After graduation, I visited her in her home country; I was shocked to find that she came from the second richest family in that tiny nation. The following visit I made to that country I went to shop for my wedding finery. I found Sheridan sheets on sale and I bought the entire set of Chippendale, I think. During the third visit, she came to my hotel and related a most preposterous incident. We laughed and laughed about it.
Her mum gave her brother a sound shelling for not courting me while he had the opportunity in the States. The old lady would have preferred a foreign-educated person like me who was well brought up and know my place in life, after all I was educated in Chinese in the earlier years. My poor scholarly father drilled lots of archaic principles into me, his only literary heir in the Chinese language. According to my friend, her brother took all that angry words in silence. He realized that his chosen wife paled in terms of these traits which are unseen.
I honestly think her brother found me boring. He was one of those Asian students who tries to bed the blonds. I quite like him and actually attended a few mixers and perhaps a dance weekend double dating: his sister and a white friend, he and I. You see, life overseas is far from that of the home countries, the kind of qualities you look for in a girl friend and a wife are miles apart. At that point of time, I was all fired up to get my Ph.D. in artificial intelligence some day, although that term has not even been coined yet. I was not seeking to snare a husband yet, although he was rather eligible. Nevertheless, it was very flattering to have his mother having such high opinions of ordinary me.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
(1120) Surprising numbers
I have had enough of reading today and went on to look at the statistics provided by widgets.
By tallying the top ten countries in terms of page view and number of unique visitors, Germany and Poland are the only two countries which appear in page view but not in terms of many visitors. I did simple calculations and came up with the following:
Germany - average page read per visitor: 22
Poland - : 124
The result astounded me. Thank you for reading my blog, all my readers. Readers from Poland, you are really encouraging me. That means I have repeat visitors from Germany too.
By tallying the top ten countries in terms of page view and number of unique visitors, Germany and Poland are the only two countries which appear in page view but not in terms of many visitors. I did simple calculations and came up with the following:
Germany - average page read per visitor: 22
Poland - : 124
The result astounded me. Thank you for reading my blog, all my readers. Readers from Poland, you are really encouraging me. That means I have repeat visitors from Germany too.
(1121) The various Flavours of Coffee by Anthony Capella
This is the very first book I read about coffee, even though underlying it is really a love story.
As I close the book after I read the last page, my thoughts are about coffee.
I remember the many cups of store blend I had in college to stay up completing projects in the middle of many nights. I think of the first cup of real coffee Gaston, my favourite cousin in China, bought me in Kwangchow. I recall the many cups of designer coffee my millionaire friend June made me in her lovely home. I feel the hot, fragrant Secret Recipe brew I partook weekly in Silver City with a neighbour.
My cousin, Juliet who knows much more about coffee and tea than I, talked conversantly about fair price coffee and social justice.
I realize that once upon a time we used to have coffee as a minor crop in Malaya.
My mum, who is 86, thinks of coffee as an gift from God to human kind which she discovered regretfully late in old age.
As I close the book after I read the last page, my thoughts are about coffee.
I remember the many cups of store blend I had in college to stay up completing projects in the middle of many nights. I think of the first cup of real coffee Gaston, my favourite cousin in China, bought me in Kwangchow. I recall the many cups of designer coffee my millionaire friend June made me in her lovely home. I feel the hot, fragrant Secret Recipe brew I partook weekly in Silver City with a neighbour.
My cousin, Juliet who knows much more about coffee and tea than I, talked conversantly about fair price coffee and social justice.
I realize that once upon a time we used to have coffee as a minor crop in Malaya.
My mum, who is 86, thinks of coffee as an gift from God to human kind which she discovered regretfully late in old age.
(1119) Rosie's poem in 1114
'Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.'
If you follow my blog for any length of time, you would know that I can't write poems. However, I love Chinese "che" not "Shi" and some simple English poems. Here's a gem, I hope you like it.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.'
If you follow my blog for any length of time, you would know that I can't write poems. However, I love Chinese "che" not "Shi" and some simple English poems. Here's a gem, I hope you like it.
(1118) Perfect recall or photographic memory
I was surveying a handful of blogs as to the number of readers: it is interesting to find that play dough (1070) and The Red Seed Game (1075) are quite popular.
Here is the follow-up blog. I paid a visit to the lovely, artistic young lady up north and found that although she has less memory hooks than most people, her visual memory is one of the best I came across over the years.
This is the vital game which revealed that valuable piece of information. I took a pack of cards (poker cards, the kind we come down the airplane with after a long flight with children) and arranged them face down in rows and columns on a long table. Then I corralled as many old and young to play my game. It is called Memory Game. Each person opens two cards, whichever they wish, if the cards happen to match, then they acquired them and is given another turn. If not, it is then the next person's turn. Over the years, I have played this game thousands of times and became quite good at it. As I was the game master, I was not paying much attention to winning, I spent the time observing and recording each person's performance. It turned out that my target, the object of my visit, was the best player with her mum following closely behind. After a second game, I began to suspect that she may have a photographic memory that she did not refine over the years.
I am a one-track mind person. After my return, I was still unconsciously playing with the thought of how a person with such unusually powerful ability of recall could not hang onto pieces of information. It occurred to me then that memories come in the form of words, pictures, ideas, diagrams, music,... The answer seemed to be at the tip of my tongue and yet I could not touch it, let alone utter it. Then during worship in church one Sunday morning, the answer flashed like a light bulb: but of course she need no longer develop memory hooks, all she needs to do is to paint in her memory easel whatever she wants to remember: be it words, symbols, diagrams or pictures or a combination of any thing, snap a visual photo and file it away --"wallah!" she would be one of the world's best memory experts in practise.
After being challenged to pray and make a visit to a city 400 miles or so away, I am relieved to have no need of going there anymore. I was very fearful that I will be found wanting and was being treated as a consultant when in actual fact I know so little. I have had no formal training whatsoever. No degree, diploma and not even a certificate in the field in question. All I have is my own experience in over coming certain short-comings years ago, probably a smattering of very specific knowledge garnered with great difficulty and perseverance in a few cases I came across over the past decades. Enough to tell stories but not enough to consult.
Thereafter I had better turn to publishing e-books and not tell too much of my past activities in the bio data. I am most thankful that I survived this experience and there is a solution given to me, on my own I would probably be still puzzling over the seemingly contradictory pieces of facts.
Here is the follow-up blog. I paid a visit to the lovely, artistic young lady up north and found that although she has less memory hooks than most people, her visual memory is one of the best I came across over the years.
This is the vital game which revealed that valuable piece of information. I took a pack of cards (poker cards, the kind we come down the airplane with after a long flight with children) and arranged them face down in rows and columns on a long table. Then I corralled as many old and young to play my game. It is called Memory Game. Each person opens two cards, whichever they wish, if the cards happen to match, then they acquired them and is given another turn. If not, it is then the next person's turn. Over the years, I have played this game thousands of times and became quite good at it. As I was the game master, I was not paying much attention to winning, I spent the time observing and recording each person's performance. It turned out that my target, the object of my visit, was the best player with her mum following closely behind. After a second game, I began to suspect that she may have a photographic memory that she did not refine over the years.
I am a one-track mind person. After my return, I was still unconsciously playing with the thought of how a person with such unusually powerful ability of recall could not hang onto pieces of information. It occurred to me then that memories come in the form of words, pictures, ideas, diagrams, music,... The answer seemed to be at the tip of my tongue and yet I could not touch it, let alone utter it. Then during worship in church one Sunday morning, the answer flashed like a light bulb: but of course she need no longer develop memory hooks, all she needs to do is to paint in her memory easel whatever she wants to remember: be it words, symbols, diagrams or pictures or a combination of any thing, snap a visual photo and file it away --"wallah!" she would be one of the world's best memory experts in practise.
After being challenged to pray and make a visit to a city 400 miles or so away, I am relieved to have no need of going there anymore. I was very fearful that I will be found wanting and was being treated as a consultant when in actual fact I know so little. I have had no formal training whatsoever. No degree, diploma and not even a certificate in the field in question. All I have is my own experience in over coming certain short-comings years ago, probably a smattering of very specific knowledge garnered with great difficulty and perseverance in a few cases I came across over the past decades. Enough to tell stories but not enough to consult.
Thereafter I had better turn to publishing e-books and not tell too much of my past activities in the bio data. I am most thankful that I survived this experience and there is a solution given to me, on my own I would probably be still puzzling over the seemingly contradictory pieces of facts.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
(1117) Unmentionables
When I was young, my mum taught me that a lady should wash her own undergarments by hand separately from all other clothes. I have asked why many times, but none of the answers given by my mum, my grandma or any other older women would make any sense to me.
Now that I have grown daughters, even though I do not follow that rule at home; I taught my daughters the same rule should they live in other people's house. Interestingly, that rule applied in one of my daughter's landlady's house while she lived near the university. Even though her landlady owns a state-of-the-art washing machine, she still washes her delicates by hand daily.
When I visit friends with foreign maids, I carefully follow my mother's maxim. Though if I go visit a friend with no maid, I would ask if she washes her smalls in her machine and I follow accordingly. I have found that this little thoughtfulness puts me in great favour with many Asian maids.
If you ask me why, I could answer you two ways: either it is a form of respect for the dignity of the maids or I place my self-respect and my intimate apparel above the daily mundane touch of a stranger. I have come across a maid who looked down at her mistress simply because the maid chose to wash things by hand daily and she refused to keep dirty clothes for three days and machine wash them as instructed. It was very confusing: if the maid detested washing undergarments of another female, then she should stop hand washing altogether. Yet the pride of the good housekeeper did not allow her to keep smelly clothes overnight as there were only two employers living in the big house.
I wonder if this is true only in Asia?
Now that I have grown daughters, even though I do not follow that rule at home; I taught my daughters the same rule should they live in other people's house. Interestingly, that rule applied in one of my daughter's landlady's house while she lived near the university. Even though her landlady owns a state-of-the-art washing machine, she still washes her delicates by hand daily.
When I visit friends with foreign maids, I carefully follow my mother's maxim. Though if I go visit a friend with no maid, I would ask if she washes her smalls in her machine and I follow accordingly. I have found that this little thoughtfulness puts me in great favour with many Asian maids.
If you ask me why, I could answer you two ways: either it is a form of respect for the dignity of the maids or I place my self-respect and my intimate apparel above the daily mundane touch of a stranger. I have come across a maid who looked down at her mistress simply because the maid chose to wash things by hand daily and she refused to keep dirty clothes for three days and machine wash them as instructed. It was very confusing: if the maid detested washing undergarments of another female, then she should stop hand washing altogether. Yet the pride of the good housekeeper did not allow her to keep smelly clothes overnight as there were only two employers living in the big house.
I wonder if this is true only in Asia?
(1116) Adjusting to a new country and diet
In between my literary efforts: reading, translating, editing, blogging... and meals, I chatted with the new maid.
It is eye-opening to hear about things from the maid's perspective. This a household that runs with one full-time maid, one part-time gardener and one part-time window cleaner who happened to be a Filipina married to a local man.
Even though the two female maids are from two countries and speak different languages, the Filipina has learnt enough local dialect to communicate with the new comer. The former has worked for this household a long time and has befriended every maid employed for more than twelve years.
Interestingly the last maid used to ask the part-timer to purchase food she likes but have no access to. I casually asked what food, most of the items mentioned were desserts made with carbohydrates from roots, in other words tropical common street food in South East Asia.
I find it amazing as I could find more than enough things to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. Later as I thought about it more, I realized that forty years or so ago, even though the college cafeteria boasted of a wide selection of food round the week, I missed rice desperately. Once a week white rice was served, I would eat like five little bowls and pile on plates of other selection of meat and vegetables until tiny me could not carry the loaded tray back to the window of the washing place. The servers were huge black ladies who shook their heads at my slender waistline, wondering how I could burn such a lot of calories daily. On International day once in three months, I would chalk up four servings of Chinese fried rice or Japanese rice and meat, decent helpings that came on dinner plates. So I suppose a person from another culture would definitely miss something or other in the new country. Here the maids are from rural area, of lower socio-economic background, they could not easily hop into our urban sophisticated upper-middle class way of consuming lots of meat and vegetables and little carbohydrates.
It is eye-opening to hear about things from the maid's perspective. This a household that runs with one full-time maid, one part-time gardener and one part-time window cleaner who happened to be a Filipina married to a local man.
Even though the two female maids are from two countries and speak different languages, the Filipina has learnt enough local dialect to communicate with the new comer. The former has worked for this household a long time and has befriended every maid employed for more than twelve years.
Interestingly the last maid used to ask the part-timer to purchase food she likes but have no access to. I casually asked what food, most of the items mentioned were desserts made with carbohydrates from roots, in other words tropical common street food in South East Asia.
I find it amazing as I could find more than enough things to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. Later as I thought about it more, I realized that forty years or so ago, even though the college cafeteria boasted of a wide selection of food round the week, I missed rice desperately. Once a week white rice was served, I would eat like five little bowls and pile on plates of other selection of meat and vegetables until tiny me could not carry the loaded tray back to the window of the washing place. The servers were huge black ladies who shook their heads at my slender waistline, wondering how I could burn such a lot of calories daily. On International day once in three months, I would chalk up four servings of Chinese fried rice or Japanese rice and meat, decent helpings that came on dinner plates. So I suppose a person from another culture would definitely miss something or other in the new country. Here the maids are from rural area, of lower socio-economic background, they could not easily hop into our urban sophisticated upper-middle class way of consuming lots of meat and vegetables and little carbohydrates.
(1115) Good cooks, bad cooks
I commented how I enjoyed the yellow pulut (sticky rice) cooked with coconut milk as a savoury base to go with chicken curry. My host replied that the curry might be difficult to get cooked right. But he thinks anybody who tries cooking the rice using a good recipe could easily get it right after a few tries. As he puts it, it is a no brainer.
Interestingly, I have always used my mother-in-law's creation as a standard to measure such a dish against. While I have not tried cooking it, I would eat it whenever I see it during pot bless or in a buffet. Seldom do I get both cooked to my high standard of expectation. This dish is one of the Nyonya (Peranakan cooking is the legacy of Chinese who blended Chinese cooking with much Malay influence through the generations) dish. My mum-in-law's mum-in-law wore sarong and spoke Malay as a primary language at home all her life. Recipes are passed on from generation to generation. Sad to say, neither my husband's generation nor my children's generation took the trouble to learn these delicious recipes.
After picking my hostess' brain as well, it seemed that people who love good food often learn to produce it with little or no previous cooking experience while they could not purchase restaurant-produced food overseas as students or new immigrants.
Their children, who had never boiled water at home, were sent overseas with a minimum of two cooking sessions. Both girls could produce a list of good food, like barbecue pork(both char siew, siew yuk), chocolate walnut cake, lemon meringue pie, ... Their elder girl's fiancée could cooked up western steak with apple sauce without much problem at first try. He never entered his parents' kitchen prior to going abroad.
According to my son, good cooking requires a little basic experience and a lot of common sense. Maybe the fact I could never produce excellent food is because I lack passion. My daughters have no need to learn to cook well because they have not been overseas for the long haul, there was no need to learn to cook. After all, street-cooked food is plentiful and low in price in this country.
While I visited Arlington, Texas to look see the campus in 1984, I was lodging with friends of my brother's. I was so free that month, daily jogging in the indoor sports centre and morning swim in the apartment pool left plenty of time to experiment with food. I must have exhausted my usual menu of fried rice, fried bee hoon(vermicella), spaghetti, fried beef wanton, pork dumplings, ... I remember cooking asam laksa(spicy sour fish soup with rice stick and vegetables), black sticky rice with meat and mushroom, red bean soup, bobo chacha ( a dessert of yam, sweet potatoes in coconut milk soup). Personally I didn't think much of my attempts, but my temporary housemates were delighted with a volunteer cook. They were busy with classes, projects, assignments, part time jobs and dating. Before and after my visit, they subsisted with food from the cafeteria, instant noodle or biscuits.
Interestingly, I have always used my mother-in-law's creation as a standard to measure such a dish against. While I have not tried cooking it, I would eat it whenever I see it during pot bless or in a buffet. Seldom do I get both cooked to my high standard of expectation. This dish is one of the Nyonya (Peranakan cooking is the legacy of Chinese who blended Chinese cooking with much Malay influence through the generations) dish. My mum-in-law's mum-in-law wore sarong and spoke Malay as a primary language at home all her life. Recipes are passed on from generation to generation. Sad to say, neither my husband's generation nor my children's generation took the trouble to learn these delicious recipes.
After picking my hostess' brain as well, it seemed that people who love good food often learn to produce it with little or no previous cooking experience while they could not purchase restaurant-produced food overseas as students or new immigrants.
Their children, who had never boiled water at home, were sent overseas with a minimum of two cooking sessions. Both girls could produce a list of good food, like barbecue pork(both char siew, siew yuk), chocolate walnut cake, lemon meringue pie, ... Their elder girl's fiancée could cooked up western steak with apple sauce without much problem at first try. He never entered his parents' kitchen prior to going abroad.
According to my son, good cooking requires a little basic experience and a lot of common sense. Maybe the fact I could never produce excellent food is because I lack passion. My daughters have no need to learn to cook well because they have not been overseas for the long haul, there was no need to learn to cook. After all, street-cooked food is plentiful and low in price in this country.
While I visited Arlington, Texas to look see the campus in 1984, I was lodging with friends of my brother's. I was so free that month, daily jogging in the indoor sports centre and morning swim in the apartment pool left plenty of time to experiment with food. I must have exhausted my usual menu of fried rice, fried bee hoon(vermicella), spaghetti, fried beef wanton, pork dumplings, ... I remember cooking asam laksa(spicy sour fish soup with rice stick and vegetables), black sticky rice with meat and mushroom, red bean soup, bobo chacha ( a dessert of yam, sweet potatoes in coconut milk soup). Personally I didn't think much of my attempts, but my temporary housemates were delighted with a volunteer cook. They were busy with classes, projects, assignments, part time jobs and dating. Before and after my visit, they subsisted with food from the cafeteria, instant noodle or biscuits.
(1114) Rosie by Alan Titchmarsh
Rosie was in her eighties when she needed encouragement to live up a bit. My deceased dad was eighty seven when he decided he had lived enough and waited for death in front of the TV. Interestingly his mind was sharp enough to tell me how much cash he had in hand when I visited him daily : something like M$325. He did not count coins nor did he bother about one dollar bills. After three days' of treasure hunt in his room, I found it in unexpected places, besides some new notes hidden in Ang Pow (red packets usually given out to children during the first 15 days of Chinese New Year). I would be please if I could keep a mind like that to the end someday.
My mom is 86 now. She is eating well, exercising regularly and still hopeful she should recover enough for one more trip to Hong Kong after breaking both legs within two weeks, three years ago. She just came back from a town 180 Km away with my family in a hotel for three nights.
Her elder brother had Alzeimer's and it was surreal to listen to him talking about spirits playing in the court yard beneath his apartment in the town centre in bright day light. His wife and unmarried daughter told me that for about a year, he lost grip of reality and talked about unreal stuff seemingly true to him. I must say that he was quite a prolific author of fascinating, fictitious tales at least verbally. After a typical visit as I described, I felt like I just returned from listening to a professional oral story teller on the street such as during my early childhood. He passed on after a bad fall at 88.
His elder sister is a cool 90 years old. She could no longer remember her siblings nor children. However, she is mobile and physically active. She is a tiny slip of a slender old lady, active and playful. As long as someone is in the house keeping tight hold of the keys, she could not slip out and disappear. Twice my cousins had to seek police assistance to find her. Once she walked for miles and was sitting by the side of the highway to Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon. For an ancient person with advanced dementia, she is friendly, fun and amusing to me.
My paternal grandma lived to a cool 99 and died after she could not eat for 3 days. She remained sharp to the end. She was a bit wobbly physically the last few days. According to her favourite grand daughter, my cousin whom I like, she was very good at pretending she could not remember those who were mean to her in the past. At 99, she could hear but most of the time she could not be bothered to listen, hence most people thought she was hard of hearing.
If I am not mistaken, the life expectancy of a male in this country is 78, that of a woman is 80. It does appear that all the folks I mentioned lived rather long.
My mom is 86 now. She is eating well, exercising regularly and still hopeful she should recover enough for one more trip to Hong Kong after breaking both legs within two weeks, three years ago. She just came back from a town 180 Km away with my family in a hotel for three nights.
Her elder brother had Alzeimer's and it was surreal to listen to him talking about spirits playing in the court yard beneath his apartment in the town centre in bright day light. His wife and unmarried daughter told me that for about a year, he lost grip of reality and talked about unreal stuff seemingly true to him. I must say that he was quite a prolific author of fascinating, fictitious tales at least verbally. After a typical visit as I described, I felt like I just returned from listening to a professional oral story teller on the street such as during my early childhood. He passed on after a bad fall at 88.
His elder sister is a cool 90 years old. She could no longer remember her siblings nor children. However, she is mobile and physically active. She is a tiny slip of a slender old lady, active and playful. As long as someone is in the house keeping tight hold of the keys, she could not slip out and disappear. Twice my cousins had to seek police assistance to find her. Once she walked for miles and was sitting by the side of the highway to Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon. For an ancient person with advanced dementia, she is friendly, fun and amusing to me.
My paternal grandma lived to a cool 99 and died after she could not eat for 3 days. She remained sharp to the end. She was a bit wobbly physically the last few days. According to her favourite grand daughter, my cousin whom I like, she was very good at pretending she could not remember those who were mean to her in the past. At 99, she could hear but most of the time she could not be bothered to listen, hence most people thought she was hard of hearing.
If I am not mistaken, the life expectancy of a male in this country is 78, that of a woman is 80. It does appear that all the folks I mentioned lived rather long.
(1113) The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer
Here is another gem I found in my hostess' book shelves.
While laughing at some of the happenings in the book, I felt sad at other minor events. I have heard of the Canary Islands and even at one point in time might be able to quote the Capital. I have never heard of Guernsey before.
I have read of one book and a few articles on the Nanking Massacre. I grew up listening to my grandma and other old folks' accounts of the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation for three years and eight months in Malaya. Throughout my adult life, every book I have access to on World War two I would definitely read. I have come to the conclusion that humans do not behave the same way during war time as compared to peaceful era. With my limited contact to Germans and Japanese, they do not seem more extreme than the White Rednecks I met in South Carolina, for instance. In fact, I quite like my husband's host family from Nagoya who came to visit the Penang island. My husband participated in an exchange program in Japan in his earlier years. While in Silver City, I car sat for a German lady for a total of eighteen months over a three-year period. I find the Germans straight forward and reasonable to deal with.
While the ending of the above book was a little unexpected, it was all in a day's work. I have often found artists: whether designer, writer, sculptor, painter, ... a little difficult to predict. Probably my primary and secondary school friends would be shocked if I bury myself in Borneo in obscurity from now on. It is to be expected, isn't it?
While laughing at some of the happenings in the book, I felt sad at other minor events. I have heard of the Canary Islands and even at one point in time might be able to quote the Capital. I have never heard of Guernsey before.
I have read of one book and a few articles on the Nanking Massacre. I grew up listening to my grandma and other old folks' accounts of the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation for three years and eight months in Malaya. Throughout my adult life, every book I have access to on World War two I would definitely read. I have come to the conclusion that humans do not behave the same way during war time as compared to peaceful era. With my limited contact to Germans and Japanese, they do not seem more extreme than the White Rednecks I met in South Carolina, for instance. In fact, I quite like my husband's host family from Nagoya who came to visit the Penang island. My husband participated in an exchange program in Japan in his earlier years. While in Silver City, I car sat for a German lady for a total of eighteen months over a three-year period. I find the Germans straight forward and reasonable to deal with.
While the ending of the above book was a little unexpected, it was all in a day's work. I have often found artists: whether designer, writer, sculptor, painter, ... a little difficult to predict. Probably my primary and secondary school friends would be shocked if I bury myself in Borneo in obscurity from now on. It is to be expected, isn't it?
Friday, June 7, 2019
(1112) Sun at Midnight by Rosie Thomas
I believe my brother has been to all the continents except the Antarctica. I will never be able to travel as much as my brother as child rearing took me many years, on top of that I heeded the biological clock.
This is a beautifully written book that almost equals to watching an artistically made documentary of the ice world. Alice did not even realize she was pregnant when she decided and then rushed to make all the preparation needed to work in the silent and cold continent for months.
She reminded me of my ex-neighbour who kept her baby boy in spite of the threat of divorce from her then husband. Thirty years later, she has a loving son and a loyal daughter-in-law in Singapore who visit her a few times a year and they remit money to her. Her ex made himself another family with a Thai lady who fitted into his scheme of things and his own time table. When we think of the exchange rate of Sing dollars versus M dollars, it is significant.
Contrast that with my clay pot yee mee lady who aborted her child because her then husband thought she was too young. He married her at sixteen but he thought she should wait a few years to have her first child. Until today she remained childless as the abortion rendered her infertile for life. He divorced her anyway.
This is a beautifully written book that almost equals to watching an artistically made documentary of the ice world. Alice did not even realize she was pregnant when she decided and then rushed to make all the preparation needed to work in the silent and cold continent for months.
She reminded me of my ex-neighbour who kept her baby boy in spite of the threat of divorce from her then husband. Thirty years later, she has a loving son and a loyal daughter-in-law in Singapore who visit her a few times a year and they remit money to her. Her ex made himself another family with a Thai lady who fitted into his scheme of things and his own time table. When we think of the exchange rate of Sing dollars versus M dollars, it is significant.
Contrast that with my clay pot yee mee lady who aborted her child because her then husband thought she was too young. He married her at sixteen but he thought she should wait a few years to have her first child. Until today she remained childless as the abortion rendered her infertile for life. He divorced her anyway.
(1111) The curious incident of the dog in the night-time by Mark Haddon
I read this book quite a few years ago in my niece's house.
It is written in the words of an Asperger Syndrome boy. I have taught a similar but less severe boy in Silver City. He was actually my good friend's student. Despite the many books in the book shelve my friend provided, he was not interested. I told my friend that many boys in that category may be reading on a grade 3 level but do not read for pleasure. She asked me what would be the best thing to do?
I suggested the mum bring him to the town council library and each time I borrow my twenty two books I would supervise him for an hour. The very first time he just stared at me for that one hour. The second time I found him a few wordless book with beautiful illustrations and that occupied him for a few minutes. After that he roamed around the library and after half an hour found a cartoon book. He finished it right when I was done and I took him to his waiting mum. The third time his mum came in to apply for membership cards for him.
All in it took about six visits and he was then on his own. According to his mum, he selected his two allotted books, read them within a week and was always looking forward to the next visit. He progressed from cartoons to books with pictures and then moved on to higher level illustrated books with sentences. Gradually the sentences turned into paragraphs. After three years or so, he started reading books without pictures. Funny thing is : all his other siblings preferred TV to books.
It is written in the words of an Asperger Syndrome boy. I have taught a similar but less severe boy in Silver City. He was actually my good friend's student. Despite the many books in the book shelve my friend provided, he was not interested. I told my friend that many boys in that category may be reading on a grade 3 level but do not read for pleasure. She asked me what would be the best thing to do?
I suggested the mum bring him to the town council library and each time I borrow my twenty two books I would supervise him for an hour. The very first time he just stared at me for that one hour. The second time I found him a few wordless book with beautiful illustrations and that occupied him for a few minutes. After that he roamed around the library and after half an hour found a cartoon book. He finished it right when I was done and I took him to his waiting mum. The third time his mum came in to apply for membership cards for him.
All in it took about six visits and he was then on his own. According to his mum, he selected his two allotted books, read them within a week and was always looking forward to the next visit. He progressed from cartoons to books with pictures and then moved on to higher level illustrated books with sentences. Gradually the sentences turned into paragraphs. After three years or so, he started reading books without pictures. Funny thing is : all his other siblings preferred TV to books.
(1110) Eat Cake by Jeanne Ray
This is a delightful story about how Ruth found her true calling in life at her lowest, most difficult point in her adult life. Her mum came to stay with her after someone broke into mum's home. The prodigal father of Ruth's who virtually abandoned her and mom many years ago turned up crippled needing a home. Ruth's husband lost his job after the hospital he worked in was sold. Talking about having a leaky roof and then it pours on consecutive nights.
Ruth started a business selling cakes and saved the day. Her cakes were good to look at and tasted divine. People around her created beautiful and presentable receptacles to market the cakes in as gifts. And who wouldn't like to be given a lovely and tasty homemade cake as a gift?
A friend of mine in Brunei whose husband lost his job and couldn't find another. It was not that he was incompetent. He was qualified, in fact quite brilliant in his profession. His egoistical personality grated on many people's nerve, but he was arrogant enough to offend a big player whose toes no one dares to step on. In that tiny nation, it was not smart to be a person-non-grata.
My friend rushed out of her house and became a substitute teacher to bring home the bacon. When her tiny pay check couldn't meet the obligations, she went on to tutor private students so as to earn more. Instead of being grateful, the darling husband was humiliated at playing house husband and turned the children against her. She was chased out of the house by her husband and children within two years.
It is a sad, sad world sometimes. In my friend's case there was no happy ending yet, even after events took a few unexpected turns.
Ruth started a business selling cakes and saved the day. Her cakes were good to look at and tasted divine. People around her created beautiful and presentable receptacles to market the cakes in as gifts. And who wouldn't like to be given a lovely and tasty homemade cake as a gift?
A friend of mine in Brunei whose husband lost his job and couldn't find another. It was not that he was incompetent. He was qualified, in fact quite brilliant in his profession. His egoistical personality grated on many people's nerve, but he was arrogant enough to offend a big player whose toes no one dares to step on. In that tiny nation, it was not smart to be a person-non-grata.
My friend rushed out of her house and became a substitute teacher to bring home the bacon. When her tiny pay check couldn't meet the obligations, she went on to tutor private students so as to earn more. Instead of being grateful, the darling husband was humiliated at playing house husband and turned the children against her. She was chased out of the house by her husband and children within two years.
It is a sad, sad world sometimes. In my friend's case there was no happy ending yet, even after events took a few unexpected turns.
(1109) A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Spark
I read this book many years ago. While holding it in hand yesterday, I had to flip through it to recall the story line.
One of my cousins did not have a chance to go for tertiary education, she willed her children to go through university. Unfortunately her youngest did not make it to graduation. It took years for both the mother and son to accept the outcome.
In "A Bend in the Road", a young man hit a town woman by accident but drove home. He could not forgive himself. When he finally decided to leave town, he headed far away to qualify as an emergency doctor to save lives.
I never had a chance to dance or learn to play a musical instrument as a child. Thus my youngest had two years of ballet and nine years of piano. Today her life is filled with music and she loves to sing. Looking at her amazing memory of music and lyrics, it is no wonder she wanted to play multiple instruments. She has had a stand up piano in Silver City. An electrical organ in our present home. Somebody very generous sold an expensive guitar to her at nominal price. She even plays a harmonica. Lately she bought a shofar which was some kind of animal horn after saving for months.
To a small extent, are we not all products of our past experiences or lack there of?
One of my cousins did not have a chance to go for tertiary education, she willed her children to go through university. Unfortunately her youngest did not make it to graduation. It took years for both the mother and son to accept the outcome.
In "A Bend in the Road", a young man hit a town woman by accident but drove home. He could not forgive himself. When he finally decided to leave town, he headed far away to qualify as an emergency doctor to save lives.
I never had a chance to dance or learn to play a musical instrument as a child. Thus my youngest had two years of ballet and nine years of piano. Today her life is filled with music and she loves to sing. Looking at her amazing memory of music and lyrics, it is no wonder she wanted to play multiple instruments. She has had a stand up piano in Silver City. An electrical organ in our present home. Somebody very generous sold an expensive guitar to her at nominal price. She even plays a harmonica. Lately she bought a shofar which was some kind of animal horn after saving for months.
To a small extent, are we not all products of our past experiences or lack there of?
(1108) Back When We Were Grownups by Anne Tyler
I really enjoyed reading this folksy style of writing. I felt like I was sitting on a shaded porch having ice tea with Anne on a sunny but cool day, listening to her life story.
Who wouldn't have thought back to the many forks along the road of life that one didn't take? I did look back, many a time. Not that I could go back, I wouldn't want to, anyway.
When I was twenty two years old, I received a marriage proposal from a much older man from Hong Kong. I ran away without leaving any contact details. He was too straight, did not know that he could order all the freshman bulletins of colleges surrounding Washington D.C. and would be able to locate me. If he had persistently courted me then, I might have married him. But then he told me prematurely that he was relocating to Aspen to open his first eatery, he would wait for me to finish my Master's degree. Then we would have four children and I would be expected to grace his restaurant as the cashier and boss lady. In other words, he frightened the hell out of me. I did not know when I would want marriage. Neither did I know if I want any children. He simply was trying to tie me down too early, he was not an unsuitable person but appeared a little too dictatorial. Thus he lost his chance.
Then after graduation, a Texan Navy Pilot was courting me. Everything looked good, even my stand-in guardians approved of him. After I decided not to attend University of Texas as a graduate student, I left the States abruptly. I figured, if you are a pilot, flying to the far east would not really be impossible. There were my home address and phone number in the student records. My guardians who were very fond of me did come for a visit a year later. Poor, defeated guy just gave up. If he had wanted to, my guardians would have given him the information. Well, it was not meant to be. Until today, his photo still resides in my student album. My youngest, who is a romantic, looked at his eyes wistfully and wondered aloud that had I married him, would she have blue eyes? Genetically speaking, most unlikely. She became very disappointed. Well, if she really wanted to, she could marry a Scandinavian and hope for the best in the eye colour of her offspring.
Then, choosing between my present husband and another suitor, I took my mum's advice. Looking back, it was smart and practical of me. The loser looked better, had a higher education and a better job than my choice of a partner. The only thing against him was his wealth and his father's three wives. Or maybe I should say one legal wife and two concubines. With money, it is quite acceptable socially here to have one proper and legally wed wife, then progressively other lesser female who agreed to various arrangements in the sixties, seventies ...
Now I have many grown children. My husband is reasonably good to me. Of course he is not perfect. But neither am I. Finally I am free to write as I wish because my free time is mine. I doubt things would have been like this easy if I picked any of the above men. Perhaps as a Hong Kong wife, all my working hours (would be long in a restaurant) would be occupied, all free time might be spent organising mah-jong parties for family and relatives. As a Navy pilot wife, overseas bases would be my home around the world, that is, if he lives. Otherwise I might have been a military widow. Alternatively, life as a Chinese daughter-in-law to three mothers-out-laws would surely be no fun.
So, you see, thank you very much. I have absolutely no regrets. I am happy with my present, only life.
Who wouldn't have thought back to the many forks along the road of life that one didn't take? I did look back, many a time. Not that I could go back, I wouldn't want to, anyway.
When I was twenty two years old, I received a marriage proposal from a much older man from Hong Kong. I ran away without leaving any contact details. He was too straight, did not know that he could order all the freshman bulletins of colleges surrounding Washington D.C. and would be able to locate me. If he had persistently courted me then, I might have married him. But then he told me prematurely that he was relocating to Aspen to open his first eatery, he would wait for me to finish my Master's degree. Then we would have four children and I would be expected to grace his restaurant as the cashier and boss lady. In other words, he frightened the hell out of me. I did not know when I would want marriage. Neither did I know if I want any children. He simply was trying to tie me down too early, he was not an unsuitable person but appeared a little too dictatorial. Thus he lost his chance.
Then after graduation, a Texan Navy Pilot was courting me. Everything looked good, even my stand-in guardians approved of him. After I decided not to attend University of Texas as a graduate student, I left the States abruptly. I figured, if you are a pilot, flying to the far east would not really be impossible. There were my home address and phone number in the student records. My guardians who were very fond of me did come for a visit a year later. Poor, defeated guy just gave up. If he had wanted to, my guardians would have given him the information. Well, it was not meant to be. Until today, his photo still resides in my student album. My youngest, who is a romantic, looked at his eyes wistfully and wondered aloud that had I married him, would she have blue eyes? Genetically speaking, most unlikely. She became very disappointed. Well, if she really wanted to, she could marry a Scandinavian and hope for the best in the eye colour of her offspring.
Then, choosing between my present husband and another suitor, I took my mum's advice. Looking back, it was smart and practical of me. The loser looked better, had a higher education and a better job than my choice of a partner. The only thing against him was his wealth and his father's three wives. Or maybe I should say one legal wife and two concubines. With money, it is quite acceptable socially here to have one proper and legally wed wife, then progressively other lesser female who agreed to various arrangements in the sixties, seventies ...
Now I have many grown children. My husband is reasonably good to me. Of course he is not perfect. But neither am I. Finally I am free to write as I wish because my free time is mine. I doubt things would have been like this easy if I picked any of the above men. Perhaps as a Hong Kong wife, all my working hours (would be long in a restaurant) would be occupied, all free time might be spent organising mah-jong parties for family and relatives. As a Navy pilot wife, overseas bases would be my home around the world, that is, if he lives. Otherwise I might have been a military widow. Alternatively, life as a Chinese daughter-in-law to three mothers-out-laws would surely be no fun.
So, you see, thank you very much. I have absolutely no regrets. I am happy with my present, only life.
( 1106)Two Surnames One Family
Oh Young Siew (a famous scholar in the Chin Dynasty) wrote:
“Among Court Officials, friends and gangsters, from ancient times there is a
saying: to determine if a person could be trusted; we have to differentiate between
a gentleman or a rouge.” In the declining years of the Eastern Han Dynasty,
Liu, Kwan and Chong became brothers after the ceremony in the peach orchard.
All three clans desired to bring back Han rule with totally united efforts in their
attempts. That happened more than one thousand years ago. Among the
Overseas Chinese community, the three clans united to organise clansmen
association in the state of Melaka in Peninsular Malaysia. Folks from all three surnames gathered in
one hall, funds were raised to help the poorer brethren’s children to continue
their education. Descendants of all three branches are friendly to one
and all, there is funding to assist those who require short term welfare assistance
to get on their own two feet under certain adverse circumstances. Such organisations
are vibrant, active, fulfilling the vital needs of the first and
second generation of immigrants.
In 1865, Hong Siew Chuen failed in toppling the Ching Dynasty. Many of the revolutionary volunteers from the South of China ran to South East Asia. My ancestor Lo Kam Sheng was only twelve years old, he bought a child ship ticket and left his hometown Da Shen (Big Victory). He landed in Singapore and started to earn his own living. Even at that tender age, he was a strong and persistent person. He had a very definite idea of how he wanted to live his life. Probably because of previous trauma, he stopped communicating with his nearest and dearest in China. Throughout his life, he was no longer interested in whatever that happened in China. For most of his life after age twelve he lived in the southern tip of colonial Malaya, now known as Desaru in the state of Johor. With the help of immigrant workers from China, he cleared virgin rain forest in that part of the coast. He worked hard and long, he was extremely frugal in building his land holdings. He and his band planted coconut and rubber trees as pioneers in the area then known as Pengarang. As his children were still young, he lacked workers he could depend on. With little capital and limited hands, it was by no means an easy undertaking to attempt such a vast and dangerous project. There were tigers and other big animals prowling in the forest then.
In 1904, Lo met Choo Siang Aun who left China to seek his fortune in Malaya. Lo appreciated the fact that Choo was trustworthy and honest. The former suggested that they become brothers by a religious ceremony. Thereafter both were of one heart and one mind. Each took care of tasks that he was good at. After more than a decade of diligence, co-operation and persistent effort, they were able to achieve some of what they had hoped for. Unfortunately, Choo and his wife lost all of their children in infancy; they seemed unable to beget descendants. Lo gave his second and third sons, Chen Sieng and Chen Yu, to the Choos. After ensuring succession, they continued to work together to expand their estates. By 1925, Lo was old and sickly, his days on earth drew to an end and he passed on at age 73.
The following year in 1926, Choo fell ill due to overwork and worries, he had lost his able partner who used to shoulder most of the headaches and difficult decisions. Medicine could only do that much for someone who had lost heart. He lived a short 63 years. At that time the entire clan lost both their leaders, between ten to twenty land titles were all held by the Choo family. It took the elders in the village much persuasive efforts before the main house and the surrounding land (14 acres) planted with coconut and rubber trees to be transferred to the Lo family. People with two surnames continued to work together earning their living, no one uttered a word of complaint.
Chen Sieng (the second son of Lo given to Choo) held the most land titles, all in he had 22 acres of rubber plantation. Chen Yu (the third son given to Choo) held only 8 acres of rubber land. After their adopted father passed away, it was a time of world wide economic downturn. Rubber prices dropped, both brothers were not able to manage their holdings as expertly as their father. A few years down the line, one by one the land grant was sold by the Choo family. Chen Sieng was an opium addict, he spent more time in bed on drugs than taking care of his land and financial affairs. Chen Yu sold everything and returned to China. He signed up as a soldier under Captain Chai Ting Kai. He died as a Chinese hero fighting the battle against the Japanese along the Wangpu River near Shanghai. Chen Sieng and Chen Yu jointly left only Choo Choon Fow, who was also known as Choo Siow Kang in China. It is most unfortunate that instead of prospering, that genetic line shrunk over the years. It could reflect back to the adoptive parents, Chinese cultural belief states that according to the Law of Sowing and Reaping, good deeds would lead to good returns. Only kind and generous behaviour would beget blessings.
We, the choos and the Los, were like one big family. The male members were like brothers. The ladies were like sisters. Seldom did conflict arise. Living together, working at each person's assigned work, co-operation lasted for three generations. Right up until the Japanese Surrender in 1945, did the clans separate into two households. Until today, more than four decades have passed. The Choo and the Lo would visit one another through the years. While the Choos were having difficulties in China during the lean famine years of Great Leap Forward, the Lo family in Malaysia would send whatever financial help they could. Requested by Choo Siang Aun's grand nephew Choo Choon Her, I took up a pen to document a brief history of our forebear. The aim is to explain what went on before, with the hope that the next generation would continue the friendly relationship. A Chinese proverb states: a harmonious family would prosper in all ways, but a family facing adverse circumstances usually lives among contentious disharmony. It is therefore wiser to cultivate harmony, not to be over calculative, work for the common good and build up each other's future while not forgetting one's roots.
Written in olden Chinese by one of the Lo descendants in 1998
Translated by the rambler
Thursday, June 6, 2019
(1107) Under Orders by Dick Francis
This is a second book by Dick Francis that I blog on. His books are immensely readable. This is his 30th novel, after the death of his beloved wife. His son took over the research role from his deceased mum, encouraging his father to continue writing after a break of five years.
I like the fact that Sid struggled with having an artificial arm. Somehow super heroes do not attract me. A handicap hero is more human. Although his wife divorced him, after a few years he won the love of an exotic woman in science from a foreign country. I know, that sounded suspect alright. But how can you fault a man whose ex father-in-law still continue to befriend him years after his daughter's divorce?
In the story, Peter Enstone was a man much bullied and cowed by his father who was a successful, titled man. I can remember a similar young man I met in Silver City. I used to teach his younger brother. As the older brother was of driving age. he was often asked to drive my pupil to lessons in my house and much later to my neighbour's house. My pupil struck up friendship with the two neighbourhood sisters about the same age as he was. Years after I moved out of the city, my former pupil and his brother were still friends with the two sisters. Interestingly, the young man who was then at college age would visit the two girls' mother because she often had time on her hand and was gracious enough to have kind thoughts and encouraging words for him.
My son did ask me once if there was anything indelicate between the two. Reflecting back, I doubted it. It was just that: while my neighbour was beaten off and on by her husband, the young man was tortured emotionally day after day by his dad. They found out about the fact that they were both victims through the years. You see, there were three children under the age of 10, they said anything that came to their minds with no hesitation and the two adults were older and clear-eyed enough to read into what was being said in passing.
It is interesting that the lady was a former lawyer and the young man was qualifying as a medical doctor. So we can see that wife abuse and child abuse cross all social and economic barriers.
I like the fact that Sid struggled with having an artificial arm. Somehow super heroes do not attract me. A handicap hero is more human. Although his wife divorced him, after a few years he won the love of an exotic woman in science from a foreign country. I know, that sounded suspect alright. But how can you fault a man whose ex father-in-law still continue to befriend him years after his daughter's divorce?
In the story, Peter Enstone was a man much bullied and cowed by his father who was a successful, titled man. I can remember a similar young man I met in Silver City. I used to teach his younger brother. As the older brother was of driving age. he was often asked to drive my pupil to lessons in my house and much later to my neighbour's house. My pupil struck up friendship with the two neighbourhood sisters about the same age as he was. Years after I moved out of the city, my former pupil and his brother were still friends with the two sisters. Interestingly, the young man who was then at college age would visit the two girls' mother because she often had time on her hand and was gracious enough to have kind thoughts and encouraging words for him.
My son did ask me once if there was anything indelicate between the two. Reflecting back, I doubted it. It was just that: while my neighbour was beaten off and on by her husband, the young man was tortured emotionally day after day by his dad. They found out about the fact that they were both victims through the years. You see, there were three children under the age of 10, they said anything that came to their minds with no hesitation and the two adults were older and clear-eyed enough to read into what was being said in passing.
It is interesting that the lady was a former lawyer and the young man was qualifying as a medical doctor. So we can see that wife abuse and child abuse cross all social and economic barriers.
(1105) Dress Code for Men in a Government office
Yesterday I heard this story. Without revealing any name or place, I'll try and relate it.
Amy lost her biological mother. The deceased lived a full life, was very happy with her second husband of many years. The daughter decided to take on the last maid who served her mother well. According to the agent in that state, there was no way to transfer a maid mid contract. Therefore they took the maid unofficially to a northern state 400 Km away, with the consent of the contractual employer, a step brother called Larry. Both new employer and maid knew that should the maid be caught in a public place, she would be deported back to Indonesia.
A year passed very quickly. Soon the maid was up for renewal. Larry is a nice guy, he agreed to renew the contract and accordingly turned up at the immigration office. It was a shock to find that he could not enter the office because he was in Bermuda shorts. To put the situation in perspective, I must state that Larry had chosen not to drive. He went to that immigration office with his usual taxi driver, who was going to return in one and a half hours' time to take him home. Instead of returning without accomplishing what he set out to do, he asked if he could borrow a pair of long pants. The security guard showed him a sarong - like a long skirt with unsewn top which the wearer was supposed to twist and knot tightly around the waist. Now Larry is a guy who would rather be dead than to wear a skirt in public. He eyed the security guard's waist and bottom and asked if he could borrow that pair of pants for an hour or two, of course the borrower would pay the lender for his inconvenience.
Thus properly attired, Larry went in to conduct his business. At the happy conclusion of obtaining the desired new contract, he went to the male toilet and changed pants with the happy lender who was given ten dollars for his trouble. This is an interesting episode, I laughed and laughed while listening to the narration of the anecdote. This is just one of many things we chose to laugh about in a country that veered closer and closer to Islamic rule through the decades. For the many years of borrowing books in the Silver City Town Council Library, I had to permanently place a jacket in my car just in case I absent-mindedly wore a sleeveless blouse to the library. It is often scorching hot in the afternoons here round the year. That was about twenty years ago while my children were young. Now I am rather surprised to hear that even men are affected by this dress code. My! I am glad that I am going to be in Borneo soon, far away from this kind of petty rules.
Amy lost her biological mother. The deceased lived a full life, was very happy with her second husband of many years. The daughter decided to take on the last maid who served her mother well. According to the agent in that state, there was no way to transfer a maid mid contract. Therefore they took the maid unofficially to a northern state 400 Km away, with the consent of the contractual employer, a step brother called Larry. Both new employer and maid knew that should the maid be caught in a public place, she would be deported back to Indonesia.
A year passed very quickly. Soon the maid was up for renewal. Larry is a nice guy, he agreed to renew the contract and accordingly turned up at the immigration office. It was a shock to find that he could not enter the office because he was in Bermuda shorts. To put the situation in perspective, I must state that Larry had chosen not to drive. He went to that immigration office with his usual taxi driver, who was going to return in one and a half hours' time to take him home. Instead of returning without accomplishing what he set out to do, he asked if he could borrow a pair of long pants. The security guard showed him a sarong - like a long skirt with unsewn top which the wearer was supposed to twist and knot tightly around the waist. Now Larry is a guy who would rather be dead than to wear a skirt in public. He eyed the security guard's waist and bottom and asked if he could borrow that pair of pants for an hour or two, of course the borrower would pay the lender for his inconvenience.
Thus properly attired, Larry went in to conduct his business. At the happy conclusion of obtaining the desired new contract, he went to the male toilet and changed pants with the happy lender who was given ten dollars for his trouble. This is an interesting episode, I laughed and laughed while listening to the narration of the anecdote. This is just one of many things we chose to laugh about in a country that veered closer and closer to Islamic rule through the decades. For the many years of borrowing books in the Silver City Town Council Library, I had to permanently place a jacket in my car just in case I absent-mindedly wore a sleeveless blouse to the library. It is often scorching hot in the afternoons here round the year. That was about twenty years ago while my children were young. Now I am rather surprised to hear that even men are affected by this dress code. My! I am glad that I am going to be in Borneo soon, far away from this kind of petty rules.
(1104) The Husband by Dean Koontz
I am like in the Aladdin's cave, choosing one gem from lots of jewels. I am either scanning or speed reading to put up as many blogs as 8 days allow. After blogging for many years, I realized that it was the book reviews that brought me new readers that decided to stay with me. Thanks to my children who set up page counters, flag counters and other widgets. As folks follow my blog, I roughly know how many unique readers that have visited this blog from which country. At this point, India is the country that is going to overtake Malaysia in both the page count as well as the number of unique readers. I am excited!
I enjoyed reading Koontz's book. To be honest, I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I were to read it leisurely at home. But well, I am thankful for this opportunity to read, write and not have to housekeep. As an author, I look at his plot and am amazed at how he twisted things from one page to the next. Maybe there is a need for a convoluted mind to write suspense stories. I simply do not have that. And therefore I would not attempt to write one.
How many husbands would risk his life to save his wife? Not many, I guess. I suppose I am extremely fortunate that when I was near death, my husband fasted many days for my recovery. When my weight was near the absolute minimum, it would have been very easy to stop eating, take the drugs prescribed and sleep away to eternity. Yet at that crunch point, I chose to eat five meals a day and fought. A year later, when I sensed alienation in general for my first published work in paper; I realized why I would rather store the manuscript for 36 years through 11 moves than risk publication. Blogging is a very safe medium. Nobody pays a cent to read my work, therefore no one cares to say much one way or another.
I enjoyed reading Koontz's book. To be honest, I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I were to read it leisurely at home. But well, I am thankful for this opportunity to read, write and not have to housekeep. As an author, I look at his plot and am amazed at how he twisted things from one page to the next. Maybe there is a need for a convoluted mind to write suspense stories. I simply do not have that. And therefore I would not attempt to write one.
How many husbands would risk his life to save his wife? Not many, I guess. I suppose I am extremely fortunate that when I was near death, my husband fasted many days for my recovery. When my weight was near the absolute minimum, it would have been very easy to stop eating, take the drugs prescribed and sleep away to eternity. Yet at that crunch point, I chose to eat five meals a day and fought. A year later, when I sensed alienation in general for my first published work in paper; I realized why I would rather store the manuscript for 36 years through 11 moves than risk publication. Blogging is a very safe medium. Nobody pays a cent to read my work, therefore no one cares to say much one way or another.
Wednesday, June 5, 2019
(1103) Cambodia's Curse by Joel Brinkley
I am on one of my writing breaks in Silver City. My host loaned me this book. Although most of the time I choose to read fiction, I flipped through this book reading only the sections that caught my eyes.
Here I confessed that I have not been to Cambodia. Although my church Sunday School teachers have been to Burma, Laos and Cambodia for years, I have not thought of spending my hard saved funds to travel so far. While I lived in Silver City, I have been to Southern and Northern Thailand a number times teaching English in Camps for orphans. Now that I reside in the capital, my efforts have been diverted to Borneo.
I do have a cousin who have been to Cambodia yearly for at least ten times. She had served in every possible capacity on mission trips: teaching, speaking, encouraging, visitation, child care, food preparation, cooking, washing dishes, praying... When I asked her why Cambodia, she had to think for awhile before replying: she loves the gentle and simple people there.
Here in the above book I read that Cambodia not only went through successive wars and genocide, even after two years of UN peacekeeping and transitional governance, the entrenched corruption still went on. While it was possible for Japan, Germany, and South Korea to rebuild and enter into democratic and stable rule; it did not work for Cambodia. At the time of publication of the above mentioned book, Cambodia was the poorest country in Asia. Yet, by the turn of the 14th century, Angkor was then the largest city in the world. This city, the seat of the throne then, had a population approaching 1 million people living on a tract of land more than twice the size of Los Angeles.
Here I confessed that I have not been to Cambodia. Although my church Sunday School teachers have been to Burma, Laos and Cambodia for years, I have not thought of spending my hard saved funds to travel so far. While I lived in Silver City, I have been to Southern and Northern Thailand a number times teaching English in Camps for orphans. Now that I reside in the capital, my efforts have been diverted to Borneo.
I do have a cousin who have been to Cambodia yearly for at least ten times. She had served in every possible capacity on mission trips: teaching, speaking, encouraging, visitation, child care, food preparation, cooking, washing dishes, praying... When I asked her why Cambodia, she had to think for awhile before replying: she loves the gentle and simple people there.
Here in the above book I read that Cambodia not only went through successive wars and genocide, even after two years of UN peacekeeping and transitional governance, the entrenched corruption still went on. While it was possible for Japan, Germany, and South Korea to rebuild and enter into democratic and stable rule; it did not work for Cambodia. At the time of publication of the above mentioned book, Cambodia was the poorest country in Asia. Yet, by the turn of the 14th century, Angkor was then the largest city in the world. This city, the seat of the throne then, had a population approaching 1 million people living on a tract of land more than twice the size of Los Angeles.
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
(1102) Mercy by Jodi Picoult
Mercy Killing is still illegal in most countries. I guess if the law allows someone to kill another because the second is sick, all sorts of scenario might pop up. It is far safer to keep the Pandora box tightly closed.
While Jodi did a good job bringing the reader through the killing up to the acquittal, I actually found the marital discord between Cam, the police chief, and Allie much more compelling. It is interesting that Mia finally lit off. And the book did not end with a divorce and each partner starting over.
In real life, I think I saw my old friend's husband on a date with a young associate in a kind of pizza joint in a shopping centre far off the bitten track. No, I did not confront him. I stayed in my corner, ate my meal and walked off quietly while he had eyes only for her, she was a good twenty five years younger than him. I told my husband that I was not sure it was him. Until today I did not say a word to his wife.
He was a millionaire many times over. She had her own inherited wealth. I know she loved him much more than he felt for her. Even though she declared in public that she wanted to know the facts if her husband two timed her and that she would divorce him, I honestly doubt if she would. So it is really better that she does not know.
One man, Jamie, might love his Maggie enough to spare her a long, painful death. He was willing to risk going to prison for ten years or so. Allie probably loved Cam enough to forgive him as long as Mia no longer complicated the situation. The ending pointed to Allie taking Cam back in time to come.
While Jodi did a good job bringing the reader through the killing up to the acquittal, I actually found the marital discord between Cam, the police chief, and Allie much more compelling. It is interesting that Mia finally lit off. And the book did not end with a divorce and each partner starting over.
In real life, I think I saw my old friend's husband on a date with a young associate in a kind of pizza joint in a shopping centre far off the bitten track. No, I did not confront him. I stayed in my corner, ate my meal and walked off quietly while he had eyes only for her, she was a good twenty five years younger than him. I told my husband that I was not sure it was him. Until today I did not say a word to his wife.
He was a millionaire many times over. She had her own inherited wealth. I know she loved him much more than he felt for her. Even though she declared in public that she wanted to know the facts if her husband two timed her and that she would divorce him, I honestly doubt if she would. So it is really better that she does not know.
One man, Jamie, might love his Maggie enough to spare her a long, painful death. He was willing to risk going to prison for ten years or so. Allie probably loved Cam enough to forgive him as long as Mia no longer complicated the situation. The ending pointed to Allie taking Cam back in time to come.
(1101) Lone Wolf by Jodi Picoult
This is a book that explores the area of what a person does if a patient is unlikely to recover. Do we keep the life-sustaining machines on? Do we follow the patient's written will, if any, do we follow the legal next-of-kin's desire or take into consideration a minor, but a family member who probably knows the patient more in the immediate years prior to the accident that led to the medical dilemma?
Personally, my father-in-law was in a public hospital brain dead after a major operation. His children and his wife all agreed to switching off the machine. By the time his son who lived on the other side of the globe arrived, the deceased was being placed in a body bag to be removed to the mortuary. When I brought my children to see him for the last time in the ICU, he was breathing and warm to our touch. Although he was in a coma, he looked like he was asleep.
Another person I knew also went into a coma, I think it was after a major stroke. His family kept him alive for weeks on the machine. It must have cost a bomb. It usually costs about one thousand dollars per day in the ICU in a private hospital in this country. Lots of folks went to pray for the patient's miraculous recovery. Finally, after more than a year in a nursing home with around-the-clock nursing care and a host of machine assistance, he stopped breathing without ever regaining consciousness.
The overt reaction to the above two cases is : my sister-in-law and her husband both signed documents called the living wills. Such document gives the children or next-of-kin legal right to switch off machines so that the estate of the persons in coma would not be depleted by enormous hospital bills.
For me personally, I need not write such a will, I have zero medical insurance. If and when I were to go into an ICU, it would be in a government hospital. Since life sustaining machines are severely limited in numbers in any government hospital, what happened in case number two would technically be an improbable scenario.
Personally, my father-in-law was in a public hospital brain dead after a major operation. His children and his wife all agreed to switching off the machine. By the time his son who lived on the other side of the globe arrived, the deceased was being placed in a body bag to be removed to the mortuary. When I brought my children to see him for the last time in the ICU, he was breathing and warm to our touch. Although he was in a coma, he looked like he was asleep.
Another person I knew also went into a coma, I think it was after a major stroke. His family kept him alive for weeks on the machine. It must have cost a bomb. It usually costs about one thousand dollars per day in the ICU in a private hospital in this country. Lots of folks went to pray for the patient's miraculous recovery. Finally, after more than a year in a nursing home with around-the-clock nursing care and a host of machine assistance, he stopped breathing without ever regaining consciousness.
The overt reaction to the above two cases is : my sister-in-law and her husband both signed documents called the living wills. Such document gives the children or next-of-kin legal right to switch off machines so that the estate of the persons in coma would not be depleted by enormous hospital bills.
For me personally, I need not write such a will, I have zero medical insurance. If and when I were to go into an ICU, it would be in a government hospital. Since life sustaining machines are severely limited in numbers in any government hospital, what happened in case number two would technically be an improbable scenario.
(1100) Lost and Found by Jacqueline Sheehan
The version I read came from Reader's Digest condensed books.
If I am collecting canine stories helping at risk-folks for publication, this story will go into the first round of selection. It is just amazing to me how her deceased husband's joke about her as a life guard would lead to her being able to save his life bringing consequences at his demise. After all, it is just a joke, he was trying to make conversation with a beautiful young woman whom he hoped was going to become his wife.
Roxanne, the new widow in the book who happened to be a psychologist, took a leave of absence and headed to an island and started life anew as a part-time animal control warden. I guess her experience as her husband's veterinary assistant barely enabled her to cope with the cases she encountered on the small island. Time, friends and the non-threatening love of an injured dog brought her around. As in any story worth a rereading, it ended after some danger and an unlikely hero saved the day.
If I am collecting canine stories helping at risk-folks for publication, this story will go into the first round of selection. It is just amazing to me how her deceased husband's joke about her as a life guard would lead to her being able to save his life bringing consequences at his demise. After all, it is just a joke, he was trying to make conversation with a beautiful young woman whom he hoped was going to become his wife.
Roxanne, the new widow in the book who happened to be a psychologist, took a leave of absence and headed to an island and started life anew as a part-time animal control warden. I guess her experience as her husband's veterinary assistant barely enabled her to cope with the cases she encountered on the small island. Time, friends and the non-threatening love of an injured dog brought her around. As in any story worth a rereading, it ended after some danger and an unlikely hero saved the day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)